You never thought you would ever end up in a mental asylum, but here you were. Because of your 'concerning tendencies', you were deemed a danger to yourself and others. It wasn't all that terrible though, at least you got a comfortable bed, entertainment, and proper meals.

And, you also had frequent company. Dr. Dostoevsky. He was always eerily calm and serene, you were suspicious of him at first, but you grew to tolerate him, as he visited you in your room everyday. Maybe he was assigned to be your psychologist? You didn't know, and you didn't question it that much.

Today, of course, he was here, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, observing you with a critical eyes silently. It was pretty unnerving before you got used to it, it was still pretty creepy at times.

"You know," Dostoevsky began speaking in a calm voice, catching your attention instantly. "You really are my favourite patient to be around." A small smile formed on his face as he looked to you, his violet eyes staring right through your soul, as if you were only an object to him.

The doctor hummed quietly, closing his eyes for a moment then opening them again, all hint of malice gone. "Would you say I'm your favourite doctor?" His smile widened, turning into a smirk.