acrayonclergy:
dinahfairhaven:
acrayonclergy:
dinahfairhaven:
oamtoulson:
Odette rose from the concrete floor slowly, limbs heavy and numb, her eyes fighting to stay open. ‘Are they aware I’ve risen?’ she thought. She dared not talk for fear of being tackled to the ground. In this sedated state, Odette was able to think more clearly, but the toll on her body was…
Dinah spent most of her days drifting off, imagining. She’d had an episode, and had awoken to find herself standing naked on her bed and screaming. She had climbed down, feeling foolish, and reclothed herself hastily. Perhaps she’d had more episodes; perhaps this whole event was just one long episode. She couldn’t tell; time was running and blurring like watercolor paints.
When she heard the banging on her walls, she was sitting on her cot and humming to herself. Dinah immediately straightened up and looked for the source of the noise. Deciding that it was the left wall, she scurried over and called,
“I’m scared, too. This place is horrid; I’m afraid that I can’t help you. My name is Dinah.” She paused, afraid to be rude; but this was an asylum, and she imagined that regular etiquette didn’t apply. “Are you a proper mad person?”
Odette looked up quickly, and strained to try and see around the bars of her cell. She could not. “I’ve been ill for awhile now…it’s better to be considered mad than be called a monster.” Odette rested her head against the bars and sighed. “I’m Odette,” she laughed pitifully, ” I apologize for any rude behavior, they seem to have sedated me. I guess I deserved it, you know, I did, um, say some things.”
“Perfectly understandable,” said Dinah. “I myself was screaming quite loudly earlier; I apologize for the noise.” She was embarressed that she’d asked such a stupid question; of course Odette was a proper mad person. Everyone here was excecpt for Dinah.
“I don’t belong here, you know, Odette,” she said, her voice getting softer. “I’m perfectly sane.” Even while she said it she was beginning to doubt it. It was the cell, the unreal, creepy cell that made her think it; maybe she was mad after all.
“Nobody does Dinah. Not even us properly mad ones.” Odette said mournfully.”But Dinah, the sooner you admit madness, the quicker this will all end. We all try to deny it, but in the end… in the end it will be so much easier.” She reached her hand as far out of the bars and waved. “Living proof… sadly, I didn’t admit it fast enough.”
“But who am I to give advice? I’ve been disowned, widowed, admitted to an insane asylum, and I only turned 17 last week.” Odette laughed at herself slightly, “So it might not be the best idea to listen to me.”
Dinah jumped when she saw the waving hand, but then laughed, something she hadn’t done in a while, then stuck her hand out of the bars and waved back.
“I suppose they just got sick of me at home,” sighed Dinah. “But I don’t intend to sit around and stew in self-pity. We’ve…we’ve got to make the best of this.” Her voice didn’t sound sure, but she was trying her best for sincerity.
“I don’t want to go mad, easier or not,” Dinah continued. “This place is horrid and frightening, but it doesn’t have to be the end.” She hesitated. “Does it?”
(Source: )
acrayonclergy:
dinahfairhaven:
oamtoulson:
Odette rose from the concrete floor slowly, limbs heavy and numb, her eyes fighting to stay open. ‘Are they aware I’ve risen?’ she thought. She dared not talk for fear of being tackled to the ground. In this sedated state, Odette was able to think more clearly, but the toll on her body was…
Dinah spent most of her days drifting off, imagining. She’d had an episode, and had awoken to find herself standing naked on her bed and screaming. She had climbed down, feeling foolish, and reclothed herself hastily. Perhaps she’d had more episodes; perhaps this whole event was just one long episode. She couldn’t tell; time was running and blurring like watercolor paints.
When she heard the banging on her walls, she was sitting on her cot and humming to herself. Dinah immediately straightened up and looked for the source of the noise. Deciding that it was the left wall, she scurried over and called,
“I’m scared, too. This place is horrid; I’m afraid that I can’t help you. My name is Dinah.” She paused, afraid to be rude; but this was an asylum, and she imagined that regular etiquette didn’t apply. “Are you a proper mad person?”
Odette looked up quickly, and strained to try and see around the bars of her cell. She could not. “I’ve been ill for awhile now…it’s better to be considered mad than be called a monster.” Odette rested her head against the bars and sighed. “I’m Odette,” she laughed pitifully, ” I apologize for any rude behavior, they seem to have sedated me. I guess I deserved it, you know, I did, um, say some things.”
“Perfectly understandable,” said Dinah. “I myself was screaming quite loudly earlier; I apologize for the noise.” She was embarressed that she’d asked such a stupid question; of course Odette was a proper mad person. Everyone here was excecpt for Dinah.
“I don’t belong here, you know, Odette,” she said, her voice getting softer. “I’m perfectly sane.” Even while she said it she was beginning to doubt it. It was the cell, the unreal, creepy cell that made her think it; maybe she was mad after all.
(Source: )
oamtoulson:
Odette rose from the concrete floor slowly, limbs heavy and numb, her eyes fighting to stay open. ‘Are they aware I’ve risen?’ she thought. She dared not talk for fear of being tackled to the ground. In this sedated state, Odette was able to think more clearly, but the toll on her body was…
Dinah spent most of her days drifting off, imagining. She’d had an episode, and had awoken to find herself standing naked on her bed and screaming. She had climbed down, feeling foolish, and reclothed herself hastily. Perhaps she’d had more episodes; perhaps this whole event was just one long episode. She couldn’t tell; time was running and blurring like watercolor paints.
When she heard the banging on her walls, she was sitting on her cot and humming to herself. Dinah immediately straightened up and looked for the source of the noise. Deciding that it was the left wall, she scurried over and called,
“I’m scared, too. This place is horrid; I’m afraid that I can’t help you. My name is Dinah.” She paused, afraid to be rude; but this was an asylum, and she imagined that regular etiquette didn’t apply. “Are you a proper mad person?”
(Source: )
Dinah was determined to keep her spirits up. She sat on the bed in her cell and hummed, and when it began to echo eerily all around her, she stopped and only hummed in her head.It was lonely and strange here; she could hear people screaming, people moaning and murmuring and laughing mad laughter. This was the wrong place for Dinah; she wasn’t mad! Maybe if she just explained it to the staff they would let her go, because she was perfectly sane, visibly sane. She could go to live with Nellie, her sister. She would never bother Alfred again; she would change her name and cut her hair if it meant that she would leave this odious place. Someone in a cell very close to hers screamed loudly, and she began to hum again, slow and soft and melodic and reassuring. Just then, a guard walked past, and she scrambled to her feet, ran to the bars, and called,
“Excuse me, sir! Excuse me! My name is Dinah Fairhaven, and I’m quite sane, I assure you. Can I please leave? Can I talk to someone who’s in charge?” He ignored her, and she couldn’t say that she had expected more. Dinah sat down on her bed again, if that word could really be used to describe the pitiful, decrepit cot, and rocked back and forth, clutching in her palm the one thing that she’d managed to smuggle in from the outside world; the golden hairpin her father had given her before his death. It felt solid and real, while her filthy cell felt evanescent and false. Quietly, Dinah resumed her humming; there was no sense in despairing.
After all, she didn’t belong here.
Dinah didn’t feel particularly inclined to struggle; wherever she was going, it had to be better than where she’d been before. She wasn’t happy that they’d felt the need to collar her; that was just degrading, but if they thought that she was dangerous enough to warrant restraining, she was flattered. In fact, Dinah wished that she was dangerous enough to be restrained — she guessed that her life would be a lot more exciting if she was a danger to herself and others. As it were, she was only a danger to her husband’s reputation, which had suffered her for too long already. Honestly, she didn’t remember running off, but she remembered waking up in strange places and not remembering how she’d got there. All of a sudden, her switch would flick, and she’d be standing knee-deep in water, or on top of a building, or in a stranger’s house, not at all sure where she’d been or what she’d been doing.
“How much further?” she asked the woman beside her, her voice timorous. The woman looked up sharply and said,
“That’s not for you to be concerned about.”
Dinah, undeterred, replied,
“But I am concerned. Very much so. What’s going to happen when we get there?”
“Please refrain from speaking.”
Affronted, Dinah looked out of the window of the carriage, and saw it looming. The Asylum. The sight sent a little electric shock through her being. So scary. It was sort of thrilling, actually, but its effects were mostly terrifying. Suddenly, she found herself unwilling to approach it; what if there was something worse than her husband’s house? Fear crawled up and down her spine, and she shivered. What was going to happen to Dinah?
