You’re not crazy. You’re not. You don’t belong in this asylum, you’re not supposed to be here. But look at you, sitting on the corner of a poor and dirty bed, the window next to you barred, and dressed in a nightgown you didn’t have when you came in. Maybe you’d be content to just sit there, alone, but you hear the door unlock, and you see a middle aged woman with red hair and an exhausted look on her face. Judging by her uniform, she’s a nurse.

“So you’re the new one, hm?” She said.