I, psycho.

Chapter One.

    Seventy three hours, ten minutes and thirty two seconds after I finally had the pleasure of puncturing my captors skull with a scalpel intended for the singular purpose of tearing my vagina open inorder to find out -as he put it- the workings of that crazy stuff, the psychiatrist diagnosed me of thirteen mental illnesses; OCD, DID, ADHD, PTSD, Separation anxiety disorder, communication disorder, depersonalization disorder, bulimia nervosa, pica, insomnia, restless leg syndrome, acute stress disorder and our dear ole schizophrenia.

   That's an awful lot of disorders, I noted, tugging a strand of my irritably long hair that couldn't choose what type of blonde it wanted. I loved it on most days, hated it to the point of cutting on some, but for the sake of the days where I loved it, I left it as it was. Thigh length.

                   I digressed.

Needless to say, my grandmother -the one I never knew I had until she had come to fetch me from the asylum- was not happy.

  She was, apparently, a super rich, super powerful woman from an equally super rich and powerful family with super powerful... That's a lot of supers, I mused.

  If one super plus another super made superer---

       No, no, no. I would not digress.

  Anyway, my grandmother had briefly informed me of my heritage and done the next best thing -according to her; sent me to school, to college.

   You see, contrary to popular speculation, man had never, has never and probably, will never posses any magic of any sort.

       Without a fae contract that is.

               Ceaser's Academy.

A prestigious college for extremely intelligent, extremely rich people with extremely connected connection and of course, contracted with extremely rare magical faes.

I, an extremely intelligent, extremely rich, magical heir with extremely connected connection, and apparently, now a student of one of the world's most elite school.

I, a Ceaserian.

Only a crazy one. Something only the chairwoman of the college knew. Call me psychic, which I was on occasion, but I had a feeling that many more would come to know. Craziness, I had realized, was not something easily hidden.

  My grandmother was strongly disillusioned that my craziness made me less powerful. What she didn't know was that where my brain failed me, my body and my fae, excelled.

         Quite excellently at that.

  But I'd learned the hard way that not everyone appreciated being reminded how powerless they were in the face of real power. Eighteen years trapped in The Hole had taught me plenty. So far, only few knew of my true powers because, let's face it, the ones who knew where either too scared to acknowledge it, wanted me dead or were already dead.

  Letting the school palmflet in my hand fall to the ground, I shifted in my queen sized bed, seeking comfort from the soft foam with that distinct just-bought scent.

Sleep, I knew, would not come in a long while. The ability to surrender the control I'd painstakinly ganared was one I'd long since forgotten. Past experiences, painful past experiences, had reduced me to the mistrusting being that I revelled in.

  Don't get me wrong, I didn't particularly hate being crazy, I didn't particularly hate anything, except pickles, those things were plain evil. Infact, this state I preferred to the beguiling and trusting person I'd once being. Trust had only gotten me so far before it'd rendered me into a pile of ash.

I felt the stirrings of my fae in me, felt as she projected her aura ever so slightly and scanned the room, parlour and kitchen that made up my small, college alloted apartment. Though my wards were up, I did this every night for my peace of mind as well as my fae's.

You see, humans were just that: human. But fae occupied humans were a different species all together. Millenniums before I was birthed, the faes made their existence open to the world as well as a proposition. Faes, being the magical beings they were, had no physical form, only whispery, fog-like, appearances, unbefitting of their tremendous magical powers.

They had then proposed that a pact of sort be made between man and fae that the magical creatures could inhabit a human vessel, giving the vessel their exquisite powers in return for using their body.

And so it begun or is it began... Hmm... My English is a little rusty, they didn't teach English in the mad house.

Anyway, ever since, every child had been born with a fae in them, the type, unknown until late childhood. Mostly though, faes we're known to be contracted to a particular linage par specie.

  Like how the imps, characterised by their cunning craftiness and excell in treakery which gave them the ability to do aptly confuse as well as draw their enemies into mind-crashing, deadly webs of mental pains, favoured the Cunningham's and their underlings.

The maguses were more...reserved but also excelled in mental disturbances. Known to be able to bring your greatest nightmares into life, they were often quite, studious or surprisingly outspoken. They favoured the Maine's.

Ah! The savages, the brutes; hounds of the Seymour Clan. Shape-shifting sentinels to higher-up feas, this specie were strength and power in it's embodiment. No one messed with them, or rather, no one messed with the ones they guarded.

Never aging beauties, the graceful felines, the female paragons of the fae/human society...the egoists; banshees. Equipped with soul-shattering voices called echoes, these elite were disturbingly beautiful but chillingly deadly. Gustav clanned women able to kill in a matter of seconds.

  Then came the Eragons. Mighty, insanely powerful, unquestionable leaders with different ranges of power. Though few in number, they dominated the fae populace and favoured the clan of El Dorado.

If you're wondering how I knew all of these, don't worry, I'm wondering too.

  I sighed lazily, it was so easy to give in to not sleeping. My active brain cells were only too willing to remain awake, formulating strategies that would help me blend in on my first day as a Ceaserian, methods that would fend the bullies that were sure to come and die.

'Wouldn't be the first time there was a killing spree was done by our hand -mine and my fae's that is- in my defense. Wouldn't be the first time I'd feel nothing at such psychotic thoughts either. Trust me -don't- I knew I was crazy, t'was others who didn't. 

Whatever I was or wasn't, I'd long since accepted.

    I was not sane, big fucking deal.