The mattress will submit to this indignity.

And then she has a bed.

She listens to her surroundings for a while longer - having so few people in range is bizarre, even with the competition it has for that status - and eventually drops off to sleep.

When she wakes up she's no longer alone.

Not that there's anyone there. She can hear no one. But she is nonetheless pretty certain she is not alone.

She stays perfectly still.

The shadows in the kitchen get thicker, deeper. Almost as if the opposite of shining a lamp on them was happening.

And from them, emerges a girl, or the idea of a girl, through a kaleidoscope and depicted in a cubist painting. Seventeen smiles and twenty one green eyes greet her, as a superposition of voices speaks.

// hello. // hi. // hello! you're new // not old // not from here. // who are you? // new friend! // hi. //

Well that's, uh, new.

She sits up. Looking at the girl is disorienting, but she's fairly used to that; she does it anyway. "Hi."

Inasmuch as there is a girl to look at as opposed to several girls or several parts of a girl aligned in a way that gives the vague impression of a girl. Her five lopsided grins turn around and upside down while seven right hands wave.

// hello! // new here? // are you lost? so lost. // a new lost person. // you're not afraid. // are you afraid? //

who are you? // not me. // not anyone else. // just you. //

The tiles where the girl is "standing" warp, melting into each other, and the appliances and objects start shifting and changing before her eyes, floating and twisting. A pan becomes a kettle becomes a kitten becomes a puppy becomes a plush toy, cutlery dances and fights in a disorganized army that becomes chess pieces from another dimension.

She is, in fact, a little bit afraid. But the girl doesn't seem threatening, exactly, and, well, you meet all sorts of people when you live in an institution. This takes several cakes - perhaps as many as forty - for that, but freaking out about nonthreatening weirdness helps nobody.

"New," she nods. "Lost. Denice. You?"

// so lost. // will you play with me? // chaos. // bedlam. //

why aren't you afraid? //

(One of her pairs of hands takes a few twisted bits of metal from the kitchen and starts building a creepy doll house.)

"Is there a reason... to be afraid?"

// me. // the sideways. // all my friends. all the monsters // madness // chaos // nightmare // me.

everyone else is afraid // terrified. //

'I'm weird so everyone's afraid of me', that's a familiar story.

She gestures at where Bedlam's surroundings are being warped. "Dangerous?"

yes. // very dangerous. I destroy // create things. // perfect nightmare. // monster under the bed. // will you be my friend? //

She considers for a second, then gets up and starts looking around for interesting things - spice shakers, a dishcloth - to pass her for the dollhouse, avoiding the warped area as well as she can.

...well Bedlam will accept it, and distort them and turn them into small furniture.

// you're still not scared. // afraid. // terrified. even though you know me. // who // what I am. //

Some of the overlapping voices sound puzzled, and the girl tilts her head. She tilts her head ninety degrees, but still, the gesture conveys its meaning.

She shrugs, and a few items later offers, "they said... I was... scary, a monster, too. Wrong, sometimes."

// wrong. // so wrong. but right, too. // very right. // terror. // you can't be afraid if you're the scary one. right? // right. //

why did they say you're scary? // a monster? // you don't look like one. // sound like one. // smell like one. // not one of my friends, not yet. // why?

Another shrug.

"I don't... talk, eyes, stuff. Not dangerous, just not... person, they think."

// they're wrong. // WRONG. person. // people. // we're all people. you're not a monster. // not yet // not now //

you could be. //

"I know they're wrong, I know they're wrong, I know. I left. I know."

// yes. // embrace the madness. // be one with the chaos.

The house is done—and then it's twisted, there are horribly realistic dolls everywhere, dismembered or murdered or maimed, blood spattering the walls and floor, torture chambers and implements...

Okay that's disturbing. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again.

// why did you close your eyes? // heart? // soul? // mind? //

are you afraid? // so afraid. // it won't harm you // if you harm it first. // 

i can make you like me // my friends // like all of us. //

you won't ever need to be afraid. // THEY'LL be afraid.

"I don't... want to, hurt people. Do you?"

// no. // not hurt. // hurt them. // hurt THEM. // hurt us, they hurt us. //

but I want to be friends. // friends with everyone.