Amy looked up to the nurse, wiping at her eyes with shame and embarrassment.  "Hey," she said gently, scuttling over to the table.  "It's...it's nothing."  It sounded as implausible as it felt, but since simply dismissing the torments as meaningless didn't help her at all, she thought about how to explain.  "I just...I had these dreams of..." but she couldn't let herself finish.  It felt so idiotic and ridiculous to be frightened of dreams that her simple pride wouldn't let her explain any further than that.  She knew she was crazy.<br/><br/>When the food was laid down for her, she started nibbling, slowly at first and carefully as if expecting the pains and stabbing agony to jump back as soon as sensation returned to her body.  Of course, it didn't, but she was still hungry enough that her appetite quickly grew into voracious eating, slowed only by the gentle but continual quaking of her fingers.  Yet even as she ate, she looked up to the nurse, not wanting to be alone just yet.  "Do people get better here?"  She felt like a child, and she hated herself for it, but too horrified by what she'd just been through to be able to accept isolation just yet.  When she was done, going to the common room sounded like a great idea.  "I don't want to be crazy anymore."<br/><br/>She didn't really seem to notice much of the comfort at the moment, her eyes still somewhat blurry, her thoughts distracted as if the vivid stabbings had wounded her only seconds earlier.  It was enough that someone was there to listen, to help her and remind her that none of it was real.