• The smooth wood had no friction on her long, pale fingers as she ran them across the dresser... It was so smooth... The roses on the desk beckoned to her, razzing her with their velvet petals and thorny stems. Every time she had reached out to grab one, she wound up nursing her finger tenderly, trying to alleviate the pain of the thorn. There were so many things she didn't understand... Was she pretty? How pale was her skin? Were the clouds truly cotton? Thousands of unanswered questions ran through her mind constantly; most of them would remain unanswered.... She knew only one thing. Darkness. She knew how terrifying it was, how its sheer mystery struck fear into her heart. She knew how it smothered her, how it got harder and harder to breath as the days went on. Indeed, if there was one thing Linea Dupree knew well it was darkness, but there was a rather perverse irony to this fact. She knew the darkness so well, and it had snaked into her mind, heart, and worse yet her soul, she was darkness. Then why were her eyes the shade of milky blue, that resembled the rising of fog off the ocean? It was not just the iris, no...her eyes seemed to be covered with a blanket of milk, with small pools of blue underneath. She knew darkness so well, because that was all that was in her world, there was no light. The shutters remained closed, and she had not a candle in her room, as there was no point. The gentle waft of fresh air from the gaps in the shutters no longer tempted her as they had when she was young, for she had given up hope so long ago that she had no memory of it.
    With a shriek of frustration, Linea clenched her fist and thrust it into the mirror in front of her, falling to the floor with a sob. Footsteps pattered up the stairs, and with no time left for her to think, she was encased in a human cocoon, her arms pinned to her sides as she was hoisted onto the plush, matress, and her extremeties were bound with leather straps. "I thought the fits were over!" A woman with a light elegant victorian accent weeped. A man shushed her, and Linea could hear him patting her back gently, "There there Elaine, she was born mad... There isn't a cure, no matter how long the intervals between them are, the fits will always resurface." he had a deep, rather suave voice, serendipity dripping from every word he said. Anyone would have trusted his opinion, simply because he was congenial and knew how to converse with every individual. Only she knew the true falliciousness underneath the sweet mucus that he had doused himself in, the true evil that lied in his soul, that was anything but quiescent.
    "I'M NOT MAD!" her shrill voice seemed to stir up the dust that coated her entire room, "MOTHER PLEASE! PLEASE MAMA!" Her mother's pitiful sobs speared her heart, and the doctor again made the repulsive shushing noise, that seemed to alleviate any emotional pain, "Elaine...it had to come down to this...she has to go..." his voice was falsely grave, but still opaque. Her mother's gasp, and a thud on the floor alarmed the young woman, and she let out a helpless whimper, "Mama...please...don't listen to him..." she pleaded softly, though her mother seemed not to hear. The doctor had apparently kneeled down to help her mother, for she heard the shushing noise again...except this time, it was lower... "Elaine, the asylum is the only place...I have one of my own, she'll be taken care of by no one other than myself, and I will make sure no harm comes to her..." he murmered, and it was Linea's turn for tears. They were sending her to an asylum, where mad-men roamed the halls, screaming of unseen demons...How was she expedient for the place in any way? Her mother managed to choke out a two syllable word that seemed to repeat itself because it feared she wouldn't comprehend it, "Okay..."
    Linea fell silent, what could she do...she had to save herself, for she would surely die under the doctor's care. Perhaps she could pretend to be dead...no that was ridiculous, he would check her pulse, and figure out what she was up to...There had to be something...anything... She had to prove to her mother that she wasn't mad, that the doctor was the one that was mad... There was a noticible lack of hope in her mind, and it soon overtook her, she gave up... Everything that had once fueled her hope, that maybe one day she would be able to see, died, and from it's remains grew ample sprouts of hate and dysphoria. "She'll go Monday, I'll be here at noon..." He said, and Linea heard him bow out with a swish of his coattails. Her mother whimpered once more, "Dear...you're going to go to a safe place, where you can be helped..." her voice cracked, and her shaking hand carressed Linea's cheek. "Mother...Do I sound like a mad woman to you?" the broken spirit inside her mad one last attempt to mend. Her mother choked, and Linea heard her run out, leaving Linea in her fetters to think.
    The utter silence came crashing down on her, like a hammer. All she could hear was her mother downstairs, her sobs echoing throughout the skeletal house which used to hold so much meaning to her. Why her? Why was this burden to be placed on her, why not someone more capable? Questions began to drown her sanity, and she feared if she didn't do something she would truly end up as a mad woman. With a sickening pop of her thumb, she once more folded her right hand into the shape of a bullet, and slipped out of the leather strap. It was an aquired skill, and as soon as she was free she used her bed-post to pop the bone of her thumb back into it's respective joint. There were days when she would be left alone for hours at a time, seemingly restrained by the straps on what was supposed to be an item of comfort. Somehow, everything in her life that was supposed to be beautiful, or kind, had managed to contort itself into a vision of maliciousness, so this no longer took its toll on her.
    She bit her lip, both anxious and excited for she was about to do something she hadn't done in over a decade. Her hands trembled, obviously aware of the task they were about to bring upon their master, and her arms seemed to be numb. It had to be done, this was her last chance, her salvation...the one thing she could do before she was banished to the deepest depths of hell, she had to... With one good shove the deed would be done, but her frail shell of a body defied her soul's wishes and she was paralyzed. Fitting isn't it? Not only was she blind, but now she was paralyzed in trepidation, now the only thing left to happen to Linea would be for her to go deaf and mute... Rebellion surged through her veins, like a fire engulfing a trail of oil, and with a gasp of exertion she flung open the shutters leaving her hands frozen in an outstretched position. Her room no longer seemed to echo, rather it was releasing all of the ill humor of the house. The rapid thudding inside her chest seemed to slow as she felt the warm rays of sun lick her soft skin, its warmth seeming to melt her soul back its originated shape. Again, irony's cruel spear pierced through her heart...Her soul was mended just as she was about to be broken...
    A knock on the door sealed the crack in the meloncholy, letting it engulf her once more. She felt her way to the door of her room and her feet made no sound as she crept towards the stairs, and she stopped as soon as she felt her foot go over the first step, retracting it, she listened. "Good day Madame, I've just moved to the area and I saw your house and thought it might be civil to introduce myself, I am Emerly Bertrum." said a man, whom sounded quite genuine. "Well it is indeed a pleasure to meet you Mr. Bertrum, might I ask you in for a spot of tea? I've just made a fresh batch of scones as well." her mother was smiling as she spoke, Linea could hear it in her voice. With a gasp, she slipped and fell down the stairs, landing sorely on her rump and her mother squeaked in mortification, "Oh! I'm so sorry Mr. Bertrum, she's not supposed to be down here, let me just take her-" she started, firmly grasping Linea's arm, but the man cut her off, "No, no! Let us all have tea together, your daughter seems quite lovely." he was smiling, though it was a little less false than her mother's smile was when she answered the door. The tension given off by her mother seemed to send shock waves through the young woman's body, but her mother didn't want to admit that she had a lunatic as a daughter, "Well then, shall we? Linea, this is Emerly Bertrum, Mr. Bertrum this is my daughter, Linea Dupree." Linea curtsied properly, and the gentleman bowed to her, "A pleasure Miss Dupree." he said politely, offering her his arm as a gentleman should.
    A nudge from her mother allowed her to realize the gesture, and she took his arm, allowing him to lead her to the parlor. She sat down politely on the sofa, crossing her legs and waiting for her mother to return with the tea and scones praying that the man did not ask questions. Once more, lady irony struck, "So tell my Miss Dupree, what do you do in your spare time? You seem like you would be interested in music perhaps?" he questioned, as if trying to start conversation. Her broken spirit could not put much into an answer, as the question itself hurt far too much, "I have no hobbies truthfully...I cannot see sheet music, nor do I have enough talent vocally to be a singer. Might I ask where you moved here from?" the safest route for her to go about the situation would be for her to turn the attention on him, perhaps then she would not have to say as much. "Well I came here from London, the city was just getting to be too much for me, I've taken up residence at Nottington park down the lane. Perhaps you know where that is?" his air of politeness never faltered, though nor did hers. "Indeed I do, it has a lovely air about it don't you think?" She asked with a smile, she hadn't actually planned on conversation, but then again she hadn't actually planned on falling down the stairs.
    Another knock on the door had her mother bustling through the house, at a pace no one would have thought possible for a woman of her age and stature. "Mr. Bertrum!" cried a man, quite out of breath from running, "There is a man at the door with a letter. It's from Mr. Benjamin, Sir." Obviously the voice belonged to a servant, for the air of respect in which he regarded Bertrum with was unheard of. "I'm quite sorry, but I must attend to this. It is indeed of the utmost importance, good day to you dear ladies!" their visitor was obviously frowning as he spoke, and with a gentle shutting noise he had left. "How did you get out of the straps Linea! Come now, we must go back upstairs..." her mother fretted, and Linea made no objection. She had no intention of staying down here any longer, not when she could enjoy the warmth of the open shutters in her room, with the comfort of her own thoughts.

    The next day, Linea had taken up residence in the back garden, feeling everything about it. She had not very much time left at home, and she planned to make the best of it. Even her mother had noticed a change in her, she had been getting out of bed earlier, she'd been more congenial, and a brighter side of her had been showing. Though the melancholy of the fact that she was being sent to an asylum had remained looming heavily in the air. At noon, the doctor arrived in a carriage and took her luggage and things with him, "Is there anything special you'd like to bring my dear?" he asked, the false sweetness again overtaking his voice. Linea simply sent the best look of disdain towards the direction his voice had come from, "No." she said firmly. He sighed and shook his head, "Ok then...let us go." he took her roughly by the arm, his nails digging into her soft flesh. She yelped, pulling back with a surprising amount of force, "She's having a fit!" the doctor cried, pinning both her arms to her side. She screamed and kicked, trying to break free, usually she wouldn't have acted so crazed, but she had absolutely no idea where she was, there was a man she didn't trust digging his nails into her arm, and she was being dragged off to an asylum. Truly she had every right to act like a crazed mustang!
    Her mother broke down into sobs, and a needle was jabbed into her arm. This wasn't the first time this had happened, the doctor found it quite amusing to knock her out with sedatives that seemed to take effect immediately. Her head began to spin, and the voices around her turned into nothing more than slurs and mumbles, making no sense at all. And then...nothing. After what seemed to be an eternity, her eyes fluttered open, her tongue seemed to be the size of an exceptionally large banana slug and her head felt like it would have if she had just been spun in circles for three hours. A sharp pain pierced her head, and everything seemed to come crashing down with twice the normal intensity. Blood curdling screeches, moans, and the smell of decay met her ears, and it was scorching... The room was humid, and the air was putrid, the floor dank and cool beneath her skin...Wait...Cautiously she felt her torso, then with a panicked frenzy she found herself in what felt to be a potatoe sack dress. Everything was so morbid...and she knew that something was out of place, her. She didn't belong here, she wasn't crazy...she was blind, but not crazy. The next couple of months were filled with starvation, tormentation, and death. Everywhere there was someone dying, and she struggled just to get through the day.
    At age twenty-two, her once jet black hair was streaked with grey and her face lifeless and gaunt. Anyone could have mistaken her for a fifty year old woman. The doctor was constantly trying out new medications on the victims of the asylum, some improved...though most didn't make it through the night. Linea was one of the fortunate ones, she had been over-looked because under the mass of writhing bodies, she seemed to be dead. They never took the care to remove the bodies, only but once a month, and even then all that happened was they were thrown into the back room. One day though, she had not been over-looked, and she was hauled mercilessly to a strange smelling room... She heard the doctor giving orders, and she was strapped down once again...reminding her of the life which she had left behind. She screeched inhumanly, a banshee capable of breaking the strongest of glass, but it did nothing. She was injected with another needle, filled with what seemed to be liquid fire, it burned...it burned horribly, and she couldn't stop twitching...Why couldn't she stop twitching? Again, nothing...her mind went blank, and she fell into a deep sleep, one that she might not wake up from...
    Hours later, she found herself on the same cold dank floor on which she had first originated, her heart exhausted as if she had just run a marathon. "No..." she groaned, as she was hauled roughly once more, but this time it was to a different room... "Linea? Linea Dupree?" a familiar voice murmered...who was this? She knew the voice, but she couldn't match it with a name. "Who are you?" her hoarse voice astonished Mr. Bertrum, "It's Mr. Bertrum, I've come to take you home...well with me anyway, your mother reconsidered, but she can't take care of you... The doctor wouldn't allow it." he murmered, "Rest now, we'll be home in a matter of hours..." his voice said. This had to be a dream, it couldn't be reality...But she felt herself being lifted into a carriage, and she felt the bumps of the road, it had to be... Her eyes drooped down slowly, despite her attempts to stay awake and hours later she found herself on a plush bed...one without any straps. "Ah, excellent, you're awake." smiled a pacing Bertrum, "Welcome home...I've brought something for you as well, come." he said, taking her hand and laying it on a smooth surface. It was her dresser, the one that she had before she was sent away. It had so many memories...and they weren't pleasant, "Your mother told me everything..." his voice was soft, sympathetic. She simply nodded, and held her hand on the dresser, "I hope this will be the end of a long road for you Linea..."
    With a start, a broad shouldered gray haired woman shot up from her bed. Everything was dark... She got out of bed, and felt her way to the dresser, holding her hand on it... She could smell the roses, she could feel the breeze...but still she could not see them. The moonlight glistened off a diamond ring on her left ring finger, sending sparkles onto the mahogany bed-post. "Linea, dear is everything alright?" a balding man with gray hair asked, putting his hand on his wife's shoulder. "Yes Emerly... This is the end of a long road for me, now let's go back to sleep..." she croaked, laying back in bed. That morning, when the light peaked through the closed shutters Linea had her hand on the dresser for the last time, a blue shawl on her shoulders, and her waist having grown large. Suddenly her hand flew to her heart, and she fell into a crumpled heap by the window, reaching desperately for the shutters, to open them one last time...She never made it, with a final gasp, she fell limply to the floor, her poorly mended body had finally given up, but only after it was absolutely sure...that there was something more than just closed shutters.