James walked up to the castle. His scarf scrunched around his neck. In the past several days, weeks, months, his scarf had become some sort of comfort object. He pretended it shielded him from the [i]defeating[/i] voice inside of his head. James was a man of science and nothing about the voice made sense. It was [i]not[/i] logical, but yet, something so eerily devastating about its precision in demanding his body to react to situations in such ways--his former mind was losing its control and balance and above all, its harmony. He had tried to kill himself, but failed. He failed to kill himself. 

In fact, he had only tried to kill himself after his sister had decided to have a serious relationship with some other man or boy--James did not care. It was all the same, he was losing his sister, his mind, his heart. He spent thirty days in a behavior correction center. All he felt was himself getting worse and worse, losing more and more--except his scarf. He [i]still[/i] had his scarf.

The fabric warmed his neck, his throat, his vocal chords. They are warm and calm. But the voice was still talking, demanding. Did it ever sleep, he wondered. With tired eyes he stared at the castle in front of him. The illogical, absurdity of the situation left him with no other solution. He was worn and wanted relief. He wanted something better than just a scarf as his comfort. He wanted his sister back, but her innocence was gone. He had wanted it for himself, and he felt lost just knowing how lost he had been before the voice began scribbling all over the story of his life.

"Hullo?" his voice, with all the hope he could muster, called out to Katherin, anyone. He was feeling uneasy, as if this castle idea had been just a hoax--another lost cause.