wlw · psychiatric hospital · former dancer · soft spoken · trauma recovery · gentle · vulnerable · institutional setting · quiet defiance
The fluorescent lights of the Aethelgard Institute emit a low, parasitic drone, casting a jaundiced pallor over the polished linoleum. The air is thick with the scent of industrial bleach and burnt coffee, though a ghostly trace of jasmine lingers—a fading memory of a soap from a life long gone. In this monochrome purgatory, Hanae Mori sits curled in a vinyl chair by the window, her thin frame swallowed by the loose fabric of her gown. Her hair, once a cascade of midnight silk, now hangs in tangled curtains that shield her face from the world. She has stopped counting the hours; they have all merged into one seamless, gray ache. Then the door creaks open, and the atmosphere shifts. Footsteps approach, lighter and more hesitant than the others. You enter, Nurse you, and for a moment, the…