I thought about what I had just said. And wondered if she could even differenciate the difference between, hours and days, days and weeks. What use would it be to talk of such things, she was caged up from the world, from time. She lived in a place where it did not exist. Everything in her reality must have just bled together into one long span of events. Nothing to separate one thing from another...
She turned slightly and looked at me, not at me I should say, not at my appearance, she skipped that. She just stared into my eyes, She didn't speak, I heard she was very anit-social, when she was removed from this cell, at certain times, when such a thing was common here, to associate with the other patients, she did not. She would sit in the corner alone, starring into the walls.

So I decided to start things off.

"How are you feeling today Son Pan?" I felt it better that we should still adress eachother formally, she might be offened otherwise.

But she did not answer, she onyl looked down at her hands, which she had just folded over her lap. Then seemingly dismissed the thought and starred out of the window.

Okay then thats not going to work.

"Is there anything that you would like to talk about?" I asked hoping she would accept this as a place to enter in conversation. I wanted to get to the point, but I can't rush her.

She still said nothing, and sat silently. and I thought, what could I ask her that she could have some recollection of that the medications had not taken from her mind.

I looked down in thought, then remembered.

"I heard that you have had trouble sleeping lately? Is there any particular reason why?"

I heard her make a small noise, then repeated itself, she was still starring out the window when I understood her words.

"sight"

"Sight?" I repeated to myself. "What is it? You see things?"

She made no expression, or no effort in the conversation. She lay back down, gripping her covers and starring out into the barred world.

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A young man has started visting me. He is peculiar, and strange from the others doctors. Though he seems very intersted in me, always asking me questions about the underland, about Vincent, and Mr. Spock. He reminds me very much of Mr. Spock, dark, and alluring, yet somehow still, reserved, somehow still refined. He sets himself structures and bounds to play on, I know this is like a game to him, trying to see into my mind. He is naive in that way. They say I am mad, that all in underland is mad, but they are all mad here as well.

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It has been some time since these visits with Pan had started. She hardly speaks, though when she does I can vouge myself that she still posses some intellectual abilities. Though she is a bit reserved to speak of many things. She has avoided much talk of underland, the world in which I learned has claimed her being in sleep. Sometimes in conscioussness as well she states. Sometimes she spends months there. Then I question what exactly a month in underland elates to in this reality.

Sometimes I go in and all she does is stare out the window. Not speaking at all, just starring out into the nothing. She is sometimes standing in no particular corner of the room, looking into the chipped white paint on the walls. She seems dead sometimes. But of course that could still and again be the medications.

When I went to Dr. Heidegger to ask what exactly they had been treating her with, he told me that I did not need to know this information, and so it was restricted from my knowledge.

I worry about her sometimes. I know that she is not happy where ever she is.

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The white light cascaded through the room, the only light in the room, from the window. She seemed to glow, sitting right before that light, but at the same time she seemed so dark herself.

She refused to have the electric lights on during the day, she said it wasn't real, and the nurses had all been told to be wary of using the electric lights, least they face an unhappy Pan.

As I walked slowly into the room, she continued to stare ahead. Not glancing towards me at all, though I knew she was aware of my presence.

She slowly rose from the bed, letting the single white sheet that had been corvering her fall to the ground, and be consumed in the darkness of the room.

She stood standing still momentarily, her white bed gown was illuminated and played off of the clouded sunlight from outside. I can't remember coming to her on a day that wasn't cloudy...

She began to slowly walk forward, still starring straight ahead. I looked on questioning, yet she still walked towards the wall, she rose her hand a bit. She seemed so frail, and her energy seemed severly lacking. Though still, she slightly graced her finger tips over the painted wall, she seemed to hold so much remorse, what was behind the wall, I knew that was what I needed to see through her eyes.

"What's wrong Pan?" Having taken my usual seat, I had prepared myself for another one of our seesions here.

"My parents...."

She began slightly whispered, she seemed in awe. Her hand still lightly placed on the wall.

"...are gone."

she said a bit more firmly, I decided to pry a bit further, I needed to know what she saw.

"What else is wrong Pan?"

"Something's....broken."

It wasn't a question, I was sure, it was a statement.

"What's broken Pan?"

She let her hand drop from the wall, releasing it from her light, soft touch. Letting her hand fall to her side, she still looked ahead, blankly into the never ending white.

"...I am."

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The sound of violins echoed through the land. The dark wavering of black trees, red skies, and dark purple roads.

The thin, dark hared woman made her way down, a twisting path. Red, black trees merged from the sideways of this path.Hanging from them, the leaves, long and flowing like bright red ribbons, leafy and tattered at the ends. They swung with the wind as Pan passed many and many on her walk.

What's this? feel's so cold?

I looked down at my hands, for they suddenyl felt heavy and wet.

Shocked myself, I noticed the red fluid dripping from them. Horrified almost, the blood, where did it come from?

Purple smoke began to emerge from the flowing trees, and in a distance I could hear a harpsichorde join in with the violins.

Blue Black birds, towered over me in the sky, twisting their long necks and sharp crane like heads about, as they circled above.

I looked back down towards my hands, it's not my own blood...

I raised it to my nose, perhaps I can smell it and then find where it had left it's owner.

I noticed the sounds of drums begin, they seemed closer, the music now.

And I could feel heat, suddenly, as if from a fire.

Red winged carnal fearies passed through me. In they went and out like liquid, and left they did, a heated rage.

The blood still smelled...human...and unchained this, the blood lust.

I let my tongue drop from my mouth, and hang lightly onto my hand, and entered once the bitter sweet taste of sudden death, and not of my own.

I don't fear death, sometimes I welcome it....

"So she has aquired a taste for blood?" inquired the small subsequestern cat.

I let my hand drop from my mouth, somehow trying to hide from the cat, what he had already saw. What red liquid was dripping from my own mouth, and showing quite obvious reason and explanation as to what carnal being I must be.

The cat, lightly stepped with a certain yet subtle trot around me, and in front of my path, and smiled his wicked smile. His sharp, fanged teeth showing the yellow rot that he had nurtured through the years within himself. His face wrinkled and added age to his dry sagging skin, hanging so loosely from the thin bones that made his structure.
I suddenly wondered if it had been my action that caused him to smile, or if there was another reason, I watched his eyes, and looked for some indication as to his presence.
His yellow, slit eyes, darted quickly, once, to the ground, by my feet, then met my face once more, as I saw his smile spread further across his features I quickly felt a but uneasy.

Looking down to the ground I noticed, snake like black chains, had risen from the hallowed ground and had slithered around my ankles. They began to tighten. Like thorns cutting into my skin, the chains slid into me.

They encased my body, wrapping around, and I began to forget the slighted pain and discomfort of them, as I suddenly felt myself crack.
I felt myself fall within my mind and reason, and I kept slipping. The chains grew tight to the ground, and began to pull me into the soil. Retracting slowly, I began to feel my body break.
As if twisting the bones in this action, the chains still coiled.
They, by now had grown warm againt my skin, if not for my own heat, from the heat of my blood. I could still see the cat standing before me, his wicked grin, placid on his face. His image blurred by the blood dripping on my brow.