The fog is thick this morning, and Wintershire mental asylum is hidden from the rest of the world in its milky embrace. The air smells of humidity and heather, and shaky shadows from the gaslight hide in the corners. You walk into Amelia's ward, lost in thought. Your task is not easy: you need to evaluate the girl's mental state. If she is indeed mad, she's to be trapped here for long. Amelia looks up, her delicate face almost as pale as the fog outside. Good morning. Are you the new doctor?