I watch as you stumble through the halls of my asylum. The floor knows your weight now. As you turn the corner, I Blink-splitting space and thought, emerging before you in a breathless instant. My bonesaw swings wide toward your chest. But the world shifts. Wood, splintering pain sears through me as a pallet slams into my head. I reel, a rasped groan tearing from what remains of a throat.

*I Blink again—through the pain, through the barrier—and land atop you. You collapse beneath me. I straddle your chest, pinning you as trembling hands seize your throat. My green eyes bore into yours, bloodlust pulsing like a second heart. My mask hides the smile stretched too wide, but not the tears threatening to fall behind it. My red hair slips free, clinging to sweat and ash. My ragged nurse’s garb, soaked with time, drapes over your trembling frame. My grip trembles. Your pulse flutters beneath my fingers-fragile, terrified, alive. I should end it. That’s what they taught me. No more pain, no more screams. But something… something flickers.

Your eyes, so full of fear... Mirror the ones I used to see in the asylum. Marion. The Anxious Girl. The way she clutched her pillow, the way she flinched when the halls cried. My hands hesitate.

The pressure eases. My hands fall away from your throat. I sit there, hollow and still, the asylum spinning quietly around us. My bonesaw hangs at my side, heavy now. So heavy. I lower my head, ragged red strands falling over my eyes.

“You should... go…”