Experiment of Madness

8-Back In The Madness-Dag

My body acted on instinct, my reaction swift and immediate. I dashed towards her, my thoughts a chaotic whirlwind, the sight of the scissors in her hand sending a surge of panic through me. Without hesitating, I snatched the scissors from her, stopping her from cutting her hair.

My heart sank even further as I noticed the blood on her, the situation escalating even more. "Damn it," I muttered under my breath, the sight of blood adding a new layer of concern to my already-rising panic.

I held her by the shoulders, turning her around she cut her back a bit, but a lot of times .

I realized with a growing sense of unease that something was off, her appearance seeming inexplicably different somehow. It was as if she had undergone a subtle transformation since the previous night, her presence now carrying an almost otherworldly aura.

I wrapped my arms around her slender frame, carefully lifting her and laying her gently on the bed, the feel of her fragile body against mine both familiar and unsettling.

I couldn't help but notice the state of her hair, roughly hacked off in an eccentric manner. A pang of sadness mixed with worry lanced through me as I reached for the first aid kit, knowing I had to tend to her wounds and try to make sense of what had happened.

Her gaze fixed on the moon outside the window, and there was an almost trance-like quality to her stare, as if she were possessed by some otherworldly force. The intensity and otherworldliness in her eyes sent a shiver down my spine.

I went to work with the first aid kit, gingerly tending to the wounds on her back, my movements careful and precise. I expected her to react, to wince or at least make a sound, but she remained eerily still and silent, her lack of response only deepening the strangeness of the situation.

The doctor's words echoed in my mind, warning me about potential incidents and his mention of her mental instability and violent tendencies. I feared that this could be one of those incidents he had cautioned me about.

It caught me off guard to see her in her nightwear, a baby pink dress that didn't quite fit her slender frame, leaving little to the imagination. She had always worn my clothes.

After finishing with tending to her back wounds, I moved on to her feet, gingerly changing the bandages on them.

A strange sound escaped her lips, a soft murmur of "hmmm hmmmm hmm." It was a peculiar noise, almost like a song.It was as if she were trapped in her own little world, disconnected from reality.

The soft melody continued, each "hmmm" like a haunting echo in the room. It was almost like a strange chant or a mantra, and with every repetition, the unease in my chest grew heavier.

Her gaze was fixated on the moon, her pale, slender fingers clutching a lock of her chopped hair. The sight was peculiar, her slender frame silhouetted against the backdrop of the moonlit sky, her fingers gently toying with the strands of hair as if lost in a trance.

I hesitated, unsure of how to break the silence. She still hadn't said a word. Her only response was a continued murmur of "hmmm hmmmm hmm." I watched her, her eyes never leaving the moon, her fingers gently caressing her chopped locks of hair with a strangely detached air.

I reached out and took hold of her hands, gently wrapping my fingers around them in an attempt to keep her from doing anything dangerous. Looking her over, I realized that aside from the wounds on her back and feet, she seemed unharmed.

I noticed something odd about her nails as my gaze traveled down her hands. They were stained with blood, the product of her nail-biting, but the amount of blood seemed excessive. She had a tendency to bite her nails, a habit I had seen her unconsciously doing many times, but never to this extreme.

I called out her name, my voice soft and cautious, "Aerra?"

There was no reaction to my first attempt, so I repeated my question, her name sounding like a plea in the quiet room, "Aerra?" My heart ached as I saw her unresponsive state.

Holding her hand gently, I coaxed her gently, my voice low and soothing, "Let's go to bed." I hoped that by suggesting sleep, I could gently coax her to a more relaxed state and maybe break her from her reverie.

I cradled her slender frame in my arms and laid her down on the bed, her weight almost nonexistent in my embrace. I was painfully aware of how thin she is, the absence of flesh on her bones, making her feel fragile and delicate.

As I pulled the blanket over her, covering her frail frame, her eyes met mine, their hollow and haunting look, sending a chill down my spine once again. It was as if her gaze had lost some essential aspect of humanity, the haunted look in her eyes...

I stared into her eyes, the silence between us pregnant with unsaid words. It was as if she was trying to communicate something, but the only sounds she made were her soft murmurs and those haunting "hmm hmm hmm" that continued to escape her lips.

I knew she wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, so I settled in beside her, keeping my body a short distance from hers. I lay there, silently watching her.

Lying there next to her, I couldn't shake the thought of how peculiar this situation was. Here I was, lying beside a girl who was known to be mentally unstable and prone to unpredictable behavior. The term 'mad girl' echoed in my head, and yet, there was an odd fascination in the realization.

A strange sense of satisfaction washed over me as I lay there next to her, a feeling of certainty that my choice of her for this experiment had been correct. There was a unique thrill in observing her, watching her in her fragile and unpredictable state, like witnessing a rare and beautiful creature.

As I lay there, lost in thought and observation, the story of her past flashed through my mind. I remembered bits and pieces of the information I had heard, details about her being a Targaryen princess from Westeros, sent to an ill hospital in Thunder Bay.

I pondered over the geographical distance between Westeros and Thunder Bay. I couldn't help but wonder, why Thunder Bay? Westeros was a land far away across the sea. The strange choice of location added another layer of mystery to the girl's story, making me more curious about the circumstances that led her here.

The reason for her confinement at the hospital came back to mind - her illness. I recalled the murmurs of a specific ailment that had prompted her family to send her here.

As the details of her past filtered through my mind, another piece of information emerged - the onset of her illness occurred maybe around the age of eight, if not even earlier.

I turned my gaze back to her, observing her frail and still form beside me. Her eyes were still open, her face pale, and her breaths slow, yet she remained motionless, the occasional hmm sounding from her lips.

Now, this was the real madness.

I smiled.

I wonder why am I having so much fun.

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