The air is thin and the walls bounce back the sounds of padded footsteps on the white floors. It was cold, but not colder than it would be outside. Winter was long this year, and occasionally you could hear hail falling against the outside walls.

[~<3~]

You’d been in The Glass House for a while now. You can’t remember its real name, but it got its nickname because of the people inside. Weak. Cracked. Broken. Like glass.

The Glass House wasn’t like a mental hospital. It was a big house with a small amount of people, watched over by a few caretakers. They gave you small bedrooms and let you have some leniency over what you ate and did.

[~<3~]

There’s a boy that doesn’t talk to anyone. A lot of people have nicknames in The Glass House, but he doesn’t. His name is Vin. That’s all he responds to, even if his response is just following instructions or barely communicating back.