... and with that, I was suddenly struck with an overwhelming pit in my stomach; it was as though a tumour had suddenly exploded within my gut, and the urge to vomit was only beaten back by the fact that my throat felt as though it had closed entirely. I stopped breathing, and I could hear each tick of the clock as though the hands were grinding across stone. The edges of the drearily grey walls seemed to expand beyond the peripheral of my vision, everything blurring out of shame expect for the one thing I wanted so desperately to pull my gaze away from. Her eyes. They stared back, unblinking and almost vacant – no, not vacant; it was as though they were looking through myself, captivated by something that I couldn’t see, but I had no doubts at that moment that what they were seeing was no less a figment of their imagination than I was. It was real, and for the briefest of moments, as the world spun around the cold confines of the room, I could swear that I could feel it too. But just like that, everything stilled; I had blinked, and it was as though nothing had happened at all. To say I hurriedly left the ward would have been an understatement. I finished my notes, and reported the details to the lead physician. She was clearly insane, I recall informing him – not safe to be left roaming the streets. That was that. I didn’t sleep that night, and haven’t slept well for many nights since. What concerns myself, or rather, chills me to the bone, is that whilst I had no doubts as to the clearly damaged mental state of the individual, when I was sat in that room with them, staring into their eyes as though there was nobody else in the world, I felt something in the air. Whilst I should be institutionalized myself for even entertaining the thought, I often wondered as to whether whatever they were staring at, whatever had captivated their attention so completed, was really just a figment of their deluded subconscious, or whether I myself was deluding in convincing myself that I didn’t feel it too.

John Baxter, Personal Journal - Mrs Dermot Case File - September 6th, 1954

December 23rd, 1961. It's been four years to the day since you were institutionalized for the murder of your entire family. There was never any trial - you were dragged from the scene, and found yourself confined to the decrepit, harrowing halls of Bellevue Psychiatric Asylum for the Criminally Insane. The murder of your family, which the tabloids so eloquently described as a massacre, has only just left the minds of the small town you came from. Deep within the woodland, the Asylum and its deranged inmates are kept away from the general populace, miles away from anywhere. But that's not where the story begins. On this very night, another family has found themselves the victim of a massacre not unlike the one that struck your family. This time, there were no survivors. Detective John Baxter, the first on the scene, finds himself making the brisk, weary drive up to Bellevue, knowing the only lead is currently occupying one of the wards. That is where our story will begin.

PM me if you're interested. The general arch of the story will revolve around our two characters interacting, and will focus very heavily on character development, whilst they both piece together what happened to your family four years ago, how the murder has repeated itself, and whether or not your character is truly insane, or just a victim. Throw in maybe a splash of the supernatural for good measure, and we'll be good to go. If you have any questions, or anything to add, drop me a message. I should note that I'm not looking for a partner that expects a post every day - I work most of the week, and the hours I work means there will be stretches of days where I most likely won't be able to post at all. I'm pretty much always generally free to PM, but making an actual post of course takes time. Thus, I'm looking for this to kind of be a long-term, pieces together over time sort of thing. So, yeah. Oh, and hello!