W03Z - The Ophelia Gallery

W04V hands a flower to a gentleman (although I've seen gentler wolves than him) and murmurs a strange quote of...Shakespeare? I know nothing of the man, except that he has the strangest name I've ever heard, however I have heard his name murmured frequently ever since we arrived at our gilded prison.

In any event, the crowd loves W04V. I believe I should do what she's doing, but what should I say? I remember seeing a book in the omega's quarters called Romeo and...Julia? Juliet? I don't remember, but the book did have Shakespeare's name on it. I make a mental note to read it next time I'm in the omega's quarters. I caught a glimpse of the back, though, and it said...

"In fair Verona do we lay our seen, two households both alike in dignity?" Some of the girls are looking at me with confusion, some in amusement. I've never heard half the words I'm utttering, but the audience looks engaged. Maybe my randomness can add to the 'insanity'. W04V is smiling, and I walk over to her, stand beside her, and squeeze her shoulder. "What's Verona?" I whisper to her, and she laughs.

"O that this too sullied flesh would melt..." I am in the drawing room, reading, as always. This little room is my only refuge in the house that is my prison. When I have a book by the fire I feel at peace, free from the reality which torments me so. I am reading...Hamlet? I am having trouble focusing on the pages. My vision blurs as I look about the room, something is wrong? Is husband home?

But no, flecks of light begin to blink before my eyes. I feel light and airy and the dark wallpaper melts away before me, opening to a white ceiling. I'm laying down now, where? I turn to take in my surroundings and to my horror a girl is stood above me, covered in blood. I start but cannot move, my limbs do not obey.

She sees my fearful eyes and kneels, "Shhhhh, it's ok miss. The doctor is gone." She says.

The doctor? Dr....Lymer. The Asylum, the Ophelia gallery, yes. I relax a bit, moving to sit up. W02X helps me to rise, and explains that the doctor had to leave to tend other patients. I fear he has tended her as well, her cheek is bruised and swollen.

I see my arm and realize the blood on her is my own. There's a full washbowl of it on the floor beside the chair I had occupied. I feel sick.

W02X is wrapping cotton about the wound on my arm, tightly. She then covers it with a lovely silk ribbon, tying a bow. As she does this, a chaser bursts into the room. She bolts upright and casts her eyes down. I do not move for I fear my legs will fail me.

"Ahh good!" He bellows, "Ours little troublemakers all woke up!"
He approaches and lifts me from the bed by my shoulders, pushing me towards the door.

"Can't ave ye missin all the fun, shows nearly over for today!" He exclaims. "Oh an by the way," he turns to W02X, "Clean up this mess girl." He gestures to the blood.

I wish I could do something, anything, but I cannot even stand without his help, so I am propelled forward by this hateful man, back out to the tent.

The sun has begun to set and twilight looks beautiful over the white tents and the flickering gaslights. Spectators giggle and gasp as I am led in, I surely look like a ghost among them. They do not notice the chasers filthy nails digging into my arm, nor do they wonder about the ribbon. They have what they came for, a sad, dead girl.

I collapse immediately as I'm pushed into the cage, no longer supported by the chaser.

I look up at the other girls, and with tears in my eyes I say "I don't understand."


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Before I can say anything, the Chaser has forced the pale and weak girl outside. I don't know where the other girls are, but it must be something horrible. And They don't want me there...
I glance at the bowl of blood and wonder how the girl was even able to stay up. Maybe I should have offered to carry her, I know the Chasers never bother... But everything happens so fast here.
My cheek feels hot after the blow, but it's nothing. I just wish I could hit back, hit ten times every time they hit one of the girls!

I look around the room and meet my gaze in the mirror. I have blood on my face, her blood. And my hands are bloody too, her blood. It is my fault.
I see a water basin and a washcloth on one of the tables, pick up the bowl of blood and walk to the table. I sit down, take the cloth and soak it in the bowl.

For a while I just sit there, wiping the blood with the cloth, not realizing I'm not using the water, but her blood...

I feel better when W05W wakes up, and I am so glad she woke up before we were taken to the Omega Quarters. I would not put it past the Chasers to leave her in her cage all night.

When the Chasers lock us in, I pounce on my bed with delight. I am given stale bread and stew that smells just a little fresher than what we usually eat - we probably got first picking from the stew pot. In any event, I lap up the meal with my tongue, grinning all the while. The inmates around me talk and sing, so excited to have a proper bed for once. Then I notice the beautiful silver light of the full moon and, heeding the call of the wild, throw my head back and howl with all my might. Some of the girls look at me with surprise, some with amusement. Some are too busy reading the few books in our room to even bother to look up.

I curl up on my soft bed, feeling comfortable for the first time in forever. I am reminded of late nights curled up beside my pack, and I miss the feeling of my family pressed up beside me. Still, the room is as warm as the bodied of my brothers and sisters, and for once I feel - somewhat - safe.

The swelling of my face had finally given in. It had only been a few days since I had recovered from a severe beating after I dared to talk back to Madame Mournington as I was being taken away from quarantine to my permanent location. The woman had once again started babling about how lucky I was to be comitted to this place after how ungrateful I had been, rejecting my father's well intended attempts to find me a proper husband. I hadn't been able to hold my tongue.

"If he liked that Mr. Jackson so much he ought've married him himself! I am a writer! A good one! Why should I be sold off like a pedigree dog?" -I shouted, my voice craking with emotion.

Madame Mournington shot a deadly glare at me.

"I thought I told you to be quiet."

The chaser that had been dragging me so far tugged violently from my chain and striked me as soon as I stumbled within the range of his arm.

"I dislike noise. Didn't you hear me the first time, child?"

With a bloody mouth I still lifted my head and replied.

"You say I'm lucky miss? That I should thank you for taking me off the streets? On the streets I could at least see the sky and breathe the outdoor air. Here I... I... Do you not see this place?! Do you not smell this stench?!"

"Madame can't smell a thing" -laughed the chaser- ¨Nothing except...¨

"Quiet down!" She ordered. "You ignorant child. Yes, I DO think you should be grateful. Nowhere else could you receive such excellent treatment as my dear son Dr. Montmorency Stockill provides. Every single inmate here is lucky not to be on the streets or in prison. Aren't you dressed? Don't you have food in your stomach? Its certanly more than you deserve."

Upon hearing this I spit blood on her face. Madame Mornington was thunderstruck for a few seconds.

"Yes miss, I feel blessed" I hissed "Care to share some of my blessings? How 'bout you join me in quarantine the next time?"

GOD. Did I regret that later. The chaser had his way with me, all his drunken rage discharched over my poor body. But I wasn't sent to quarantine or solitary confinement afterwards as I had expected. Instead I was taken to Ward A, Cellblock W11, as first planned. I was patient L. I now am W11L, my new name.

For a couple of days I could barely stand. Every part of my body screamed if I tried to move, yet I was forced to walk to the dining hall for food and to every other place, routinely, as any other inmate. My face took a relatively long time to recuperate even though, unexplicably, the chaser had seemed to be trying not to touch my face as much.

"This one is going to the gallery today."

The chaser's voice sounded distant and for a moment I couldn't understand what he was saying.

"The gallery? What gallery?" I asked in a weak voice.

"The ophelia gallery" -answered another one.

This one I knew. He had been there when I had the encounter with Madame Mournington. He was pasing by and stoped when he heard me screaming at Madame. He had standed on the side, looking at me, although I had tried to ignore him. He was the one they called Griffiths, a red-headed lad who was quite peculiar in his manerisms, unlike any other chaser in the asylum. Although he wasn't nearly as dignified as Dr. Stockill himself, he was similar in the coldness of his eyes and the lack of expression in his voice. He was, overall, completly lacking of feeling and passion. I never saw him drunk and he never tried to touch the girls inappropriately. Actually, he avoided direct physical contact altogether if he could and I suspect he held the same disdain for us as Dr. Stockill did. I wonder if he had ever been a doctor as well. He was generally quiet and spoke properly, without the particular slur and accent so common amongst his collegues. Griffiths had been the one asigned to take me to Dr. Lymer's bloodletting wing for leeching and to the bathing court ever since that episode with Madame. Apparently he was the one sent to deal with the smart mouths such as me, for he was so detached, so indifferent, it was imposible to get a reaction from him. Not that I was going to try ANYTHING EVER AGAIN after the punishment I got that first time. Strangely enough, he had started to talk to me on occasion, apparently motivated by the strict silence I had observed since that day. Maybe he wasn't really that quiet, only that the others were louder.

Before I could make sense of the words "Ophelia gallery", Griffiths opened the cell and the other chaser grabed me by the arm and dragged me to the bathing courts. They were surprisingly empty. When Griffiths saw me looking around in confusion he clarified the situation for me.

¨You're the last one. We were waiting for your face to heal.¨

So others have already been taken to this "Ophelia gallery", then? -I said to myself.

After a bath more thorough than I had ever recieved in my short stay at the Asylum (with soap and everything, like a civilized human being), I was taken through a series of corridors until we reached a place called the "servant's quarters". Griffiths opened the door, undid my restraints and gently pushed me inside. I was left in the dark.

I cannot sleep tonight, for all my lack of blood I am not tired. I was unconscious all day and now I am wide awake. I have pulled one of the chairs to a window beside W03Zs bed and am reading one of the few books belonging to the servants, by the light of the moon. "The Divine Comedy", I've read it before, but I don't care. I'm just happy to have a book. It's funny that this one describes each of the seven layers of Hell, I smile to myself thinking that the asylum should be in there somewhere. Perhaps this is Hell, perhaps we are dead and we just don't know it yet.

The sound of the door opening pulls me from my musing. I see W03Zs head snap up as well. A girl is thrust in and the door pulled shut again. It is hard for me to see beyond my patch of moonlight, but W03Z directs the girl to us, offering her a bed.