Corrigan walked slowly down the hallway of the psych ward, where she was stationed as a nurse. The cart she was wheeling in front of her rattled, the many glass bottles on its surface clinking together pleasantly. Her rubber soled shoes squeaked on the tile, making her grimace with every step. She couldn't stand the sound; it sent shooting pains through her head, making her want to scream. But she always held it together. 'For the patients,' she would think, 'always for the patients.'<br/><br/>Today she had pinned up her waist length, two-toned hair, into two buns on either side of her head. This revealed her sharply pointed ears, although she was the only one who could see them; she had learned at a young age that she had slight telepathic powers, and could hide certain things from anyone, if she tried hard enough. This had gotten easier over the years, and nowadays she hardly had to try.<br/><br/>The newest patient, the one named Ozy, was being interviewed today, she noticed. She had only ever been past his room twice, and each time, she could have sworn he was watching her, looking past the glamour she put on herself; possibly even deeper, into her very soul. Those two times, she also could have sworn she could hear a very faint voice within herself, a female voice that radiated anger and jealousy, but also lust and a deep desire.