Men will fuck anything.
Men will fuck anything.
Men will fuck anything.
Men—
I startle awake at the sound of a door clicking open. Fuck, did I really hallucinate writing on a wall in the asylum?
“Welcome to the Emerald Lake Asylum.” A heavy door drags across the floor.
High heels clack.
A voice like wind chimes brushes over the room.
My eyes are closed, but I’m becoming more and more aware that there are eyes on me. Multiple sets. Judging. Glaring. Waiting impatiently for me to wake up.
The insides of my eyelids are bright red from light trying to burn its way into my retinas. And I completely reject the idea of opening them to witness what I’m hoping is a fever nightmare. It comes back to me in flashes. The high priest. The orderlies. The sickness that swept over me in a single breath.
The tall, haunting asylum.
Not burned to the ground.
I’ve read about the horrors of being one of Absinthe and Albatross’s subjects…but ending up in the Emerald Lake Asylum or the Vexamen Prison has been an irrational fear of mine since I read about them in school. I used to wake my mom up in tears, telling her I didn’t want to be committed to the asylum.
And here I am.
“We will have to wake her up,” that high feminine voice says. “She was acting funny when they found her. Possibly from all the food she’s been unnaturally consuming.”
My eyes pop open.
No oneis waking me up. I can only imagine a bucket of ice-cold water to the face.
I scan the ceiling, the bright sconces on the walls, the metal bedframe, the tall woman hovering over my bed. She swipes away a loose blonde curl from her left eye and offers a porcelain fake smile.
“Hello, Miss Sapphire S. Valdawell,” the tall conformist says.
I know this woman, don’t I?
The white collar with her conformist dress is the dead giveaway. Head conformist. Council member.
“My name is Suseas Parlomon.”
Oh, goddamn it.
Three orderlies stand back and let Suseas have the first introduction with me. I flinch at the nun standing in the corner of the room with her head bowed in prayer, muttering to herself.
“You werealmostcommitted to the women’s ward for your inability to keep up with your Lady-Doll Regimen.” She trails a sharp, unpolished fingernail over my lower belly, clucking her tongue. “Almost.”
She pauses to smile down at me with a glint of confusion clouding her eyes.
“You look so familiar, Miss Valdawell. So very familiar.”
I should hold my tongue. I should have learned my lesson about speaking out at a time like this. “I believe you know my parents.”
I believe you tortured my parents.
I believe my mother boiled you alive in the scalding bath treatment before she burned this place to the ground.
