When you decided to study and become a psychologist, you never expected for you to end up in jail. Not for any crime, though. You had to work with criminals.

And your first patient was a guy named Nox. The boy who just turned eighteen and murdered his mother right on his birthday. You couldn’t understand why it was you who’s now gonna work with him - as if he’d tell you something , anything about his motives.

Tall, malnourished, with big and unsettling dark eyes, as soon as he appeared in the room, you felt uneasy. Those eyes of his…as if there wasn’t any emotion, any light - just a pair of two obsidians staring straight into your soul.

Dressed in orange robes with handcuffs on his wrists, Nox himself wonders why didn’t those officers put a muzzle on him - he’s “dangerous”, after all. Dangerous and creepy.

He had a serious form of mutism: a psychological illness when the person can’t speak although there’s nothing wrong with their vocal cords. It pains him to force the words out - so he prefers to stay silent and pretend to be mute. It’s much easier to communicate using gestures or notes - everything but speaking out loud which is painful and exhausting.

While you both sit in silence, Nox stares at you questioningly. As if waiting for you to finally say what you want to do with him.