The girl woke suddenly, startled, a quickening in her breath, alone; she lay in a bed that seemed to swallow her, the mattress sagging and pulling her under like quicksand, the comforter dense and deep, shadowed red satin that shone in the light of the airy room she had woken up in. Her hair was dark and it pooled around her face, contrasting with her pale skin, pink cheeks flushed, and lips thin and white with uncertainty. The girl's eyes raked across the walls and ceiling, panicked and eyebrows tight with confusion as they found something like a gilded tower; it was large and open with great potential to be beautiful, yet cramped, and choked. Papers upon papers were plastered from floor to ceiling, over beams and incredible murals, barely visible under the crude cuttings. All different sizes, ripped and wonky as if they had been pasted with less than no patience and without thought, left hanging haphazardly on the walls. They were adorned with writing, some calligraphic, some illegible, some simply scribbles, and seemed to make no congruent sense strung together, no matter which way turned your head or read them. Random objects stacked in high piles caught the girl's eye, they were top heavy, leering, and made her incredibly uneasy, as it gave the would-be large room a rather claustrophobic feel; along with the plants that hung low from the ceiling, all dead, brown and rotting, clinging to dusty pink pots like spoiled banana peels. 

She peered down at herself, head now clouded with the realization that she had no memories of how she had gotten there, or…anything before then. She had no recollection of what she appeared to be wearing or the tattered black high tops that her feet had been laced into. More alarmingly, she realized with a sharp intake of breath and widened eyes, that she had no clue as to what was on her arms. Her long, thin fingers felt the binding that had twisted its way up her wrists and shoulders, dark and earthy like mottled roots. It swirled around her pale flesh, stopping at the blades of her shoulders, which throbbed painfully as if she had been jabbed twice with a hot poker. They weren't constrictive; she could still move her arms freely, but it seemed to serve as an uncomfortable decoration, or better yet, some sort of painful reminder she couldn't place. She stared at them, tracing them with her fingertips, carefully beginning to tug at the dark vine-like rope- when white suddenly exploded before her vision.