Scriptum

The Raven

The screams awoke the left-wing of Lima's Asylum for the Mentally Insane in Whitechapel, London. A woman screamed in a language no one understood, but the insane urgency was enough to transform their blood in ice. As the nurses dragged her down hall B and took a left, her screams died down. The patients knew the fate of the girl they called The Undead Patient. That's all they knew about her. She had appeared a little over a year, in August of 1863. She was a midwife who had fallen down the seventh floor of Timothy Fladry's apartment complex. The reason why she had ended up in the ward was unknown to all. If you asked Millie Compton, she would say the lady talked to herself, and those were clear signs of madness. If you ask nurse Valerie Bennett, she would tell you the girl tried to commit suicide. Ask John Tillie, and he says to you he swears he saw the lady's eyes turn black and white smoke coming out of her mouth while shadows danced around her. But the truth is, no one knows why the woman ended up in the ward, but they all knew why she was getting dragged to hall B, also known as the Devil's Room. She had rebelled against the warden. And no one rebels against Doctor Adrian Róder.

...

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?" Were the first words in English she spoke.

The nurses lifted her from the floor, her knees had left a bloody trail on the marble floor. Their faces unbothered and didn't reply to her pleas.

"I already told you I wasn't trying to escape."

"Step in, please."

The woman took a step inside the room, her fingers were numb, and she could barely close her fists. She had been in this room before and already knew what was coming. She stared at a nurse with a horse-liked face, she was behind a small machine that resembled a box with buttons and lightbulbs. Her heart skipped a beat as the color washed from her face.

She was pushed to the gurney and bound with leather straps in her ankles and hands. A final belt was placed around her head. Her breathing was cut short as the door opened. A man with a white coat approached her and sat by her side. The woman turned to him; there was nothing special about his looks. Sharp face, spectacles, green eyes, and a slick blonde hair combed back. Still, his presence made the woman shriek.

"My sunflower is always nice to see you." He smiled; a warm smile drawn on his lips.

The woman turned her eyes to the other side, she felt thousands of invisible hands touching her body at that moment. "What I did now?" She asked.

"I need to ask you a few questions about today's events. I must say, I am impressed, and you have piqued my curiosity."

She gulped.

The warden chuckled and fixed his spectacles. "Who were you talking to today?"

His tone shifted. He gave the nurses a handwave; they left them alone in the room, some muttering insults to the young woman. The word "witchcraft" was thrown around like a tennis ball in a match. The woman stared at the ceiling; it was carved with religious imagery. The faces of the apostles' John and Peter glared at her menacingly. "Pray, little girl, pray. Pray the sins of your ancestors away." If the Saints' petrifying eyes didn't terrify her enough, she would've spent her days staring at the mosaics. It was the most beautiful thing about this place, but the stares reminded her too much about her old teachers. The girl turned her view towards the softer-looking Mary Magdalen.

"Rani," The Warden called her. "We need to have this conversation. Who you contacted?"

She stared at him as she remembered the events that lead her up to this moment. The disembodied voices of the dead, the legless man, the terrified screams of a young man in the woods.... "The bodies in the morgue. The twelve bodies of the victim your project murdered."