Disclaimer: Don't own, therefore don't sue. Get it, Got it, Good.

a/n: Now this story might seem a little strange to some people. I've been following this whole 'Piano Man' thing in the news and it reminds me so much of Erik somehow. This is just a weird little idea that's been bothering me for sometime now.

The Colour of White Walls
Prologue

White walls. For the past six weeks and counting that was all she stared at, day after day. It seemed as though the white walls were all she saw, all she dreamed of. She woke up every morning, and stared at the white walls of her bedroom whilst the nurses fed her. Then she would sit on the edge of her bed, her back to the window, staring at the same spot on the white wall until lunch time, and then again at dinner. She never moved while sitting there never once got up to go to the bathroom, never spoke to anyone nor seemed to acknowledge the world around her. The doctors said she was mentally ill, but she knew otherwise.

The white walls were just something to look at. The doctors, although they hadn't actually preformed any tests, said that she probably didn't think. She just existed, moving only to sit on the edge of the bed. But she thought. Oh, how she wanted to laugh when she heard their comments. But she never laughed. She never even smiled. How could anyone smile when they had seen what her eyes had?

At first she had been happy, viewing past memories over and over in her mind. Like in a movie, she had watched them from a distance, watching herself carefully as she relived her life. But lately, the memories seemed to become darker, and she found it harder to come back to reality each night when the lights went out. She was slipping deeper into her nightmares, her mind driving her insane. She was scared to go to sleep at night, scared to wake up in the morning.

Sometimes she could still see the glint of the knife, the blood on the walls, the cries of her parents as they grasped her hands in agony. The feeling of hopelessness and guilt. It was too much for her and she wanted to scream. But she kept staring at the white walls, wishing for it to go away. It never did. In the past three days she had seen the memory replayed over and over again. She could never forget the terror in their eyes, her breath catching in her throat when she thought that she would soon be dead.

She wanted to go home. At night when she knew nobody could see her, nobody could hear her, she wept. She wanted everything to be perfect again. She wanted to escape from the white walls and all the silence they held. She wasn't insane as they thought she was. She knew she wasn't. She could prove it to them. She wasn't sure how she could do it, but she knew it was possible. But deep in her mind, she was scared. Scared to accept the fact that her parents were dead. Dead! The word was always too much. The thought of them being buried underground, maggots and worms eating at their mutilated bodies. It was too much. She couldn't do it anymore.

Not the memories, not the white walls, not the nurses. Not the unbearable silence day after day. She wasn't crazy. She wasn't insane. She could prove it. She could pretend.

She could pretend. It was her only chance.