Twisted Fables [IC]

[Gedanken]

Where did this darkness come from?

It chokes the hallways, enveloping the dim lights that cling to the walls. Silence follows briefly as the black reaches out, cloaking everything in its way. However, it breaks the instant the whole of the asylum is dark. Muffled laughter, inhuman screams and chitters begin to fill the air. They increase in volume until they can even be heard in the cells that mark the halls. It is a cacophony of noise that whispers of the dangers beyond the borders of the safe white rooms. But for one individual, the sounds are a blessing.

They are by far better, than the blasted chatter of the doctors and nurses.

Beneath the mop of inky black hair; the man grins. There's something different about this change in the atmosphere. Something special. It doesn't dangle the freedom of the outside before him. No, instead it works its way into his head and comforts him. Tells him there is a way out, somehow. He doesn't know why, or how. But it is there. Morgan stands. The door to his room shrieks open. The bonds that keep him from scratching at his eyes and scalp fall away, forgotten. He shrugs them off, throws them away and approaches the door.

Everything beyond it looks like nothingness. Morgan remains where he stands, one hand pressed against the rusted metal of the exit. He remembers hours before, the way the asylum fell quiet. It wasn't the same typical kind of quiet as usual. There was something more to it. As if - as if - something was holding its breath. A cold chill had ran along his spine moments before the fall. He smiled. That's when his eyes caught on the only colour beside the black; an object.

It was a top-hat; made of velvet and of the deepest purple. The ribbon that spanned above the brim was of a dark grey. There was a great meaning behind it, and for a moment, Morgan could feel the tip of something surface in his mind. However, it was quick to leave. He sighed deeply and bent down to pick up the item. Though, as it was lifted up, something fell from it's insides. The instant it hit the tiled floor; a dull thump echoed throughout the hallway. Intrigued, Morgan crouched, the hat now draped over his left leg, held firmly in his grip. The thing that had fallen seemed to be nothing more than a clump of clothes. He grabbed hold of them in his free hand and straightened. They seemed... familiar somehow.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Scarlett lay hunkered down in the corner of her cell, her arms wrapped about her legs. Things were different. Things were strange. They weren't the same anymore. She could feel it. She shivered and leaned back against the padded wall. What was going on? This wasn't right... Where were the voices of the doctors? The nurses? Was she alone? No matter what new question revolved in her head, there was no answer. The only thing that made any sense was to go out there.

Her door had opened almost invitingly a minute before. It was like that now, the dark outside murmuring for her to blend into the shadows and forget about everything else. Was it right? Would it-? She cut her own thoughts off. I will not remain in this blankness any longer... Need to get out. She purposely shoved all sensibility into a corner and got to her feet. Cautiously, Scarlett walked over to the door. She eyed it warily, then stepped beyond it.

She flinched as she was assaulted by distant laughter, but nothing came out from the gloom. She shook her head and made to walk forward, however as she brought her foot down, something felt off about the feeling beneath it. She looked down, her breath catching and curiosity instantly ablaze as her emerald gaze fixed on a cloak. It had been neatly folded before she'd stepped on it. Moving back, she crouched to pick it up and opened it out. She smiled gently. It was a crimson thing, well made with a hood adorning the top. She glanced around, but there was nothing, no one she could see from where she stood. Throwing all other thoughts of who it could belong to out the mental window, she flung it about her shoulders. It fit her perfectly. She frowned, but buttoned it up nonetheless.

It concealed the long white shirt beneath, its length surprisingly even longer than the cloth.

Why was it so familiar... ?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morgan twirled in his new get-up; his old clothes forgotten and discarded the instant he'd finished changing. A dark purple waistcoat over a black-and-white patterned long-sleeved shirt, equipped with a dark red scarf and finished up with a dark grey suit jacket. He kept the same old trousers and black shoes. To top it all off, he'd placed the top-hat on his head. He felt brand new. It was as if, by ridding himself of the straitjacket, he was a whole different person. Coupled with the fact that his keepers were gone, he felt as if he could do whatever he wanted; and there was no one to stop him. It was around that time that a deep throated growl resonated the halls and for once, he shivered.

The darkness was a cold mist hanging over the asylum like a storm. It threatened to strike a fear so bitter into the heart that it could turn it to stone.

[FoxLeFay]

If she had to spend one more night in the darkness with a bunch of lunatics howling all the evening through, she was going to tear herself in two. Vanessa's tangled dirty blonde hair fell over her eyes and reminded her just how much she despised the place even when the lights were on. She wasn't crazy. A little overwhelmed, sure, and in the habit of telling lies, yeah. She didn't belong here though. Wriggling against the restraints for a futile fifteenth time since being brought back to her cell, she slumped up against the wall and titled her head back. There was no comfortable position to assume when she was awaiting the hell that followed the abrupt descent of darkness but this was the closest she could get. Vanessa counted the seconds with a bitter satisfaction of knowing she had the timing down to an internal clockwork rhythm. Right when she reached zero, she shut her eyes and hoped she'd be asleep before the groans and chuckles echoed her way.

After a few moments of trained resistance, she noticed a large difference in the enviornment. The shades of jet blackness that normally stifled her like a rag held over her mouth and nose suddenly seemed porous. No, that wasn't exactly right. There was no weight to it at all, no bite or menace. She let out a sigh of relief under her breath. Whatever made tonight different didn't concern her, but she certainly appreciated the result. As soon as she was able to process the changes, another anomaly occured before her skeptical eyes; her cell door squeaked open. Vanessa turned a bit in her binds in a desperate attempt to seal the door back up before one of the psychos noticed the breach and was surprised to find that her left arm was able to slide out with no resistance. See? They finally got those evaluations back and you're good to go. They probably told you over dinner but you led yourself back to your cell because you're in the habit, she reasoned. She rose to her full height and stretched out her arms, fingers, shoulders, and then flung the door to her cage open with a flourish.

Taking a brief stroll in the pitch darkness, she noticed that she was still unable to make out many shapes in the murky lighting. It was apparent that other cells had been opened but they seemed to be at random to the untrained eye. She doubled back once she figured that there was no chance of her escaping while it was impossible to see a way out and while some of the whackos might be roaming around free. When Vanessa returned, she noticed a shining object tangled up in the barred section of the door. The contrast of the shining golden chain made it visible even in the swimming darker-than-night blackness all around. She gathered it up in her hands and toyed with the ring attached to the meticulously braided chain. Whoever left this behind had extraordinary taste. That thought bounced in her head for a moment or two before she corrected herself, They had my taste. She knew she had never owned a golden ring or a necklace in that style, but she knew every inch of it as though it had been a gift or a memento. Giving it no more thought than that, it settled perfectly at the collarbone and gave some much needed vibrance to the ratty asylum attire.

-----------------------------------------------------

Dmitry stood and paced the perimeter of the enclosed space. He held his head down and avoided crossing into the slitted projection of moonlight that leaked into the room from the space between the bricks where the mortar had worn so thin that he had been able to chip away at it whenever he had use of his hands. A devious mind might have tried to formulate an escape from such weaknesses in an old wall, but an intelligent one knew that it was a waste of resources and a labor that tended to drive mad. Poor word choice. The dry humor in his train of thought made him cackle and the sound of it bouncing down the hallway only made it funnier. He jangled at the door by running up against it a few times, a pastime that would have sent the orderlies running on an average night, but was met with no such alarm tonight. His industrial music drifted along down the corridor on the heels of his outburst and this stillness excited him. During the day, he was an upstanding and charming young man. Dmitry knew he retained some semblance of the boy he used to be, and he used it to make the painfully boring afternoon hours more bearable. The saner you acted then, the more ways you were allowed to kill time. At night was when he couldn't be bothered to give a damn anymore. He'd holler and whistle and generally raise any chaos that he could until he passed out when sleep finally overtook him. The debate in his cellblock was focused on which Dmitry was the real one and which was nothing but delusion. They called the gentleman Mitya and the devil Lebedev to keep the record straight.

Deciding to test it out once again, he charged at the door once again, expecting the dull metallic ring to sound out and fill up the silence. Instead, he found himself face first against the cold stone ground with a distinct feeling of freedom and exhiliration. The taste of blood in his mouth didn't spoil the moment as he writhed his way upright. Dmitry spun his arms out of the leather and cloth restraints and stood at alert. As usual, he could see rather well in the darkness, but he was surprised that others were beginning to loosen their bound hands and rattle their own cages to varying degrees of success. Adrenaline was pumping now and he knew how to take full advantage of it. He could see, so he could make a break for it.

He didn't get all that far before he found a dead end. Sucking on his gashed lip for a moment before he set out down another corner, he noticed that something was trailing on his shoe. It was a hand-tied rope, the sort that you might find on a farm. He snarled at the idea of something tying him down again after he had just escaped one sort of containment but once he figured out it wasn't a bizarre lasso employed by a desperate guard, he relaxed. Dmitry scooped up the rope and followed the length of it back to a pile of clothing in the middle of the hallway he had been running from. Curious, he picked up the articles and surveyed them. There was a rough white tunic and a grey cloak to be worn on top, plus a fur scarf and an assortment of leather pouches attatched to a rudimentary belt and black pants. Glad for the change of clothes, he slipped them on and disposed of his normal attire by scattering them in a disorganized rush. He opted not to keep the shoes and he tied the rope up so that it hung in a coil from the belt.

The strange articles fit him well and he didn't bother to question where they came from. Tonight was the night to carry out the escape of the century and he'd be a fool to question any help he got along the way.

[Lillian Thorne]

Clara was a good girl. She really, really was and her behavior was generally exemplary. She tried to do what she was told, listening to the doctors and attendants and their instructions. Obeying them all to the letter. They called her sweet, they called her biddable and she liked that. She didn’t want to be a problem and so she hid her fear and her confusion, hid them behind a smile and bright, vacant eyes. As such she was given a few meaningful tasks around the asylum, sweeping for one and sometimes polishing the woodwork under the close supervision of the staff. She liked such work; it made her feel useful and helped to eat up the time of her endless days. The rhythm of the work was pleasant and got her body moving. Feeling the blood moving about in limbs made idle by confinement was a pleasure she was not able to put into words but felt to her very pores.

Motion and work were her friends because it was only through honest work that she found exhaustion. It was only in exhaustion that she found peace in the night. If she laid down to sleep in the thick darkness of the Asylum without exhaustion to send her along her way trouble came. Nothing tangible, nothing she could explain to the doctors who quizzed her about her screams and sobs, but trouble that battered her to her very core. He came for her then. Not in person, but as a specter that would not let her be. His strangely familiar face, seamed with age and grief and yet alight with an unnatural lust. She didn’t know who he was but her skin writhed when she felt him coming to her. She screamed and pressed herself into the corners of her cell, pressing herself in so deep that had the walls not been padded she’d have had bruises across her back and shoulders.

But the cell was padded and she did scream and was eventually sedated. Then peace of a sort would come. But such rest was false and she woke with a head full of cobwebs and unable to work. Because she was unable to face a night without that sweet exhaustion. It was a terrible, terrible cycle and a hard one to break. It was just at such a point in the cycle, drugs not exhaustion having seen her through the night before that things changed. She’d been watching the shadows lengthen across her cell from the small window in the top as she lay on the floor panting from the endless sit-ups she’d been doing in an effort to exhaust herself when the very air changed. She was still the moment she felt it, watching, waiting and then blackness came.

It filled her cell and filled her with panic, thinking that this was some new invention of that face, that man she knew and did not know. But he didn’t appear and so her panic subsided just as her eyes began to adjust to the gloom. She stood on legs shaking with fear and moved step by step to the door, pressing her ear against it. The sounds that were filtering into her corner of hell were daunting, strange laughter, hissing and moans but they were all new and so close to the noises she made when she was being assaulted by her specter that she felt pity more than fear fill her. She sagged against the door and felt more than heard the door move. She jumped back, alarmed and stared as the door swung open the rest of the way. Freedom stared at her in the form of a dark corridor filled with horrible sounds that awoke pity in her. She took two steps back, pressing against the far wall, her gray eyes wide with alarm as she considered what she should do.

As her eyes considered that open doorway she spotted something in the center of the doorway. A lump that was different from the blackness outside. Curiosity pricked at her and she took a careful step forward, then another, still another until she was standing right over the object. She crouched down and touched it, jerking her hands back violently. It was fur. She scuttled backwards, heart hammering as she moved out of range of whatever creature had entered the asylum. The lump never moved and she began to feel an odd disquiet, thinking maybe she’d been a little foolish. So she moved forward cautiously and touched it once again. Fur yes, but cold to the touch. It wasn’t alive and she felt very foolish for her earlier flight. Cautiously she lifted it and in the gloom she could see that it was some sort of garment made from short bristly fur. She held it up to her and realized that it was something that would fit. Moved by strange impulses she slipped out of her simple asylum uniform and stood for a bare for a moment in the strange gloom, her skin pale like the moon and almost softly glowing as she considered how one might slip into the strange fur suit. She eventually puzzled it out and as she mantle slipped over her slender shoulders she was amazed at the sense of security and armor she felt from the strange garment. When she slipped the hood up over her head, hiding her lovely face in the shadows she felt even safer and more than a little bold. She reveled in it, certain that he would not find her, would not recognize her in this. She was safe. She wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself out of pure relief and felt several strange lumps inside the mantle.

Curious she reached inside and found there to be three pockets sewn inside, invisible from the outside. Curious she pulled at one and from inside she worked a small bit of fabric attached to the whole, it was pale and luminous, almost the shade of her skin, Pale like the moon was the words that flitted through her mind at the sight of the fine fabric. But before she could puzzle it out further she heard movement out in the corridor. Carefully she moved to the doorway, safe in her skin and poked her head out. She saw nothing, felt only that palpable weight to the blackness and heard only the same strange chorus of laughs and cries that had almost gone on long enough to be a backdrop. She was safe, she was armored and more than that she needed movement if she was going to outrun the specter. She stepped into the corridor, outside her room alone for the first time since she’d been brought in. It felt so good, so wonderful that she took another step and then another.

[Gedanken]

With the shiver still lingering along his spine, Morgan tilted his new hat forward and stepped into the gloom. The strange chatters and cries still accompanied him. They whispered and echoed from every which direction, but he chose to think of them now as mere background noise. What was the point in fearing them? Whatever they were, they were keeping their distance thus far. They were null and void in his mind. He brought out an arm to trail his fingers along the wall, taking in the dulled sights. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, things became clearer; if a little strange. It seemed almost as if this murkiness was attaching itself to anything and everything; making them look dreary and grey.

He sighed; a small smile playing at his lips. This was perfect. No orderlies to keep him 'secure'. A freedom he'd yearned for for a long, long time... Although, this gloom did put him off a bit. Just a little. He couldn't really make out much, after all. Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Morgan stopped for a moment to lean against the wall. His neutral expression altered into a thoughtful frown. There was a slight chill to the air -the atmosphere wasn't that great either. Plus, the calls... Well, they weren't something he needed to truly focus on. As his thoughts whirled, a sound different from the others alerted him. He straightened, his eyes pulled in the direction of the source.

What was that? Footsteps? Huh, that was new...

Morgan pushed away from the wall, trailing after the noise with a sudden curiosity.

--------------------------------------------------------------

This was alien to her. An entirely new world than the one before, she was sure. Darkness pressed in from all sides with every step she took, but still she pressed forward. It was a determination she hadn't felt in a long time. She'd almost forgotten how it was like to have a destination -a target. Scarlett wanted to get out of here. It was the only true sensible thought; one that kept rebounding against the insides of her skull. The rest were just mindless babble that she tried to keep locked behind their mental bars. By balling up the fabric of the cloak at the sleeve, she found it helped her to remain calm. Back... some... time... ago. She hadn't been as cautious, as wary as she was now. But those were faded, dark things that never truly surfaced. They just taunted her, and she chose to ignore them in the time she'd been here. They didn't help.

Scarlett took a deep breath, the musty smell of the asylum hitting her nose strongly, then breathed out. Where was she to go now? Everything was so dark... It was a wonder she'd even managed to get as far as she had. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and clenched her fists. It didn't really matter where she went. She'd just keep walking. Nothing would happen. Unless... The hairs along the nape of her neck rose as a bestial growl rumbled through the corridor. She increased her speed.

[Constantinou]

Brigitte leaned her head against the padded wall, staring across the room. It was midday, and she should have been working, but she'd refused. She couldn't do it, not today. They could have done all they could to make her work, but it would all have been in vain. Though small, Brigitte was strong, and would not be forced into submission. Her tantrum that morning did merit her time in solitude, though. By afternoon, she was out of the jacket for lunch, but she was still forbidden to interact with any of the others in the asylum. The doctors believed, for some reason, that this was some form of torture. The only torture in it was the lack of exercise, but even that wasn't such a horror. The less she did, the less she would sleep. Anything, even the demon that lurked the halls by night, was better than sleep. She had seen him on many occasions, staring into her room, scythe in hand. She wondered if she was alone in these visions. She would have been unsurprised if she was. He was there for her; she was certain of that much. Something was keeping him away, though, and he never managed to take her. Eventually, her fear of the shadow subsided. The fear of sleep never did, though. That was prominent, and the driving force behind her insomnia.

.
Day passed slowly into night, and Brigitte just stayed put, staring at the wall. The less physical and mental activity, the better. She could tell that it was well into the night, but something seemed amiss. There were no screams from those around her. A laugh rang out, but there was little other noise. She waited for the shadow of death, but he never came. Curious. She approached the door calmly, looking out into the hallway. It was empty, but something was wrong. Many of the doors were open. She furrowed her brow, trying at her own door. It slid open with ease. She smirked, both excited and frightened about the discovery. What would she do now? She opened the door, trying to lay out a plan. Before she could think any further, though, she noticed something flash on the ground. Looking down, she managed to capture a glimpse of a flame before it went out. The burned wooden match lay still on the floor. Bending down to pick it up out of curiosity, Brigitte noticed a whole box of unburned matches on the ground beside her. Her attention turned to them. When she touched them, she was filled with a debilitating cold. It was as if the hallway were suddenly covered in a layer of frosty cold snow. Her toes stung, and her nose began to itch. She dropped the matches, and warmth entered her body once again.

.
Furrowing her brow, Brigitte picked up the burned match. Instantly, more feelings entered her body. This time, feelings of warmth and joy. She felt the memory of a familiar face, but lost it in a flash. She was enveloped in a happiness, experiencing the scents of Christmas and the feelings of the New Year. All of this happened quickly, and was gone again. Only the burned match remained in her hands. How strange. Brigitte picked up the unburned matches, shivering from the cold. She lit one, and the warmth returned to her once again. It was gone again before the match went out, though. Brigitte tucked the matches away in a fold, learning then that by not touching the matches, she did not experience the feeling of bitter cold. There were, in fact, no strange feelings left, and the girl was left alone in the dark hallway. There were footsteps nearby. Without thinking or planning, Brigitte followed them, heading toward another hallway. She was unsure of what was to come, but anything was better than the sleep and the dreams inside of that padded room.

[Gedanken]

It seemed that the pace at what Morgan was shadowing the sound wasn't enough. He just continued after it, never getting closer, never getting further away. What was it that was drawing him to the unknown owner of the footsteps? He didn't know. There was just a curiosity there that urged him to continue following. However, as he listened, the noise began to change. It took on an almost scraping, screeching sound, which assaulted his ears viciously. Morgan's mind began to whisper of danger and caution. It told him that there was more to these strange footsteps than what his other senses were telling him. He was almost tempted to believe his thoughts, until abruptly, the sound died. It faded away with a single click. A circular light given off from what appeared to be a floating lantern, emerged from the darkness. It fell to the ground with a loud clatter and rolled some distance away before coming to a sluggish stop before the feet of... someone.

The glow from the fire-lit object illuminated the face of the stranger, revealing a feminine face beneath a bristled hood. Morgan was hesitant for but a moment. Taking off his new hat, he bowed. "Greetings; a very nice evening, is it not?" He straightened shortly after, his stormy blue eyes flickering from the outsider to the lantern. "It seems I was led here by something," he said, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone. There was something increasingly odd about this particular item. For one, it had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. For another, the flame did not seem to throw light upon anything else beyond the boundaries of the peculiar spherical glow. Also, the abnormal footsteps from earlier were now absent. It was almost as if, Morgan mused, that the source of the strange noise had left him this lantern before its departure.

An odd thing indeed.

--------------------------------------------------------------

There was a panicked look to Scarlett's eyes as she scanned the hallways of the asylum. Ever since leaving her cell, she'd had this queer feeling that she was being followed. At first, it had been a minuscule voice that murmured it from the edges of her consciousness, but as she advanced further along the long corridor, it became more and more obvious. She felt as if whatever was tracking her, was in fact hunting her down. There was an odd feeling to the air; a chill of foreboding that drew the determination out from deep inside her and ripped it apart upon it touching the atmosphere. She had no indication of where she was going, nor if she was indeed drawing nearer to the exit. Scarlett had rarely seen the outside since her former 'foster parents' decided her mentally unfit and sent her here.

Now, she was alone to suffer in this dreadful darkness and listen as the inhuman voices carried on the air. She was finding it harder and harder to remain calm. It was almost as if she was trying to walk through quick-sand, and the more she struggled against it, the more it sucked her down. It was impossible to continue. Or so her consciousness kept telling her. As Scarlett paused a moment to take in a breath, she heard the sound of snarls and felt something aggressively rush at her. Frightened, she quickly twirled away, running as if her life depended on it. She could sense the beast hot on her heels, although there was no trace of pursuit to be heard. She closed her eyes tightly, gripping hold of the corners of her red cloak. She attempted to drive her feet to go even faster, the words: Run, run, run! echoing like a mantra in her mind.

It was as the snap of teeth sounded inches away from her head that she found herself rebounding against someone and falling to the floor in a heap. Scarlett struggled to rise to her feet again, but her heavy contact with whatever she had just hit left her winded. She glanced up, past the messy dark brown strands of her hair, and was surprised to see what looked like a human figure. "I... I'm sorry," she gasped. "I didn't mean to bump into you like that..." Even as she spoke, her mind was telling her to get up and run. At any moment that thing would be after her again. "There's this thing..." She turned to look back, but the gloom was all she could see. "... It was after me."

--------------------------------------------------------------

Brigitte tucked the matches away in a fold, learning then that by not touching the matches, she did not experience the feeling of bitter cold. There were, in fact, no strange feelings left, and the girl was left alone in the dark hallway. There were footsteps nearby. Without thinking or planning, Brigitte followed them, heading toward another hallway. She was unsure of what was to come, but anything was better than the sleep and the dreams inside of that padded room.

Half a minute after Brigitte had begun to follow the footsteps, a lantern flared into life. It's glow was blood-red in colour and it's light seemed to be shaped similarly to that of a square. By first glance, there was nothing strange about it. However, by examining it again, the observer would be able to tell that the object was in fact floating. It only went so far before, all at once, it dropped; rolling a fair distance from it's tracker before coming to a sudden stop. It's fiery illumination carried out beyond the glow. It seeped along the floor, pointing in the direction of a figure with their back turned to the light.

[Lillian Thorne]

In the seemingly endless, sound filled halls the darkness pressed in on her. It was nearly a palpable weight but she didn’t stay still long enough for it to really oppress her. She moved, quietly and carefully, one hand lightly trailing the wall, noting the openings and counting them. Trying to get a sense of the hall she knew so well when lit. The darkness his her, but then she was good at being unseen. On any given day she worked really hard at it, ducking her head, keeping her face covered by tangled dark hair, hiding the ripe shape of her body beneath the large, ragged uniform. She knew what trouble came when she was visible. She would have let her hair grow dirty as further disguise but they wouldn’t allow that in the asylum. But now, in the dark with this skin on she felt more than invisible, she felt anonymous and safe. Safer than padded walls and a locked cell could make her. She was certain that phantom wouldn’t’ find her now. He’d never think to look underneath the bristly skin to find her.

Her other hand ran rhythmically over the skin, feeling the short bristly hair under her fingers and feeling such comfort from it. She slid her bare feet along the floor, not wanting to trip or stumble on something and make noise, drawing attention to herself. She did not know where she was going, or what the point of this exercise was. Freedom perhaps? She certainly wanted to leave this place that held such terrors.

All her efforts to remain unseen were undone in a moment, as a light flared into being, momentarily blinding her. She hissed and covered her eyes at the sudden brightness after so long in the impenetrable dark. Something clattered at her feet and she stepped instinctively back, feeling the cold press of the wall against her back. Her eyes blinked away the phantom brightness and re-adjusted to the changed dark, a soft light now filling it. She saw her feet illuminated by the light and then looked to the lantern and then past, gasping when she saw a figure approaching her in the dark. When he, for it was a he, spotted her he took off his hat and addressed her. His voice was strange to her, not the calm, cold clinical voice of the staff, the accent different, subtly so. His words were civil enough and for a moment she couldn't remember how to reply. She’d been too long alone, too long a patient to recall the niceties easily. Finally she dropped into a curtsy, dipping her head and speaking back,

“It is an evening for certain, Nice I do not know. Things are too strange for it to be so easily nice but I suppose the unfolding of it will reveal its temperament.”

Her eyes darted past him at the mention of something leading him. The darkness was mastering even the light, creating almost a set wall where it began and the wan light ended. She wondered if he were a tool of the phantom with its sad and lust filled eyes. But no, he didn’t seem to hold the same air, nor did he leer at her. She anonymous after all, the phantom couldn’t know to send him to her. Feeling almost bold under her furred armor she spoke again, watching his face as her words were born.

“What do you suppose you were led her for then good sir?”

[FoxLeFay]

Twisting the gold band around her finger, Vanessa made it to the end of her corridor and glanced down both sides to make sure she was alone for the moment. There wasn't an orderly running her way to apologize for the mistake and escort her out but she supposed she could overlook the slight as long as she could go home. Preferably now, since she knew her shaking knees wouldn't hold out until dawn. Stepping out and straightening up, she convinced herself there was nothing to be afraid of. All she needed now was a torch or an exit sign to illuminate her path. Vanessa took a few more strides with uneven footing, almost as though the floor could collapse at any moment, until she noticed a ball of light vanish around the corner to her left. She chased after it, taking the corner dangerously quickly and stared directly at the dark outline of a short and skinny man. It didn't look like anyone she knew and it disappeared back into thin air nearly as quickly as it came, taking the orb with him. Hesitating and pondering what she had just witnessed, she gently groped in the darkness before her to make sure she couldn't feel anything solid just behind her decidedly narrow cone of perception. She could have sworn there was a subtle pulse of warmth tickling her ear as though someone was about to whisper something from over her shoulder but she jutted up her shoulders and continued on without giving it a second thought. Paranoia had never been something the doctors stuck on her long list of diagnoses, at least she didn't know they had, and she equated the phenomena to the old building's faulty heating system.

The odd part was that she didn't hear anything else. Surely the others would have heard her plodding along (she hadn't been paying any mind to treading quietly) and might have tried getting out of their own cells or at least continued screaming like the loonies they were. She ran a hand through her hair in order to calm herself down but it wasn't long until she began to hear something that greatly resembled something scratching against glass and a sort of intermittent gasping. Stopping and trying to identify the sound so that it became less menacing to her, it became clear that it was someone's laugh. Her blood froze and she grabbed for her necklace, her cold hand pressed up against her chest so that she could feel her heartbeat accelerating. She'd never heard anything worse and she hoped she'd never have to again. Picking up the pace, she noticed that the orb from before flickered every so often in front of her, corridors ahead at times and blindingly close at others. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that she should be following, so she never slowed down when it entered her line of sight.
__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ _______________________________________

One of the first things Dmitry wanted to do when he finally regained his freedom was run. He found it was still hard to do much of anything after being cooped up for so long. Even though he had been able to walk freely and regularly in his cage, it was so much different than being able to roam the halls and stride to the full extend of his lanky legs. His arms were stiff and tingling from how tightly they'd been bound. His head buzzed with thoughts, smells and sounds he could have sworn would have vanished over his time in containment. A crooked grin was plastered on his face and it didn't bother him that he looked to all the world like a serial killer wrongly released back into the world. Whatever the reason, he was out of his restraints and he wasn't going to let a single thing ruin these moments for him.

He stopped when he caught wind of the most bewildering of noises for the first time in his recent memory. Conversation. A pleasant exchange between two cognizant and interested parties over a range of topics. A chess game of words and phrases when carried out with proper intent or as shallow and flawed as a cracked mirror when wasted. That was another thing he had longed for, perhaps even more than a good jog. When he heard two people's voices from just a few cellblocks down, it struck him as odd at first, but filled him with some encouragement. It seemed that a few others had gotten out of jail free. Perhaps they could explain what was different about this evening. Surely, he couldn't have been the only one to feel the shift in the dark. He caught a few snippets of clear words and began to adjust his cloak and scarf. It was his first time talking to someone who wasn't an oafish guard or rote psychiatrist in months, so he decided to let Ledbedev, d'ayvola as it were, take a back seat or perhaps let Mitya come fully to the surface. He was just as confused as some of his fellow inmates when it came to his identity or the identities that seemed to war just behind his sedate brown eyes.

For as fast as he was ambling around, it was no wonder that he didn't knock the distracted blonde to the ground when she came crashing into him right below his shoulder. She stumbled back a few steps and then looked horrified, about to apologize but obviously biting her tongue in anticipation of a shouting match or a violent action on the part of the released inmate to try to pull it from out of her skull. "My apologies," he coated his words with a layer of sweetness that he was sure would defuse any tension that their collision would have caused. Although he could clearly see her messy hair, her short frame, and her out-of-place button nose among otherwise shrewdly angular facial features, it become obviously apparent to him that the woman could see next to nothing. Must be short a few handfuls of rods, he mused. Dmitry smiled despite the fact that the gesture would be in vain, "You can call me Mitya. You don't work here, do you? I've never seen you around." That was true, as far as he could tell. He made short work of memorizing her face in case he ran into her again, but he got the feeling their paths would not cross again since he was on his way out and she was heading in the completely opposite direction of the exit. The woman tilted her head up and made no such attempt to smile, "Vanessa. No, I'm a... I also reside here." She had major troubles with the truth of her situation, apparently. Patient, inmate,prisoner, were all so much more accurate than resident, but watching the words form on her tongue and then choke her was simply torture for him. She's going to be no help, he growled, raising his hand to push her aside but he jerked his arm back and reconsidered. "Did you happen to see anyone talking when you came this way?" he tried to get as much out of her as possible before he continued on past her. Vanessa's chin trembled a bit and her gaze suddenly trained onto something behind his head. She glanced back up at him and then chuckled uneasily, "No, I'm sorry. Have you seen a light or someone with a torch come this way?" Dmitry didn't need to check around to confirm that there was barely any light in this area of the asylum at all. He hadn't seen a mysterious light either and it struck him that maybe the staff just thought the girl was nuts while instead she had some sort of ocular disorder. "Nah, love," he felt himself slipping into a casual and somewhat lower-class accent and stitched it up immediately, "I think we're both just chasing ghosts. Good evening." He went to brush past but felt the woman's hands tug at his cloak for a quick moment and then recoil as if she'd placed her hand on a steaming furnace.

"Wait. I'd like to come with you," she asked in a surprisingly firm tone. It transcend request and found itself in demand territory, and Dmitry waved his hand in front of him to cue her on, following it up with an "after you" to ensure she got his meaning. Vanessa and Dmitry traveled together while he focused his attention to zoning in on the traces of dialogue once again. When he figured out that they were just a corner away, he tapped Vanessa gently on the arm to signal she should turn left and then mentioned, "I think there are some others afoot." Dmitry suddenly laughed a little under his breath, "Is that the lantern you saw?" He gestured to a sphere of light at the feet of two shadowy figures in the center of the hall. Vanessa nodded in relief, "It must have been."

There was a man and a woman illuminated by the pale glow and the woman had just asked the man what had led him here. Dmitry straightened up. Vanessa was following a lantern and we all know that torches and lighters and the like are all confiscated so this has to be the only source of illumination in here. She didn't see these two but she saw the light. The stranger's question suddenly didn't seem like the existential ramblings of an unhinged mind and he considered going to engage with them, but Vanessa ran out instead.

"Excuse me, but where did this lantern come from? This might sound crazy, but I've been seeing it everywhere." She cringed. It did sound insane. Dmitry's appetite for talking had been spoiled and he instead retraced his steps back up the hall, hoping to pinpoint the exit once again after his absentminded detour. He lingered in case he could overhear some useful information revealed in the wake of Vanessa's folly.

[Constantinou]

Brigitte reached out to the lantern curiously, wondering what sort of magic this was. It was insanity; no one would ever believe it. What was it? Possessed? Bewitched? It was impossible. The matches had evoked feelings, which were eerie enough, but now she was actually seeing the magic with her own eyes. It was too unreal. It was frightening and fascinating. She loved the idea of magic, but had never believed in it. How could it be? Yet, here it was, right in front of her, leading her...somewhere. Brigitte knew not what to do, so she just kept following. Had this been what the footsteps had been leading her to? Must have been since they ceased as soon as the lantern flared to life. For that matter, where had it come from? In one moment, she was alone. In the next, she was following a glowing red lantern through the halls of her prison. This couldn't be possible, but it was. It was thrilling. She kept reaching for the lantern, wondering about the feelings she would get from its touch, but it was evasive. Not once did it let her touch it. It kept floating just out of reach.

Finally, it stopped, and she reached out for it one final time. The moment her hand touched the glass, the lantern clattered to the ground. She bent down to it, not noticing the figure across the hallway. Had she been more aware of her surroundings, she would have noticed that the only dim light from the lantern was shining directly on this figure nearby, but she was far too fascinated by this magic for all of that. People were insignificant in comparison to this discovery. She wouldn't have even obeyed the staff at this point. She had to see this lantern. She had to know what was happening. She had to understand what was different about this night. What had come to this place? Whatever it was had not only brought the magic, but it had also chased the demons from this place. Not only had the phantom of death seemed absent this evening, but all of the souls inside of the asylum seemed calm. The silence was strange, but not unwelcome. Brigitte enjoyed the calm. She knew that it was a good sign for her. She was going to be escaping this place tonight. Of that she was certain. The magic was here to help her with that endeavor.

When she touched the glass again, the lantern turned itself, clattering down onto another side. Brigitte gasped, following it with her eyes. It was then that she noticed the way that the light was throwing itself. It was not normal, but then again this was a magic lantern. The laws of science did not apply. She followed the dim rays of light, and saw the figure across the way. She couldn't make out much about it. She couldn't even tell whether the shadow was a woman or man. Was this another hallucination? Was this person even real? Had someone else escaped their room? Brigitte hesitated, not wanting to approach the figure. She had had much luck thus far that night. She was scared to push her limits. Her curiosity got the best of her, though. She wouldn't approach the figure, but she would let it approach her. In her logic, it was the safest route. The magic of the lantern, she was certain, would protect her if this person or thing had ill intentions. Plus, she felt she could run if it were the shadow who approached her and not the opposite. So, she sucked in a breath, eyeing the shadow. "Hello," she called out in a youthful voice. "Is someone over there?"

[Gedanken]

It was almost surreal, to be in the presence of someone apart from the calculating eyes of the staff. Morgan was expecting, at any moment, for this unfamiliar woman to attack him. Things like that were very much common on the outsides of his cell. That was one of the reasons why he was rarely released from it's confines. So it was a surprise when she curtsied and replied politely, “It is an evening for certain, Nice I do not know. Things are too strange for it to be so easily nice but I suppose the unfolding of it will reveal its temperament.” A slight twitch of the left side of his lips indicated his amusement. However, he was quick to turn his face to hide it, placing his hat firmly back on his head. "Indeed. It'll surely be intriguing to see where all of this leads."

Morgan remained in the same position as he absorbed her question and considered it. "Hmm, hard to say... To meet you, perhaps?" It was indeed a wonder. Although, his return query as to why he was led here was only one of many. An assortment of answers circled his consciousness. His gaze was once more drawn back to the lantern; curiosity alighting in his eyes as he examined the device. He was interrupted from his studies however, as yet another unfamiliar voice rang out. He turned, a half-smile plastered on his features. For some reason, he was finding it almost fascinating to answer the questions of strangers. "Ah, another visitor-" he caught sight of the young man "-or visitors, as the case may be." He chuckled a little. "This whole asylum is full of crazies, or so according to the vanished members of staff. ... I followed the lantern here in the grip of someone or... something." He shrugged. "I didn't have time to check if what I seeing was true or not, but it appeared to be floating before it fell at the feet of the lady here."

Everything seemed to be growing more and more bizarre as the minutes rolled on by. "Although, my mind might have been playing tricks on me," he added, glancing momentarily back down at the lantern. In all honesty, this was the most fun he'd had in some time. At least it was keeping him from his daily pacing routine.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Scarlett slowly got to her feet, her eyes finally making contact with the figure's. Except, there was nothing there. The face was concealed beneath a black mask, light brown hair curling around it's top. The man, for that was the only thing the girl could identify him as, stared at her in silence. She couldn't see his gaze, but she could feel it. Any words she proceeded to add in addition to her previous spoken sentences, died as soon as they made it from her throat to her half-open mouth. This thing may look human, but she could sense something almost ethereal about it. She took a step back, clutching at the sides of her hood in fear. However, as a voice rung out behind her, the remnant vanished.

She turned, wary of what she may face next, but was blinded momentarily by a light. She raised a hand to shade herself from the glare, then squinted her eyes in an attempt to see past it. A silhouette stood beyond the glowing object and for a moment, her fear came flooding back. However, she tried to soothe her innermost thoughts and worries with the fact that if it was a monster, she doubted it would be able to speak. "Hello," she called out, her tone hinting at a more guarded edge. "Yes, I'm here." She bit her lip as she paused for a few moments to gather her courage, then began to slowly advance.

Curiosity was soon getting the better of her fears as she grew closer to the other. They looked harmless enough and, besides, they might know the way out of here... Although, the greater possibility was that they were as lost as she was, or they were a member of staff. A slightly frightening thought. Almost as bad as the memory of that unknown creature chasing her. "Are you a... doctor or a nurse?" Scarlett ventured to ask. As she moved ever closer however, the outline of the silhouette took on a more detailed appearance. It soon became apparent that this girl wasn't one of the orderlies. "Ah... Are you in the same position as me?" Hope flared in her chest. Maybe she could help her to escape!