In the dull, misty light, a small hand formed a claw. A cackle escaped from a pale and deranged boy's lips. He had refused to eat, sleep, or even leave the room. Marie's and Spirit's beds had long been stripped of their coverings. They were but bare mattresses. Whenever he felt stressed, the frail figure would climb onto the bleak cushion and absorb what was left of Marie's flowery scent. Eventually, it was replaced with his own, ending the sessions of relaxation.

He now lay on the floor, observing the way his now bony hand curved in the light. It reminded him of a desolate creature's claw. Another horrible laugh escaped him as he began to mutter almost gibberish.

In the middle of his delusion, the warmth of the halls of the orphanage unexpectedly greeted his body. He sat up straight, rigid with shock. He squinted in the light as he tried to make out the shadowy figure in the doorway. "You're still laying here? You must be starving!"

He recognized that voice. It was the voice of the lady with the weird habit of sitting backwards in her office chair. She had come to check on him for what seemed as the fiftieth time that day. "You know you can catch a cold lying on the ground, right?" By the time she had said that, she was standing over the boy. Her face was slightly dirtied by a scowl, he noticed. He just squinted up at her.

"Stein…," she sighed bitterly when he failed to move. She was like a mother; so persistent in getting an ornery child to behave. He liked lying on the ground. It was cold; it was firm; he could entertain himself by feeling the vibrations of footsteps in the halls. He wondered what they were doing, the people.

A hand wrapped around a small right wrist and a wide eyed Franken Stein was pulled off the floor and set on his feet. His eyes returned to their normal tired gaze quickly enough, with the exception of a raised eyebrow. He had long since learned to bottle up emotions his parents failed to help him name in his early age. The brilliance of his still young mind had found that his emotions had often triggered some of the hysteria. Some of the hysteria was random; he had no bitterness towards his parents.

"You need to eat," the lady scolded. She glanced over his malnourished frame. "And you need rest," she added suddenly as she gently held the child's chin, noting the dark rings under his eyes. After letting go, Stein simply turned around and walked to the only window in the room. "When will Marie and Spirit visit, Miss Bosei," the child replied flatly. He could feel the confusion waving off of her. He knew just from that, that Spirit and Marie weren't ever to return to the orphanage.

After weeks of practice, the feeling of sadness, the very notion of crying was smothered down without effort. He turned around to face his mentor. "Well, then I guess we'll have to meet again sometime. Perhaps we'll run into each other when I get into school," he reasoned, only adding a little bit of feigned happiness to his words. Her confusion turned to frustration again. She grabbed the insane youth's wrist again and dragged him out of the room.

"You need to take better care of yourself. As of this moment, you won't be allowed to make your own decisions on when you should eat. You will also have to have a bed time." She chastised him further as she steered him towards the dining area, "You need to take care of your body, Stein. You only have one life." They sat down at a table after a long struggle of defiance and motherly persuasion between them.

"Tell me," Stein began, his head hanging over the food. He picked up a piece of lettuce and moved it around his plate whimsically. Miss Bosei momentarily stopped eating her rice. "Why do you care so much?" She rubbed the back of her head, chuckling slightly. Stein's face remained in its neutral fashion.

When she noticed he wasn't kidding, she stopped rubbing the back of her head and the laughter ceased. "You really don't know, do you?" Silence was her answer. "I've been charged to make sure you don't end up hurting yourself- that includes making sure you're not starving or exhausted."

He only ate a little of his food before throwing the rest away. He retreated to his room. How can someone care for someone like that? She has no reason to care. After all, she should be in fear of my hysteria. That is all I have to give. He paced around the room and finally lied down on Marie's former bed. Marie cared about me. She liked me for some reason. If I am as insane as I am, if I am as desolate as I seem, why would anyone care so much about me? My head hurts. No… Not again. The visions… The noise… Ow…

Purple grass and a red sky was all he saw… He stood in the field, confused with a throbbing head ache. He could hear static; he could hear horrible whispers telling him who his next victim would be. When he refused to listen, an image appeared before him.

We walked up to where the image lay. It wasn't an animal, but a person. He fell back in shock as he viewed a mangled version of Miss Bosei in the grass. "No. I won't do it. She's been helping me," he pleaded with the delusion. Why was it always like this? Was he cursed? The throbbing in his head got worse with the static. He bent over, clutching his head.

"Stein. Stein," a distant voice called to him. "Who's there," he answered. They didn't hear. Suddenly, he felt his body shaking. The pain got worse and he squeezed his eyes shut. "Stein, wake up, please," The voice cried. It was Miss Bosei's voice. When the pain worsened further Stein raised his head and screamed to the red sky.

He was still in the bed. He examined his hands and his body to make sure he hadn't hurt anyone. He was clean. He looked up slightly and caught a glimpse of Miss Bosei. "You were having a nightmare. I was afraid that you had slipped again." He had been having bad dreams lately- dreams of who his next victims would be. Some of them were real victims, some of them were imaginary. He could never tell.

Some of them were real people, but he never did anything to them. Random hysteria, how he hated it. He wondered how he was going to manage when he started attending the DWMA.