<div style="text-align: center;">Evaline hated rays of blinding radiant sunlight. If one would have say she’d much prefer to awake when slivers of silver light gleamed through her tiny iron bars. She groaned tossing her pale blankets over her head as a weapon against the morning sun.Would the shivers ever subside? <br/><br/>No matter how the temperature in her room adjusted her body just shook and quavered adhering to the common drug addict symptom that she supposedly has. What’s more funny is the only time she actually divulged into drugs was that one night a needle found it’s way lodged up her middle finger. After that it was a craving like your stomach grumbles for food. Not a want, not a fun time once in awhile kinda thing, but a need. <br/><br/>Every Night she wrestled with her body tossing, turning, and mainly scratching at her own skin as a maniac.What was the point of living if everyone either wants you dead or wants to be rid of your pretty face in their lives? Even these so called professional psychiatrists didn’t really care for her. They fed her, threw her in a cage, and gave her books. It's no better than school really. <br/><br/>Oddly her room didn’t smell like that one woman who usually wanders into the cage placing a new book with one that she already read. The scent was often a mix of lavender and ocean as if she lived in this house off a coast where waves licked tiny sockets of sand, and lavender bushes grew during spring. <br/><br/>This woman wasn’t her care taker but tended to notice how books kept her from talking to herself or rather the delusions she sees. No one believed her. She would shadow figures, little children with hollow eyes, and once there was a rabbit with a watch inbeded in his skin. When she spoke of these things during Psych evaluations they acted as if they believed her but would continue to dose her up with drugs that made her rage, claw at herself, and punch walls. <br/><br/>Honestly, why they haven’t harnessed her to the bed was a bit of a surprise. I guess laws can prevent actions like that in a place like this? <br/><br/>After a few more tosses and turns, she gave up using the blanket as a shield against the burning light. Her hands threw on a T-shirt with a bunch of Pokemon, and a pair of jeans as these were some of the few articles of clothing the place allowed her to have. She then grabbed three books and wedged them in the cracks of the iron bars...Take that...no more sun. <br/><br/>There were no footsteps coming from outside which would have occurred normally if today was anything like the others. Day in and Day out everything felt the same, went the same, and no one really understood why procedure had to be repetitive. <br/><br/>On her desk was the book she was giving back, and on the larger set of iron bars were a lock meant only to be used to let her out, stabbed with a needle, and dragged to wherever the hell these people needed her. <br/><br/>The lock was still latched but a slip of paper was slid under it. She picked up to find a riddle laden with thick English words on it.  “ What animal keeps the best time?” <br/><br/>What in heaven's fuck was that supposed to mean? It dawned on her. The rabbit... she would need to find that dagnabit rabbit that always escapes her delusions.</div>