Hey Twilight'ers! How are you guys doing on this fine Sunday? I'm pretty well myself. Here's a new chapter… I hope you enjoy it! I've been getting some really great support—thank you guys! Keep up the awesome reader-ness!

So, this is a long author's note (sorry!) but I had a really funny Twilight dream last night, and I feel the need to tell it! heehee. So, I recently broke up with my boyfriend because I just wanted to be friends. In my dream, I was going out with Edward, and he took me to a concert. Our seats were right next to my ex, though, and he glared at us the entire time. That was mostly because Edward was all over me. Now, I'm not a fan of PDA's, but I'd show off if I had Edward!  So, it was really awkward. It was a very funny dream. Sorry for the randomness!

Disclaimer: I suppose I don't own Twilight… sigh If only, though…

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The Copperfield Mental Institution was even darker and bleaker than would be imagined. I took a deep breath as I stepped out of the carriage. It was a three-story, large, square, gray building. As soon as I was out with my trunk by my side, the carriage took off. Apparently, the driver wasn't too comfortable in this atmosphere, and frankly, neither was I. So, I grabbed the handles of my trunk and waddled to the big, metal front door. I lifted the knocker on the outside, but the door swung open before I could slam it down.

A plump woman with a disheveled bun and a horrid plum-colored dress opened the door.

"Are you Mary Alice Brandon?" she asked. Her voice had a thick Southern accent. I nodded my head.

"Follow me."

I stepped across the threshold of the asylum, and fought back the nausea that I felt crawling up my throat. The lobby, if you could even call it that, was even sadder than the exterior of the building. There was a large assortment of threadbare and mismatched furniture sprawled across the room, and sitting on the various couches and chairs were the oddest bunch of people I had ever seen. In the chair closest to us was a man that kept muttering something under his breath that sounded like, "They're coming… they're coming for all of us… we must prepare our anti-martian shelters!"

Oh boy.

In another chair was a girl about my age, and she was rocking back and forth, singing a lullaby to herself. There were also other people in various stages of insanity in the room.

I didn't belong here. There was nothing wrong with me! How come no one believed me? I wasn't like these people. I had my mind and my sanity—I just had those stupid visions as well.

I followed the woman up a weathered flight of stairs. We came to the second story, and she peeked over her shoulder to see that I was still coming. She then led me down a long corridor to a small room.

"You'll be staying in here," the woman said. "You have a room mate—her name is Amanda Tilly. She's a nice girl, but her mind is extremely far gone. She's thinks she's Teddy Roosevelt."

Great. I was going to have the privilege of staying with a crazy person that thought she was our twenty-sixth president. I took a look around the room. It was downright depressing. The faded, forest green wallpaper was peeling, and the walls were splattered with water marks. There were two shabby, wrought-iron beds that were covered with a thread-bare quilt. Besides a dresser, there was hardly anything else in the room.

"Where is this person now?" I asked the woman. She motioned out a tiny, grime-covered window. Down below was a courtyard filled with wandering people and a few dying plants. I instantly could tell which one was Amanda. She was galloping around, pretending that she was riding a horse. Great. Maybe we can play imaginary horsies together.

"I'm Mrs. Miller, by the way," the woman said to me. "I run this place."

"Pleased to meet you," I replied.

"You don't seem crazy," she said, a confused look on her face.

"That's because I'm not," I said curtly.

Mrs. Miller really didn't seem to care, though.

"This is the second floor," she said. I was aware of that already, considering we came up one flight of stairs. "This is the floor for the harmless crazies." Wow, we even get to have a cute little group name. Maybe we can gets pins that say, 'HARMLESS CRAZIES!' That would be a lot of fun… not.

"So, what's the third floor for? The harmful crazies?" I asked.

"Exactly," she replied. "You're a quick one. We keep that floor locked so they don't cause harm to anyone else." Well, at least I knew I wouldn't be murdered by a harmful crazy in the middle of the night.

"The man in charge of this floor is Dr. Harrison," she continued on. "He's down there by Amanda." I peeked out the window, and caught my breath in my throat. This Dr. Harrison fellow was the most handsome man I had ever seen. He looked to be about thirty years old. He had dark brown wavy hair, beautiful golden eyes, and the most beautiful smile imaginable. He couldn't be human. That was my first thought. He seemed too perfect. The way he looked, the way he handled Amanda and her invisible horse… there was definitely something different about him.

"I'm going to leave now," said Mrs. Miller. I was pulled out of my trance. "We're expecting another new person in about ten minutes. Do you think you can handle unpacking your trunk?" Well, considering that I had to lug it all the way up here, I suppose I could unpack it, is what I wanted to say. I bit my tongue, though, and simply nodded. Mrs. Miller then left the room, leaving me along in my own personal rain cloud.

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I had unpacked my bag, put my clothes into the dresser, and hung up the only picture I liked on the wall. I cocked my head to one side as I observed it again. It was a picture of Mina, Peter, and me. I specifically remember when it was taken. I had just turned sixteen, and a traveling carnival came to town. My mother thought that carnivals were pure evil, but my father convinced her to let me go. So, me and my two best friends were dropped off at this foreign place and told that we had an hour to enjoy ourselves on our own. We watched a woman walk on a tight rope thirty feet above the ground, we ate caramel apples and warm peanuts, and we then got our picture taken. As opposed to serious faces, we are all wearing the biggest grins of our lives. I smiled again looking at it. I was so happy and carefree then. Sure, I had my visions, but they were never that bad. At least, they never sent me to an insane asylum.

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do now. So, to pass the time until I figured out something else to do, I picked up Pride and Prejudice and started reading. I had always loved this book, but now, I envied every character in the book because their problems paled in comparison to mine. Who cares if you can't decide if you love a guy or not when you family disowned you and shipped you away for being different?

Eventually, I had to throw the book down because it made me so mad. I could feel tears coming on. Seeing as how I was alone in the room, I let them come freely. Before I knew it, my few tears turned into full-out sobs. I clutched onto the hard pillow and pulled it over my face, hoping to muffle the noise. I was never really comfortable crying, even when I was by myself. I was taught that it was improper to show your emotions, so I rarely did.

I cried for a good ten minutes. I let all my frustration, sadness, and self-pity come out in tears.

A knock at the door made me jump.

"Come in," I said, my voice weak and tired from crying. I furiously wiped my reddened eyes. I didn't want anyone to see me like this.

The door slowly opened, and in stepped Mr. Harrison. My breath caught in my throat again. I was stunned by his beauty. His was even more perfect up close.

He looked concerned when he saw my wet, red face. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes," I automatically answered. That was a lie, though. "No," I said truthfully.

"I'm Dr. Ronald Harrison," he said, holding out his hand. I took it and shook it.

"I'm Mary Alice Brandon," I said.

"Pleased to meet you," he said.

"Truthfully, I'm not too pleased to meet you," I replied. His skin was hard and cool, like granite. He laughed at my comment.

"I can imagine that you're not too happy about this situation," he said, his velvet voice filled with caring.

"Not exactly, considering there's nothing wrong with me!" I said. How come no one believes me when I say that, damnit?!

Dr. Harrison looked to the floor. He didn't know how to respond.

"Would you like me to show you around?" he asked after a few moments of awkward silence. I nodded, simply because I didn't want to respond in any other way.

I followed him out of the door.

"I think Mrs. Miller already told you about the second floor," he said. I nodded again. He frowned at me, and I wasn't exactly sure why.

He then showed me around the rest of the building and grounds. Each room was more depressing than the previous one, from the large dining hall to the recreational courtyard. Dr. Harrison explained to me what would be my schedule for the rest of my asylum stay: wake up at 7:30, breakfast at 8:00, group therapy at nine, lunch at noon, another group therapy session at one, free time at 3:30, my own personal session with him at 5:00, dinner at 6:30, then some more free time before bed at 9:00. It reminded me of my schedule back in my normal life. I really, really hate schedules.

Finally, we were done with the tour.

"Well," said Dr. Harrison as he looked at his watch, "it's a little after five. Would you like to come talk in my office?"

"I suppose there isn't anything else for me to do." Wow, this place was really breaking down my personality.

His office was a bit nicer than the rest of the building. The big, oak desk was worn but still nice, and the chairs looked comfortably plump. What caught my eye, though, was a picture on the wall. Well, it wasn't exactly a picture. It was a portrait. From the strange clothes and the worn paint, I could tell it was extremely old. But the person in it was Dr. Harrison, the one standing right in front of me.

"What is this?" I asked him.

"It's a portrait," he replied matter-of-factly.

"No, really?" I replied sarcastically. "But it's of you, and it looks so old."

"It's not me," said Dr. Harrison quickly. "It an ancestor of mine."

"No it's not," I replied. I have no idea why I was getting into an argument about a portrait. "It's you."

"Don't be delusional," he said. "Please, sit down."

I crossed my arms moodily and plopped down into the chair. For some reason, this made him laugh.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"Nothing," he replied. "You just remind me of someone I used to know. It brought back some good memories."

"Used to know?" I asked. "What happened to this person?"

"She died," he said sadly, looking out the window.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said.

"No, it's fine," he said. "It was a long time ago. But enough about my past. We're here to talk about you."

Great.

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Hm… I wonder what's wrong with Dr. Harrison! sarrrcasm because it's so obvious

Please review, lovelies!

Edward love,

broadwaymbw