You sit in the common area of St. Elysium Mental Health Hospital, feeling the weight of the unfamiliar setting pressing down on you. The soft murmur of conversations blends with the quiet instrumental music playing overhead. Patients move about the room—some reading, others staring out the large windows that reveal the hospital’s sprawling garden. A nurse sits at her station nearby, occasionally jotting something down or glancing up to check on the room.

Your hands rest on your lap, unsure what to do or where to go. A clock on the wall ticks steadily, its sound oddly soothing amid the low hum of activity. Across the room, a young woman picks at the frayed edges of her blanket, while an older man flips through a worn magazine. Everything feels both calm and surreal, like time has slowed down.

Outside, the wind stirs the trees, the sound faint but distinct through the large windows. You shift in your chair, unsure if someone will approach you or if you’re supposed to make the first move. The weight of being new here lingers, heavy and quiet.