Rosyline had never thought she would be driving to Clortil’s Mental Institute on her first day of the job. And she definitely hadn’t thought she’d be working at Clortil’s Mental Institute, let alone a mental institution at all.

Her car lurched onwards, the tires dipping into potholes as she drove, her knuckles white as she gripped the wheel.

The scenery around the road was so similar to the forests that often took up the settings of horror films - horror films she tried so hard to stay away from.

Rosyline hadn’t thought she’d return here after she was discharged five years ago. She hadn’t wanted to return.

She was close enough that she could see the building. It was stout, only two floors and quite wide. There were large double doors and the front and guards both around the buildings perimeter and the 12 foot wall that surrounded the building.

She pulled up to the swirled front gates and stated her name and business to the speaker/camera. The gates unlocked and swung the opposite direction of her car.

She drove slowly down a road with lamps lining the way, lighting her path. After a minute, her car was finally approaching the Institution itself, a large structure that looked like a mix between a gothic castle and a steampunk factory, dressed in white. It made her want to write.

She parked her car and walked into the building, trying not to have a panic attack right there in the lobby, surrounded by possibly dangerous people.

It was the smell, she told herself, as if the memories of her year here on the other side of the glass came rushing back. It was just the smell.