<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/cd/CorinneLorimer.jpg)</div><strong>Name: </strong>Corinne Lorimer (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1945676)<br/><strong>Location: </strong>Asylum Parlor<br/><strong>Wearing: </strong>Stout frock<br/><strong>Content: </strong>Panicked return to reality<br/><strong>Tagging: </strong>Open<br/><hr/><br/>Corrine jolted back to reality with a sharp cry, as the sudden burst of violence pulled her from the terrors of the past into the terror of the moment, the mists of memory parting suddenly, and depositing her once more in the asylum parlor. She cast her eyes around the room wildly, trying to assess the commotion as the patient was dragged off by the orderlies. Seeing that the tumult had ended as quickly as it began, her eyes drifted back to the floor, her chest heaving as she tried in vain to tamp down the lingering panic.<br/><br/>She was losing herself in thought more and more, her head in the clouds like an addled philosopher from an old play. No, not clouds: Mist. Perhaps this was how the madness started - was a foggy head just another form of Mist?<br/><br/>She needed to ground herself. Her hand sought out Zoe's once more. "A-are you alright she asked?" in a feeble effort to hide her own shock.<br/><br/>It was, perhaps, a small relief to hear Aloisa speak of her own distraction. While a lapse in the ever-vigilant guardswoman's attention should have been alarming, there was something about a shared problem that was a comfort in its own way. And she readily joined Aloisa in asking after their friends.<br/><br/>"Yes," she said to Dr Noire. "We certainly do not wish to impose upon your hospitality."