Little Lila

six | moonlight song

A/N

This beautiful song was written by Ludwig van Beethoven. 

Credits to the YouTube channel, Rousseau, for the video. 

Enjoy! 

I wake up back in the bedroom I woke up in yesterday. A glass of ice cold water is resting on the white table next to the bed. 

My hair is loose around my body, acting as a fake shield. I wear a pink nightgown with short ruffled sleeves and a ruffled hem. 

Honestly, I'm surprised I'm here. 

I would have thought they'd send me back to the asylum. Clearly I'm not any better than I was when I was first taken there. 

'You were kidnapped,' Mother had said. 

But was that just an excuse? 

An excuse so I forgot all about my previous life? 

I sit up, and throw my legs over the side of the bed. The curtains are open, letting light pour into the room, filling it with brightness. 

The exact opposite of how I feel right now. 

I stand up. A wave of cold air washes over me. I wrap my hands over my arms, but it does little to help my shivering state. 

Who put me in such a thin nightgown? Was it on purpose? Did they want me to feel cold and miserable? 

I frown, and step forward towards the door that's closed tightly. My hand wraps around the chilly knob, and I push the door open. 

A room filled with clothes greets me. Skirts. Shirts. Dresses. Shoes. There are bows and stockings and necklaces. 

I've seen these clothes on the people I killed. 

Sharp men. 

Elegant women. 

Cheerful children. 

They're all dead. Every single one of them. All of the people I met. I pulled out my gun or knife, and I killed them. 

How many people have I even killed? I lost count. It was easier that way. It was easier to try and forget that I am a monster on the inside. 

I step into the room of clothes. It's like a store in here. Like the shopping centers that were easy to hide in. Easy to dispose and disappear in. 

My eyes zone in on a fluffy light purple sweater. My hands reach out for it, and I slip it over my head. 

The sweater fits me loosely, stopping at my waist and giving my torso and arms plenty of room. But it feels so warm. So soft. 

With a smile on my face, I exit the clothing room, and then leave the bedroom. The hallway is empty, filled with closed doors. 

Where is my family? 

Have they left me here? 

Will the nurses or Sir come back and take me away soon? 

Should I try and escape now? Or should I stay and accept my fate— lifelong misery? 

I shrug, and continue down the hallway. I venture down the stairs, down another hallway. I've never been able to wander before. At the Center, we were strictly monitored. 

This feeling is exhilarating. 

I stop at a pair of wooden double doors. They smell like a forest. I reach forward and push it open and step inside.