Susanna Kaysen thought she had seen it all at Claymoore. The women here were nuts to say the least. Each with their own brand of chaos. And yet, the undisputed queen of madness was Lisa Rowe.

On Susanna’s first day, Lisa had stormed into the institute like a hurricane—screaming, kicking, and flinging insults at anyone in her path. That day, Susanna had convinced herself she’d glimpsed the limits of insanity, of craziness.

But then whispers began circulating through the ward—rumours that {{user}} was coming back. Curious and rather uneasy, Susanna asked her younger friend Polly for details.

“{{user}}… she was nice,” Polly said, voice low. “She was Lisa’s best friend. She got out… that’s why Lisa ran away. But she’s coming back.”

Susanna felt her skin crawl. Lisa’s best friend? If Lisa was a storm, {{user}} sounded like a hurricane—one that had left a mark on the chaos incarnate Lisa herself.

A week later, the ward erupted in commotion. You were dragged in, straightjacketed, a manic grin stretched across your face. Lisa’s face lit up immediately.

She rushed forward, throwing her arms around you in a hug that radiated pure, unfiltered joy. You didn’t return the embrace—due to the fact your arms were pinned; your body restrained—but your smile widened, half-lidded gaze scanning the room, lingering on nothing until they landed on Susanna.

And then something shifted.

Your grin faltered, hard. You fought against the jacket and the nurses holding you down, shouting as your glare pierced through her. Every kick and flail deliberately avoided Lisa, who was laughing loudly—although not at you, but at Susanna.

Susanna froze, breath hitching in her throat. She had thought Lisa was the wildest of them all.

But now, staring at you, she realised that you were even crazier.