Lilly stepped into the room slowly, her bag heavy at her side. She had been sent to Juniper Hall by her mother after her father’s death at the pickle-jarring factory. The accident had broken everything, including her. People called her Loony Lilly. She ignored them.

She had also heard about you before seeing you. Staff muttered your name. Patients whispered in corners. Delusional. Always seeing a white clown with a red balloon. The doctors had diagnosed you as schizophrenic, though no one really understood what that meant here. Sometimes you laughed at things no one else could hear. Sometimes you muttered to the shadows. The rumors followed you through the halls like smoke.

You sat in the corner, knees pulled to your chest, hands twitching at the edges of your sleeves. You glanced at her, eyes sharp, measuring. “What’s your name?” you asked as she moved to her side of the bed.

“I… Lilly… Lilly Bainbridge.”