Vanguard, Chapter 3: Rose

Silence; one of the better things about The Wastelands. No trees to rustle in the wind, no ceaseless chirping of birds at day and no cicadas to replace said birds at night. Only this peaceful, everlasting silence, only broken by the sound of the wind and the sand underneath their boots. And the voices. Why did there have to be these voices? Did they have no respect for this blissful silence? Even here, away from Camp Vanguard, there had to be these voices. Crude, half-drunken blabbering of the guards. Oh how she wanted to kill them.

It was night at this point. The sun was tucked away beneath the horizon, and darkness had won this celestial tango. She could still feel the heat of the sun linger in the crisp ground beneath her feet, but the air had long since fallen to the chill of night. Needles of cold prickled at her skin, her exposed arms in particular where her dark leather vest didn't cover. Black gloves of leather shielded her nimble fingers from the cold, but the dozens of holes in her leggings let through chilling gusts of winds to harass her shins and thighs. But she was well covered up with cloth of dark blue, like the night sky, to cover up where her dark leather armor didn't. This wasn't part of the regular female armor requirements, but a choice of her own. She was too paranoid of what the guards might have done to her, if she revealed too much. The mere thought made her sick to her stomach.

She had no headgear, however. Her pitch black hair, short just like she had cut it, bended in the wind like straws of grass, and she felt the cold winds on her cheek, giving her goosebumps. Her face was clean, free of scars—-at least physical ones. Still the contortions of lingering anger seemed to make their mark upon her face, robbing her of smiles, no glimmers of happiness in her eyes. Only disgust seemed to be found in these yellow, narrow pupils-—windows to a tattered soul. It was not as much disgust about where she was, or the war she was in, but the people that followed. Perverted guards left with little but booze and off-the-records rape to lighten their miserable lives. Soldiers plunged into grief and thoughts of suicide. And then the insane ones. Why was she even together with these people? She wasn't insane! She couldn't be! Yet, she was here, on patrol with three twitchy, whimpering drool-dispensers that apparently were of more use on the battlefield than in the Asylum. Of all thoughts that disgusted her, this one disgusted her the most.

She knew about this 'Lucius Deum' figure, who was said to lead this whole charade; this theater of war. And she knew about how he had begun, not more than a couple of years ago, to recruit the most dangerous and insane of the Asylum patients to be sent down here, to The Wastelands, to fight in a war they didn't choose, against an enemy they didn't choose, and side by side with allies they didn't choose... or like. They called this part of Camp Vanguard 'Section 9'. Section 9 had by now almost become a scary tale to be told by the bonfire, within the ranks of the 'normal' soldiers. No one dared come close to Section 9 anyway. Even with the great walls that kept all the nutters inside, they were scared. Scared of the endless screams from behind the walls. Scared of that some of the insane might crawl over and eat them. Scared of... them. Not her. She was nothing like them. She didn't rock back and forth in some wet corner, curled up and whimpering for the hallucinations to go away. She didn't stare out the windows of the barracks with unblinking eyes, waiting for the sky to fall on their heads. And all this seemed to lead up to one question that had plagued her mind ever since she was transferred.
'Why am I here?'

She looked around. The darkness was endless, all-consuming, but the sky was so beautiful at this hour. Stars like thousands of silver dots upon a black carpet, dancing around their king: the moon. Celestial light tinted this bleak place in a silver hue, making it seem slightly less...desolate. Frankly, she kind of liked the darkness. Many here seemed to fear it, especially those of Section 9, but she found peace here, despite the fact that this was the home of demons. She would smile... if she could.

“Can I have my rations now?” She suddenly asked, breaking void of words that had been lingering for quite a while now “I'm hungry.”

Her voice was keen and sharp, fitting for a fit woman her age-—whatever it was. Maybe in her thirties, she figured? The years in the Asylum had blurred together, all the time spent there seeming little but a grey mass of misery.

The patrol suddenly stopped up. The two guards, the three inmates of Section 9, all turned to look at her. A chilling silence followed. Jim, the wide-eyed lunatic who thought he was an angel, stared at her blankly, his twitching eyes seeming to say 'did you just say that?'. Same did Bill and Jane, two married people with a thing for murder and cannibalism. And if that was what gave a spark to their love life, then who were they to blame, she thought.

“Excuuuse me...” One of the guards, Brian, said, his voice heavy and slurred to a booze-broken mutter “...That would be 'can I have my rations, please'!”

“Yeah. Have some manners, Rose!” the other guard, William, blurted out as he gave her a hard slap over the back of her head “Don't make us-—hic—-put you in isolation for bad behavior, you got that?” he asked, but Rose knew better than to answer.

“Actually, make that 'Can I have my rations, sir?'!” Brian said, lifting a finger and snorting lightly to himself.

Rose stood there, arms folded, and took the beating and the mockery. Her face twitched slightly, glimmers of homicide in her eyes, but she didn't do anything. Instead, when the two drunken fools had stopped laughing, she muttered.

“Can I have my rations... sir?” with a voice reluctant and low so that almost the slow moaning of the wind drowned it out.

“That's better.” Brian smirked as he, with hands as nimble as an elephant's foot, fumbled his way into a little pouch where he picked forth as small hunk of bread.

“I would hand it to you... but my mother taught me not to hand-feed dogs.” He said, his clumsy grin growing wider as he dropped the hunk of bread onto the dusty ground “Hah! Now pick it up-—no hands!” he burst out as William stepped in from behind and forced Rose to her knees, kicking her in the shins from behind. Rose grunted in pain as she tumbled to her knees before the bread. She looked up at Brian with hatred in her eyes, but Brian quickly grabbed her by the head and pushed her down towards her meal.

“Didn't you hear me?! Eat it!” He shouted, brutally forcing Rose's head down to the hunk of bread. She clenched her teeth together, reluctant at first. She heard Bill and Jane giggle ceaselessly from behind her, while Jim was guffawing his lungs out at the scene. Now she felt even more like killing them.

Rose really didn't want the bread now, but she was hungry. Very hungry. Most of her dinner had disappeared into the gut of two guards who felt like snatching her bowl of soup, and now she was starving. She was hardly left any choice under the tyranny of these guards, so she yielded. Reluctantly, she reached out to pick the bread from the ground with her mouth.

But that was when it happened. An oddly familiar turn of the wind, an otherworldly twitch in the fabric of the world itself. She could sense it; the membrane between worlds began to shudder and crack. Something on the other side was trying to break through. She froze for a moment, her breath stopping, as she heard it.

An odd, but incredibly loud cracking noise suddenly harassed their ears, and she felt how Brian quickly let go of her to look around.

“What the hell is going on?!” He blurted out, clumsily fetching his blade.

“Oooooooh! Ooooooh!” Jim squeaked and whined, crouching down and hiding his face under his hands “Bad! Bad! Bad!”

And yes, it was bad. As Rose looked up, taking her chance to snatch the bread with her hands, she saw how the ground merely a few meters away began to churn. Churn and twist like a piece of cloth being scrunched and flatted in turn. The ground began to cave in like a sinkhole, lumps of crisp earth falling into... what was that? And then she realized, when she heard the roar.

It was hell. It was hell breaking into this world. Wide-eyed she stared as purple and orange beams of light spewed forth from the ground, and a putrid stench of rot flooded out like a fountain. Rose staggered backwards as she watched, her companions stunned in horror. The roars were defeaning, rumbling like thunder, but the sound was the least of their worries by now. Merely a second after the light burst through, so did a pair of hands. And they were huge.

“Oh shit, it's a juggernaut!” William shouted, eyes locked in fear upon the erupting abomination. Hands larger than human skulls reached upward from the pit and dragged the rest of the body up, its horrific head showing first. Blazing eyes of demonic hunger stared at the humans gathered before it, and green saliva seeped through its jagged maw. Rose stared, not in fear, but in fascination. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. It was so... amazing.

“Quick! Go for the chest-—like in the training!” Brian said and leaped forward, shouting in battle fervor, but it was interrupted by a sickening crunch of bones-—and not the juggernat's. Brian became this creature's first victim, grasping him around his ribcage and crushing it like an egg. He only managed to gargle in pain before blood spluttered from his mouth, and death took him. And then it climbed up from its hole, towering three times a man's size above the poor soldiers and madmen around it.

“Demon! Demon begone! I bring down the gods' wrath upon thee, foul creature!” Jim said, spear in hand as he leaped towards the juggernaut, but he was no more lucky than Brian was. Crushed under a violent slam of its clenched fist, Jim went out like a candle in a blizzard. Two down, three to go. Rose was counting, sitting down a fair few meters behind with folded legs, watching the show. She didn't want to blink. She didn't want to risk missing any of this. She took a bite of her ration, and watched.

It was actually quite impressive how quickly Bill and Jane got killed. Rose had thought that this lumbering abomination would be slow, but no, it slaughtered both Bill and Jane with two consecutive blows, pulverizing them before they even had a chance to scream. War was some disgusting stuff, but Rose found herself in a strange, almost voyeuristic bliss watching them die like that. Just like that—-one life gone. Two lives gone. Snuffed out in the blink of an eye. Bill and Jane could have had kids, lived a happy life in their murderous tendencies, but now they ended up as little but empty sacks of broken bones and bleeding flesh. Fascinating!

William, now completely alone, was going deathly pale, as if his body had given up and tried to kill itself before the juggernaut did the job. But all he could do was whimper in horror and turn around, trying to flee. Rose even caught eye-contact with him. She saw the terrified plea for salvation in his eyes, pushed completely to a point beyond all pride and arrogance—-traits that otherwise described this man quite accurately. But look at him now. Whimpering like a dog begging for forgiveness. She saw how humble the poor man had become.
And she enjoyed watching him be squashed underneath the juggernaut's foot. Crunch! Dead.

But now the juggernaut was looking at her. She was still sitting there, munching on her piece of bread, enjoying her meal. But apparently it seemed like she had been labeled as the meal now. The juggernaut stared at her with hungry, otherworldly eyes. It growled lowly, a thunderous rumble coming all the way from its hideous gut and out its mouth. And then it began walking towards her, clamoring steps that shook the ground beneath her. Clearly it wanted to end her too. But she couldn't allow that.

She took a deep breath. She lay down the bread, still sitting with her legs folded, and watched as the juggernaut came closer. But again, she felt the membrane between worlds shudder. Again, the air seemed to twitch so strangely like a mirage, but this time... it was her doing. It was in her favor this time. This was how she sensed the coming of the juggernaut. She had dealt with this kind of thing many, many times before. Funny thing, though... she didn't really know what it was.

She slowly raised her right hand, pointing towards the head of the juggernaut, folding her fingers to look like a gun. Her thumb stood upright, her index finger directed at the creature's face, and her other fingers imitating the trigger and handle of a gun. She stared at the juggernaut as it came closer, and she felt this odd, unnatural magic stir within her. It grew stronger and stronger, louder and louder inside her for each passing moment, and it was almost like it vibrated in her arms and legs. Faint flickers of purple energy began to coil around her arms and orbit around her pistol-hand, like fireflies. And then, the juggernaut approached. She looked into its eyes, her index finger still upon its face, as it began to roar.

ROOOOAAA—-

“Pow.”
She let her thumb crook, fold like the safety lock of a gun would do, and the juggernaut was immediately interrupted. Because, right as she said this, the energy inside her burst forth from her index finger in a straight beam of purple magic that pierced effortlessly through the juggernaut's skull. Cracks of bone and the silence of the roar heralded the juggernaut's death. It stood there, upright on its massive legs, before it toppled over backwards.

THUMP!

The ground shook in the fall of the demon, and dust rose in a cloud. Rose watched her handiwork with some sense of indifference. She lead the tip of her index finger to her mouth and blew at it, like she had seen some of the other soldiers do. Then she took another bite of her bread and stood up.
Oh well. Show's over. She had better get back to camp.

The bread was all gone by the time she got back to Camp Vanguard. It wasn't much, and it was little but crumbs on her lips by now. She licked some off, patted the rest off her palms, and looked at the camp before her. Her short, black hair swayed in the wind, as did the high banners of holy men, atop the tents. Darkness laid the place is a sacred quietus of night, save for the occasional drunk that stumbled through the dusty paths of the camp. The borders of Camp Vanguard were guarded by some deployed night watches, but they let her effortlessly slip through. Unlike the other people of Section 9, she could actually blend in with the rest. The only way to tell she was one of Section 9 was on the dog tag that hung around her neck. It had a little '9' engraved on it, which would usually strike fear into the hearts of anyone she showed that dog tag. Usually, it was quite amusing to see, but she didn't have time for such frivolities right now, and the night watch clearly didn't take their time to see what section she was part of, so she slipped right through.

She was sauntering down one of the paths of Camp Vanguard by now, her strict steps muffled in the sand below and her hands in her pockets. Her narrow-pupilled gaze wandered into the open curtains of the tents all around her, casting glances inside to see what they held. It wasn't often that she got a look around anything outside Section 9, after all. She saw a few soldiers, most sleeping, some reading or writing, and some groaning in pain over the leg they no longer had. And some tents were completely empty, save for a little shrine of sorts, to some god of sorts. She wondered what the point of these were-—she saw quite a lot of them, actually.

It didn't take long before she arrived in the center of Camp Vanguard. Now this place was normally completely off-limits for anyone from Section 9, so this was very new to her. And there was even a little life here. Most of them drunks, though, walking in stumbling circles around a large statue in the middle. Rose cast a silent gaze towards the granite man with his sword and book, eyebrows furrowed. Was this Lucius Deum? The man who sent her here? The man who put her here to die an involuntary death, in involuntary honor of... himself? Or was he fighting in the name of the gods? Either way was no reason for her to be here in the first place. She didn't revere the gods, and she definitely did not revere this man for anything at all. For all she cared, he could lay down and—-

“Heyyy, you're a bit late out, darling.” a drunken blare suddenly interrupted her thoughts, as did the sick smell the erupted from this booze-battered soldier beside her. He was hanging like an undead, pale-faced like one too, but with an impressively red nose. His eyes flickered in his sockets, and his smile twitched like a dying rodent. He stared at her with shimmering eyes, still in his armor, and with a half-full bottle of... whatever that was, in his right hand.

“I decide my own bedtimes, thank you.” Rose responded sharply with a nasty glare into the drunken eyes of the poor man, clearly inviting him to get stuffed. But unfortunately, he was too drunk to understand such an obvious indication. It didn't take long before Rose felt his hand on her bum.
“Oh you're quite the grown woman, aren't you darl—“

SMACK!

The man was immediately silenced and staggered as he received a firm blow to the face, breaking his nose. Blood ran down his cheek and he clearly had no idea of what just happened—-he was probably too groggy to feel the pain anyway. Rose, a spiteful sneer on her face, withdrew her fist with bloodied knuckles. Their gazes met, hers full of hateful domination, and his littered with confusion and fear. The man stumbled to his butt, most of his face red with the blood of his own nose, and he muttered something completely incomprehensible-—probably some kind of drunken cursing. Rose looked around and saw all the eyes upon her. How bothersome and unnecessary. As a bid of farewell, Rose spat the man in the face and turned around. She walked away, face even angrier now, trying to escape all the unwanted she had drawn to herself.

She never really was much for socializing. Was this how they did it? Grabbing women by the bum in a haze of stale beer? Was she just supposed to... play along? She cringed at the thought. She would never let herself be dishonored by that disgusting man. She fled the scene, her steps quick and angry, escaping back into the silence she treasured so much. Silence was beginning to seem like a treat for her these days. A short breathing space, which seemed to grow less and less frequent. She didn't really want to go back to Section 9, but she definitely did not want to stay out here either, where she might risk running into another one of those pigs. And before she knew it, she was before the gates of Section 9 anyway.

Barb wire ran along the top of the granite wall like brambles. It was the only place with walls, and she could hear the faint mix of screams and laughter from within. It was quiet, though, in comparison to what it usually was like, since most of the inmates had fallen into an uneasy, but quiet sleep by now. Still, there were the occasional insomniacs who stayed up all night, doing what madmen do best. It was strange, though. She almost felt at home here, after all these years.

She let her gaze fall from the top of the wall, to the bottom of it. Here, by the barred gates of Section 9, stood a of guard—Tommy. She knew him quite well, and he knew her. Some might even say that she could have befriended him, but that might have been a long shot. Still, he was the only guard around here that wouldn't slap you over the face for not saying 'Sir'. She much rather liked using his actual name.

“Hi Tommy.” She said rather casually, raising a hand in greeting as she stepped out of the darkness “I'm home.”

Tommy quickly looked up after being half-asleep, standing, and his eyes widened as he saw Rose approach.
“Rose!” He exclaimed and quickly looked around for other faces “How the hell did you get out?!”

“I was on patrol.” She replied calmly as she stepped up before him, arms folded.

His eyebrows furrowed in wonder “But... where are your guards then? And your squad mates?”

“Well...” Rose said and picked some bread from her teeth and flicked it away “Brian got squeezed to death-—same did Jim. Jane and Bill got their ribcages punched in, and William was stomped to death. I can give you the details, if you want. It was quite the show.”

Tommy looked complete baffled-—wordless for seconds. When he realized what she said, he exhaled deeply in shock “Holy gods...” He muttered and wiped some sweat off his forehead “They're... dead?”

“Very.” Rose said with a short nod.

Tommy shook his head and sighed “Poor souls. I know I wouldn't want to die like that...” He said, before he slowly looked back up at Rose with wonder in his eyes “But wait... why didn't you help them, Rose?”

Rose's eyebrows slowly raised. She hadn't seen that question coming. And, in fact, she wasn't quite sure how to answer it either. She licked her lips a little and scratched her chin, before answering slowly “I... well, it was just so interesting.”

“Interesting? Rose, they're dead!” Tommy exclaimed and grabbed her by the shoulders “Dead! Don't you... okay, never mind. Never mind. Just...” He sighed “...Just get inside.” He said and  turned around, pushing open the gates.

Rose suddenly felt an emotion she hadn't felt in quite a while: guilt. Not guilt towards not helping them, but guilt towards hurting Tommy. She could see that he was hurt, but she really couldn't comprehend why he was hurt. It just didn't make sense to her. She looked at Tommy, saw his morose face through befuddled eyes as she walked inside. Tommy closed the gates behind her, and... and it was almost like he wouldn't look at her. What had she done? That wasn't a rhetorical question-—she really did not know what she had done to hurt him. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She fidgeted a little, looking at the back of Tommy's head, before sighing. Slightly depressed, she turned around and headed back to her barracks.

The inside of Section 9 seemed much like a prison, really. A big, grey, square building with barred windows. It followed the exact same ultra-systematic grid as the rest of Camp Vanguard, but for some reason, those of Section 9 were stuffed in a cell rather than given their own tent, which really seemed quite luxurious in the eyes of anyone from Section 9. Looking at the great square—-her home-—Rose saw how darkness had crept into most of the rooms, accompanied by the silence of slumber. Most were asleep, clearly, although there were the occasional oddballs (as mentioned before) which couldn't sleep. Or wouldn't. Whichever. Small flickering candles cast their yellow light throughout one of the bottom cells, where an inmate sat, curled up in the corner, rocking back and forth like a disturbed child. Poor man was afraid of the dark. And not just your usual 'afraid of the dark'. He was utterly terrified of it. Rose hadn't seen him sleep for weeks.

She looked down at the bottom center of this big, depressing square, and saw the entrance. A shaggy little door that hadn't ever felt the sweet taste of oil on its hinges. She slowly strolled up to it, hovered her hand over the doorknob, uncertain. Her eyebrows twitched slightly and she licked her lips, hesitating. She was tired, but... maybe it wasn't bedtime yet. There was still someone whom she owed a visit. And it didn't seem like there were any guards around, save for Tommy. The rest were likely passed out with one half of the whiskey bottle in their hands and the other half in their mouths. She could feel her heart beat increase. This was her chance. She slowly backed away from the door, saving sleep for later, before she quickly trod down one of the sandy paths of Section 9, hands in her pockets and eyes wary for any night life.

The sound of the sand yielding under her steps and the slow moaning of the wind was the only thing that broke the silence. It was cold too, her breath showing like a plume of steam from her mouth and some of her skin exposed to the needles of the elements. She looked around, eyes unblinking and watchful, keen like those of a hawk. She couldn't see, hear, or smell the guards at all. She marched quickly through the guardsmen's tents, casting glances inwards to see them deep in slumber. Keyen, the goddess of luck, truly smiled upon her now. She heard them moan and groan, turn around in their beds, but none seemed to awaken. Taking this chance, she hurried through the tent area, and to the very back of Section 9, where her salvation stood.

The lavatories.

Not because she had any urge to use them, but there was someone waiting for her in there. There always was, and she couldn't go to sleep without saying good night to them. The lavatories stood in a long row, rectangular boxes with space for only one person—-or two if they squeezed together. She looked over her shoulder, nervous, before stepping inside of one.

It smelled horrific in here. The disgusting mix of excrement and urine was an evil, foul concoction that no one ever deserved. It was strange that her acquaintance always resided here, but this was one of the few places in Section 9 where you could find a kind of peace. Of course your sense of smell was in a fit, but no one came to disturb you... usually.

It was a small room with little space for anything else but the toilet and a person on it. Strangely enough, though, there was a lid to it, and not just a hole in the ground. Still, that couldn't keep the smell out. It seeped out like a manifested nightmare desperate to escape. Still, she endured the stench and slowly went down on her knees before the toilet. The lid was down, and she looked upwards, expectation in her eyes. She opened her mouth a few times, drawing in air to speak, but it took a few tries before any words actually came out.

“M...Mother? Are you there?”

At first, there was silence. No response at all. Rose didn't give up hope, though; she knew that her mother was waiting for her here, waiting to get a chance to say good night to her. And true enough, all of a sudden... something appeared.

At first it was little but a faint mist appearing out of thin air. Vague and transparent, it floated around in the air, but it multiplied. More and more mist appeared before it began to take shape of, yes indeed, a body. A female one, draped in a nightgown, and with a beautiful tiara on her head. She was old, but her beauty lingered. Her eyes were closed at first, her face unnervingly dead, but Rose knew those eyes would open soon enough. And they did. They opened up and a smile spread across those ephemeral lips. And Rose smiled too. She felt a peace much stronger than the one she drew from silence. And it only grew even stronger, when the ghostly woman began to speak.

“Rose... I was beginning to worry you wouldn't show up.” She said, her voice like that of a caring grandmother's.

“Of course, mother!” Rose replied, smiling brightly “I couldn't make myself go to bed without saying good night to you. Are you well? In there... the afterlife?”

The woman slowly nodded, hands cupped neatly together at her stomach “As always, my dear. Your father and I are very peaceful here, in our dreams. You know how it is, with death and all-—going to sleep in Morrin's arms, dreaming an everlasting dream with those you love. You will too, one day, my dear. Once you find a fine husband and die with him, I'm sure you will love this place too.”

Rose cocked her head slightly and averted her eyes “But mother... all the men here are half-brained drunkards and brutes. I don't want to marry any of them, and I can't marry any of the inmates either. And you know the chances of getting to speak with anyone from outside Section 9...” She said, scratching the back of her head guiltily “...But I really don't want to disappoint you or father. And I definitely don't want to die alone either. Do you think I will ever get away from this war? This strife? This... hell?” She asked.

“Oh don't be so pessimistic, dear.” the woman said, waving her hand dismissively “All this will be over in time. Don't you worry one bit. You are too strong to die on the battlefield anyway, and some have been sent home before you. Patience, dear. Patience.”

Rose took a deep breath and sighed. She looked back up into her mother's eyes and smiled weakly “I guess you're right. Thank you, mother. You are the only thing that keeps me sane in this place.” She said, her voice shivering slightly and her eyes seemed to shimmer with gathering tears “If only I could hug you.”

Suddenly, a new voice interrupted her, killing her smile and making her heart sink in her chest.
“Yeah, I saw her go into this latrine here. Be careful though—she's a tough one.”

Rose's eyes widened and her heart seemed to cramp together in anguish. She quickly looked up at her mother, jaw jittering and voice hastened “Mother, tell father I love him, even though he doesn't show himself. And please please please don't go, mother. I can't take this place without you. I'd go insane! I'd become one of them!” She cried, her voice raising “I'd become one of them, mother! I... I don't want to lose my mind!”

Her mother seemed to open her mouth to respond, but just in that second, the door flung open. Rose watched as her mother dissipated in the same mist she was made of, disappearing into thin air.

“Grab her!” one of the guards shouted, and Rose felt at least five hands yank her out of the lavatory “You're out too late, missy. I hope you like the inside of an isolation cell.”

She kicked and screamed, feeling the guards grab her all kinds of wrong places “No! Nooo! Let me go! Mother! MOTHER!!”.

Those became her last words before she felt a syringe dig into her neck. She gasped, stunned at the pain, before everything seemed to fade away. All her senses dulled, everything became quiet, as she disappeared into the dark of unconsciousness.

She woke up, sometime later. She had no idea how long time had passed, and her head felt heavy, thumping like a war drum. Her mouth hung slightly open, her eyes too opened weakly, allowing little but a sliver of vision to slip past her eyelids. She was lying down, she could tell, staring up at some kind of light source. It was completely white in this cramped, cubic room, with a single lantern hanging from the ceiling. All her senses were still quite numbed, and she couldn't feel her toes or fingers at all. It took her quite a while before she realized that she was in a straitjacket.

She sat quickly up in the small room, sitting on the white pillows that seemed to be part of the floor, walls, and even the ceiling. She tucked nervously at the restrained sleeves of the straitjacket, grinding her teeth angrily as she desperately tried to escape. She shuffled around on the floor, rolling around and feeling the helplessness creep into her. She screamed out loud, furious over her restraining. There was a single door in this room, one of metal, and she pounded herself against it over and over again.

“Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!” She screamed in rage, the door thundering each time she slammed against it. Again and again and again she tried, tucking at her sleeves and pounding the door, but it was of no use.

“You can't leave me here! Don't do this to me! I'll go insane! Do you want that?!” She cried angrily, but eventually just limply slid down the metal door in surrender “...Please...” she whimpered.

“Oh darling, don't you see? They don't hear you. They don't want to hear you.”

That voice made her shiver. Everything but this. Not now. She slowly looked over her shoulder, anger in her eyes as she looked upon him who stood in the corner of a room. It was a man—-an incredibly odd one at that. Green eyes stared upon her, and she stared back. Back at this man, clad in purple, green and pink tight clothing of silk, like a circus manager. His white-gloved fingers tapped slyly upon the jeweled top of his cane, leaning shrewdly upon the white wall. One hand lay upon his purple cane, and the other held his head, its elbow resting upon the wall, while he smiled so deviously. He was eerily slender, as if he was little but skin and bones. His eyes, so keen and full of guile, gazed deeply into Rose's eyes, even if hers were full of hatred. And to crown this man the oddity he was, a large purple hat lay slanted upon his gel-smothered hair, decorated with a small pink ribbon.

“I don't have time for you...” Rose snarled lowly at the man.

“Oh honey, didn't you mother teach you not to lie?” The man asked, his grin growing wider as he pushed himself off the wall and slowly approached Rose. He twirled his cane around in his grasp, before crouching down before her “I think you just scored yourself a lot of time, getting caught like this. You could be in here for days, sweetie!” He smiled.

“Don't call me that!” Rose snapped “I'm not your 'sweetie', 'honey', or anything like that, okay?!”

“Oh please, don't be such a spoilsport.” The man said, waving his gloved hand dismissively at her “Might as well keep up a good mood while you're here, after all. You're not getting rid of me anytime soon anyway, so... might as well enjoy the ride, don't you think?”

Rose sneered angrily and looked away from him “You're just a play of my mind. You're not real. I can remove you anytime I want.”

“Is that so, Rose darling?” The man asked, leaning in a little closer with challenge in his emerald eyes “If that were true... then why did you summon me in the first place? Admit it, sweetheart.” He said, tapping Rose on the head with his bejeweled cane “You're utterly, completely, rambunctiously...”

“...Insane.”