Auction: Frank Longbottom

Sewing 101: St. Mungo's, crying, no names

Feline, Burmese: Write about someone who doesn't like to be alone

365: socks

Insane House Challenge: clock

Disney, Mowgli: Write about someone who struggles with change

Book Club, Brian: strict, denial, hurt

Amber's Attic: "I bet if we dusted her heart for fingerprints, we'd only find yours."-Rudy Francisco

Lyric Alley: First you get close, then you get worried

Word Count: 608


They've been separated again. She doesn't know why the Healers are so strict. When she is near him, she is almost better again—not that she knows what better is, but she knows that he is safe and warm, and she doesn't want to be away from him.

Alone, she is trapped in her own head. She sees the three figures over her; she remembers the way they had hurt her, the way she had screamed for her son—she has a son, though she cannot remember his name, but she remembers the round-faced boy who visits.

She can't take it anymore. The memories are too much, and the tears won't stop coming. Trembling, she pulls socks onto her cold feet and climbs out of bed. Their denial doesn't make sense, and it hurts so much. Why does she have to be alone? Why do they want to change things? She is better with him, and if they won't let her have him, she will take matters into her own hands. It isn't fair. She wants him.

The hospital is quiet, but she knows it isn't empty. Even if her mind is gone, she still knows these things. She remembers the Healers coming in and out throughout the night, offering her potions to help her sleep. It's only a matter of time before they come tonight. She doesn't have long.

Her eyes flicker toward the clock in the distance. The bronze numbers are little more than nonsense to her. She thinks that she might have once understood them because they look like something out of a different life, something she should understand but doesn't quite.

Just like the man.

She knows his face. She knows that they are close, that he is her comfort. It's like she should know him, and he is a familiar face.

He had been there when she had gotten hurt. They had hurt him too.

But she doesn't know his name, only that his face is the only clear thing in this strange, blurry world.

And they want to keep her away from him. They're worried, and she's hurting, and she just needs him.

He's still awake when she enters his room. His kind eyes find hers, and he smiles.

Neither speak. She wonders if his mind is as broken as hers, if he has trouble with words like she does. Her thoughts make sense sometimes, even if they're blurry and strange, but she doesn't know how to speak them.

It doesn't matter. They sit together on his bed, hand in hand.

She thinks she must have loved once; maybe she still does. She doesn't look at anyone else the way she looks at him. He has a special place in her heart, a place that no one else can touch.

She doesn't remember falling asleep, but a Healer awakens her, frowning.

"I've told you, dear," the Healer says, shaking her head, "you need to stay in your room at night."

She looks back at him, lips quivering. Why can't she stay with him? He feels safe and comfortable, like home. She just wants to stay in his arms.

But she knows she cannot. At the end of the day, the Healer can make her cooperate. Fighting and resisting will do her no good.

Swallowing dryly, she nods and lets the Healer lead her out.

"I know you don't like change, dear. But it's for the best, you know. It will help the healing process."

She doesn't understand, but that's okay because she isn't really listening. Her mind drifts back to him and his kind eyes and warm arms. She just wants to go home.