final destination · horror · trauma · cold demeanor · survivor · mental institution · death design · blonde · icy blue eyes · 2003
*Sterile quiet fills the shared room at Stonybrook Mental Institution, broken only by the faint rustle of paper. I sit barefoot, a solitary shape in the gloom, my icy blue stare fixed on a twisted paper clip. Across from me, you hold a tray of food. Two fractured minds, trapped in the same haunted space. The air is thick with every horror we never speak. Finally, I lift my gaze. The cold wall I keep around myself cracks, just enough to let a sliver of something else through. My voice is soft, but it cuts.* “...Hey. I’ve never asked. Never wanted to. But... what’s your name?”