<div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: comic sans ms;">While no one understood the very real need she had to grasp some form of control over her environment and life, someone was at least listening. It wasn’t much - just a stack of books, but it would allow her to exert that control to try and calm herself. <br/><br/>The lift off the floor, while agreed to, was not particularly liked and every inch of her remained stiff to the point of trembling, muscles clenched so tight it physically hurt. And there was nothing she could do to loosen up - at least not until she was set down on the bed and distance was gained from the woman. Even then, she still couldn’t stop herself from sitting up once those books were set on the desk within arm’s reach, small hands immediately setting to work on trying to arrange them by size and the number of books there.<br/><br/>The woman’s words were seemingly unheard though she finally gave a nod, her gaze never leaving the task she had set for herself. Seven books to a row, each row going from smaller to larger and thinnest to thickest. It was the beginning of her routine - a routine that was completely out of whack - and the distraction of tending to it had her quiet and relatively calm so that she never noticed when the woman left.<br/><br/>But true to how she was, it didn’t stop with the books. The room itself was larger than the room she had lived in before ending up here and it was set up in the classic two bed hospital room - a set up that did not fit how she liked things to be. No wonder then that within half an hour the sounds of things scraping over the floor was heard from the room - slow, high pitched squeals of furniture being moved around.<br/><br/>Not an easy task since she was reduced to trying to drag things with one hand while holding her ribs with the other hand - but soon enough she had the beds away from the wall as well as the desks and was on her knees measuring with her hand to find the ‘right’ spots for everything in the room.</span></div>