When Charles woke up the next morning, he did so himself, not knowing that he'd woken up half an hour before he was supposed to. He didn't expect the atmosphere outside to be pleasant, but what he saw froze his heart out of the sheer dread that he felt. His heart had been keen towards dread lately, it seemed, and in his circumstances, it wasn't good at all. Quite pathetic, actually.

It was merely the landscape outside of the bars in front of him, but it wasn't how a landscape was supposed to look. While nothing otherworldly, it was certainly eerie, what with the full moon that glistened like the aura of a ghost amidst disorganized streaks of dark blue and black, its pale shade timidly illuminating the dead grass and trees, making them look as if they'd been brought back from their respective deaths, and even himself to some extent, as if the inside and outside of the asylum weren't frightening enough already.

Thirty minutes passed like nothing as he stared at the horizon, his mind overwhelmed with thoughts, the creak of the door to his cell startling him when it came. Edna gently shook on the floor and yawned and stretched her hands as she slowly stood up, her vision too blurry for her to discern that every movement of hers was judged, watched over like some thorough and rather frustrating experiment.

Edna recognised the woman in front of the cell immediately, the memory of her being carved into her skull over the past few days, but Charles needed some time to figure it out. She was not friendly by any means, her cold, dark brown eyes piercing right through his soul as he studied her. Her ink-black hair was tied into a ballerina bun so tightly that it was a wonder how she could tolerate it. Her incredibly pale skin and gaunt figure reminded him of a corpse, her bony right hand stretched out towards him like a sign of a primordial judge, merciless in his verdicts. Around that skeletal figure, a pure white dress lingered like a curtain, swaying lightly in the harsh winds of cold. 

From all of that, he was able to easily conclude who it was, but, to clear all the doubt from his mind, there was a tag on the dress that told him everything that mattered about her:

Florence Haze.

The night before came flashing back to him - the stern officers, the creepy lights, the dead landscape, the hopeless prisoners, mostly the hopeless prisoners. They were all in her possession. And now he was too, which meant that he would now see how he was going to endure such-

"Mister Abbott," she snapped at him. "I know that you're insane, but that doesn't mean that it should be seen through the way you look at others."

He shuddered with his whole body. "I apologise, Mrs Haze, but-"

"How dare you assume I'm married?" she said through gritted teeth. "You should learn not to jump to conclusions this easily. Luckily for you, you'll learn it quickly, among many other things. You have no choice but to do so. After all, it's what's best for you. It may seem frightening right now, but I'm only doing what is needed to make my patients functioning and stable members of society. I'm sure you'll agree after being here for a while."

It won't exactly be my choice to agree, now will it?

He nodded reluctantly. "Yes, madam, I understand everything you've said. One more thing though. Why are Edna and I here? The fact that both of us exist should be proof to release us on its own."

She snorted. "I thought you wouldn't ask stupid questions after how you've just embarrassed yourself. Dealing with you is going to be a little harder than I'd expected, but it's nothing I can't handle. Time is money, however, so let's not waste our precious hours like this. You'll meet the other patients this morning, and then we'll walk you through the rest of your daily routine. Come on, let's go! You too, Miss Mackie!"

Slow as a snail, Charles followed the two women on their stern way. Where they went to was the front side of the courtyard, which looked a little nicer this time. Tables made of birch had been set up with starched red-and-white tablecloths, weaved baskets full of ripe fruit and freshly baked bread, tall glasses of homemade orange juice that everyone drank with enthusiasm, and triangular sandwiches that looked colourful and tasty. 

People were either walking across the stone path within this large area as if nothing in the world bothered them or chatting casually with each other in between small bites of breakfast, laughing merrily. Charles initially wondered how the eeriness and malevolence he'd seen thus far were able to bypass the local authorities, but now it was crystal clear that it wasn't what they saw. What they saw was this.

Charles had met many people that day, but he only remembered a handful. Around half an hour after having arrived outside, he finished his breakfast, after which he sat at the table across from him. It was occupied by two men, one of which was middle-aged and the other elderly. The latter didn't contribute much to the conversation, instead preferring to stare at the dead tree right in front of him and laugh incessantly, but the former talked a lot because Charles asked him a lot. It was because, for some reason, he looked oddly familiar.

"My name's Charles Abbott," the young lad began, firmly shaking that man's hand. "And who are you? I feel as if I've seen you somewhere before, but I'm not quite sure about your identity."

The man let out a deep sigh. "Don't you remember me, Charles? I'm Aaron Mackie, your best friend's father. We've met each other a lot before... Before all of this began..."

Charles gasped like he'd never gasped before in his life. Of course, the man's appearance was familiar, what with his bright blond hair and gentle blue eyes and smile that gave off an aura of benevolence and trustworthiness rarely seen anywhere else, but even when Charles was directly informed about the man's identity, he couldn't believe it. It wasn't as if he could believe anything anymore, but this was impossible to even imagine. It was no wonder then that he would have a lot to ask.

"And why are you here?" he asked, his eyes wide. "You have always seemed, well, how to say it... Normal..."

Aaron let out a heavy sigh. "Well, young man, it's a long story, but I have no choice but to tell you. You see, while I'm not quite an alcoholic, sometimes I mess up and drink at least a little more than I should. And when I get drunk, I do stupid things, as drunkards do. When drunk, I feel as if I can do anything, the concept of pain and fear as foreign to me as the possibility of inventing the time machine.

It was the reason why I went to the local bridge and walked all over the treacherous fence, thinking that there was no way I would fail to complete the task. However, near the end, I slipped on some ice and fell onto the cement. These people were around, and, having assumed the worst, they thought that I'd tried to take my own life, and, obviously, a person who's ready to take their own life isn't fit for our society. Any more questions?"

"How could you say 'Any more questions' so casually?" Charles asked, waving his hands in the air. "Of course I'd have more questions after this! Many of them, in fact! First of all, how could these officers have been so cruel? Why didn't they believe you when you told them it was a misunderstanding? Why didn't they tell your wife and daughter the truth and instead told them that you died in a freaking car accident?! Why, why, why?!"

Aaron patted Charles on the shoulder as the young lad burst into tears. "It's okay, Charles. These people may be cruel, but we'll survive it. I know we will. But, before that, I'll gladly answer your questions. First of all, they are cruel because they're following Florence's orders, which they are following because of either the fear of being fired for not complying, the genuine belief that she's the answer to the question of forming a perfect society within our borders or both. 

It must have been part of the reason why they refused to believe me, but the much more important reason is that insane people always deny their insanity, so they thought that I was simply doing that. Also, they refused to tell anyone even their truth because, as they said, 'It's better for them not to know. An accidental death is much better than a purposeful one. It helps lessen the grief.'"

Just as Charles was about to respond to those shocking words, the old man laughed and laughed, his laughter echoing through Charles's ears to the point that he felt as if he was going to become actually insane. His face turning red, he went to face him and show him what's what, but he stopped dead in his tracks when Aaron pulled his hand, which he wasn't strong enough to resist.

"That's Henry," he said calmly, forcing Charles back onto the bench made of cherry wood. "Don't ever get angry at him, no matter how irritating he may seem. He can't help it, not since the age of ten. He was quite bright, but then he hit his head hard when he fell from a tree while stealing some cherries from his closest neighbours, and now he can't do anything for himself. He can only stare at things intently and laugh every few minutes. His family grieved, as did everyone who heard his story, but there's nothing that can be done about it now. At least he's going to die soon anyway."

"He deserves to be here," Charles said mournfully. "I wish that he too had been sent here unjustly, but, if nothing else, at least I'm glad to know that these people can make proper judgments from time to time."

The conversation pretty much ended after that. Charles met a couple more people, but most of them weren't important because they weren't going to be around him most of the time. In fact, there was only one more person he remembered, and their story, he thought, was quite interesting. They were an interesting person in general, which he thought from the moment he saw them.

This stranger looked like the leading woman of some Gothic novel from the Victorian Era - her curled, lengthy brown hair lay loose like he imagined her mind to be; her ivy eyes shone with fear and mistrust of everything around her due to what must have been numerous strange occurrences one way or another; her sharp nose and emaciated figure gave her an air of graveness and ghastliness; her wan skin alluded to her being the kind of person who spent a lot of time reading old and dusty books, especially in the attic of her old house, which must have been decaying for ages; her thin brown lips curled into a cold frown told him not to trust her, and, on her person, she wore a light black linen dress that was covered with layers of dark black lace that dragged along the dead grass, as well as a parasol designed in an oddly similar way. However, to his surprise, she smiled warmly upon seeing him and was more than eager to start the conversation herself.

"Hello, my name's Lavinia Idle," she chirped, excitedly shaking his hand. "And you are?"

"Charles Abbott," he responded awkwardly, but luckily, before he could say anything else, she began talking.

"I already know why you're here due to my excellent observational skills, so no need to tell me," she said, wagging her finger. "It's all a load of nonsense, but what can one do about it? Now let me tell you my story. As you may or may know, my family used to be aristocrats before they lost their fortune - thank my greedy cousins for that - and ever since then, I've been exhibiting some very strange behaviours. I understand why they've sent me here, but I still don't feel as if it's completely justified.

My neurosis may have gotten the best of me that year, but it doesn't mean that my feelings and experiences should be disregarded as mere hysteria. My family never thought very well of me due to what you can see right in front of you - my clear interests for the macabre and the eldritch - and it only got worse, but there's a reason for it. There's a reason why I told them that I saw ghosts and otherworldly creatures and drew images in black and white which they couldn't even see in their worst nightmares and cried in the study for hours and screamed at random in the late hours of the night. There are abominable creatures out there, and I know that they're real. However, I don't think that you do, so you can now brand me as insane like everyone else. I won't get mad at you for it."

Charles shrugged. "Well, to be honest, I'd do so if you didn't remind me of someone. My childhood friend, Edna Mackie, is also an artist with an imaginative mind such as yours, and she's been having similar experiences to yours lately. That eldritch painting she painted last year for an exhibition... It's based on her nightmares, which she claimed seemed real to her. By the way, speaking of Edna, you also remind me of her due to how charismatic you are. I'd like you to tell me what your first impression of me was like, if you're willing to, of course."

"Thank you," Lavinia responded, giggling. "You're charming as well, even if not exceptionally so. By the way, I know of Edna Mackie. I'm one of her biggest fans. However, due to never having been close to her, I thought that she was merely a really creative mind and had no idea that she could be experiencing the same things that I am. I wish that our conversation could last even a little longer, but you already know that Florence wouldn't be forgiving of it. Goodbye, and I hope to have a similar conversation with you as this one soon enough."

His acquaintance with Lavinia was a great start to a not-so-great day. On his first day, Florence had tormented him quite a lot, and he wanted to forget about it forevermore and live his life like it never happened. However, it seemed that it wasn't going to happen any time soon. At the end of the day, he fell asleep with a deep sigh, feeling defeated, but not as defeated as before. With Edna, and all the people he'd met in the morning as well, by his side, he felt that everything was going to be much easier.