08-14-2021, 04:13 AM
(This post was last modified: 08-14-2021, 04:22 AM by Meera Alam.)
Meera tapped thoughtfully at her full lower lip, considering the file before her. Daiyu Sòng had been with the Guardian for a considerable length of time. One of the resident psychiatrists – some woman by the name of Milton – had been attending to Daiyu’s needs for some time, but to no avail. Clearly. Otherwise, this young woman would not now be passed into Meera’s capable and firm hands.
This Daiyu had a strong case of dissociative identity disorder. Meera was not surprised in the slightest. It was often said that madness accompanied artistic genius. This Daiyu was not just any patient. She had been a successful author in the horror genre – and what a vivid imagination she had! Under other circumstances, Meera might have found herself sharing a glass of wine with the woman and discussing the finer points of vivisection.
Perhaps after she was healed.
This Daiyu was a test set forth for Meera by the Guardian. She had wanted to rise in the ranks here, the Atharim had wanted her to rise in the ranks here. Oh, they could have pulled a few strings to expedite the process, but they insisted on authenticity if she were to do what needed to be done. She would have to establish herself here like any other professional.
Her ‘betters’ were idiots, of course.
Meera had entered as a nurse, officially, but she had garnered a few promotions. Should she fix the Daiyu woman, the Guardian would begin to consider her qualifications from Cairo. A residency was even talked about in the break room.
Meera grimaced and tossed the file onto her desk, snapping her fingers for the orderly. The young man rushed over from his corner and pulled her wheelchair out from the desk.
“You will take me to her now,” Meera commanded and the orderly obeyed without hesitation. “So good to find obedient helpers these days…”
The ride over to the therapy room was a short one. The orderly had been silent, as instructed and Meera contemplated the Daiyu woman. Only one other personality to deal with, simple enough. The hard part was the fact that that personality was her pen name. Meera could not just meld the two. It was a shame that her light did not yet work the way she wished it to.
Oh, Meera could crack the woman’s mind with a whip of Fire, Earth, Water, and Spirit – but the results were not always long-lasting and rarely ran so deep as that.
The doors to the room swung open as the orderly pushed Meera to the large window and comfortable chairs. She raised a hand and the orderly scurried away to a corner. The patient sat motionless, eyes more than half-lidded. A stream of spittle ran from the corner of the patient’s lips. Meera smothered a sneer with little effort and adopted the face of a warm, loving mother. She cleared her throat lightly and let herself become the mask she now wore.
“My dear?” Meera’s voice oozed honey and sugar, inviting the woman out of her stupor, “Sweetheart, it’s time to get up now.”
This Daiyu had a strong case of dissociative identity disorder. Meera was not surprised in the slightest. It was often said that madness accompanied artistic genius. This Daiyu was not just any patient. She had been a successful author in the horror genre – and what a vivid imagination she had! Under other circumstances, Meera might have found herself sharing a glass of wine with the woman and discussing the finer points of vivisection.
Perhaps after she was healed.
This Daiyu was a test set forth for Meera by the Guardian. She had wanted to rise in the ranks here, the Atharim had wanted her to rise in the ranks here. Oh, they could have pulled a few strings to expedite the process, but they insisted on authenticity if she were to do what needed to be done. She would have to establish herself here like any other professional.
Her ‘betters’ were idiots, of course.
Meera had entered as a nurse, officially, but she had garnered a few promotions. Should she fix the Daiyu woman, the Guardian would begin to consider her qualifications from Cairo. A residency was even talked about in the break room.
Meera grimaced and tossed the file onto her desk, snapping her fingers for the orderly. The young man rushed over from his corner and pulled her wheelchair out from the desk.
“You will take me to her now,” Meera commanded and the orderly obeyed without hesitation. “So good to find obedient helpers these days…”
The ride over to the therapy room was a short one. The orderly had been silent, as instructed and Meera contemplated the Daiyu woman. Only one other personality to deal with, simple enough. The hard part was the fact that that personality was her pen name. Meera could not just meld the two. It was a shame that her light did not yet work the way she wished it to.
Oh, Meera could crack the woman’s mind with a whip of Fire, Earth, Water, and Spirit – but the results were not always long-lasting and rarely ran so deep as that.
The doors to the room swung open as the orderly pushed Meera to the large window and comfortable chairs. She raised a hand and the orderly scurried away to a corner. The patient sat motionless, eyes more than half-lidded. A stream of spittle ran from the corner of the patient’s lips. Meera smothered a sneer with little effort and adopted the face of a warm, loving mother. She cleared her throat lightly and let herself become the mask she now wore.
“My dear?” Meera’s voice oozed honey and sugar, inviting the woman out of her stupor, “Sweetheart, it’s time to get up now.”
"She had tortured hundreds, maybe thousands, in the name of understanding and reason. Torture made sense. You truly saw what a person was made of, in more ways than one, when you began to slice into them. That was a phrase she'd used on numerous occasions. It usually made her smile."
- The Wheel of Time, The Gathering Storm, Chapter 22, Robert Jordan