Chapter 35 Lady-Doll Correctional Rehabilitation
Sapphire
My name is Sapphire S. Valdawell.
If I die in here, know that this time isn’t where I have originated from. Know that I am from a time where you don’t need to starve yourself because men told you to. You don’t need to bathe in oils and rose water in order to be beautiful.
Men will fuck anything.
Men will fuck anything.
Men will fuck anything.
Men will fuck anything.
Men—
I startle awake at the sound of a door clicking open. Fuck, did I really hallucinate writing on a wall in the asylum?
“Welcome to the Emerald Lake Asylum.” A heavy door drags across the floor.
High heels clack.
A voice like wind chimes brushes over the room.
My eyes are closed, but I’m becoming more and more aware that there are eyes on me. Multiple sets. Judging. Glaring. Waiting impatiently for me to wake up.
The insides of my eyelids are bright red from light trying to burn its way into my retinas.
And I completely reject the idea of opening them to witness what I’m hoping is a fever nightmare.
It comes back to me in flashes. The high priest. The orderlies.
The sickness that swept over me in a single breath.
The tall, haunting asylum.
Not burned to the ground.
I’ve read about the horrors of being one of Absinthe and Albatross’s subjects…
but ending up in the Emerald Lake Asylum or the Vexamen Prison has been an irrational fear of mine since I read about them in school.
I used to wake my mom up in tears, telling her I didn’t want to be committed to the asylum.
And here I am.
“We will have to wake her up,” that high feminine voice says. “She was acting funny when they found her. Possibly from all the food she’s been unnaturally consuming.”
My eyes pop open.
No one is waking me up. I can only imagine a bucket of ice-cold water to the face.
I scan the ceiling, the bright sconces on the walls, the metal bedframe, the tall woman hovering over my bed. She swipes away a loose blonde curl from her left eye and offers a porcelain fake smile.
“Hello, Miss Sapphire S. Valdawell,” the tall conformist says.
I know this woman, don’t I?
The white collar with her conformist dress is the dead giveaway. Head conformist. Council member.
“My name is Suseas Parlomon.”
Oh, goddamn it.
Three orderlies stand back and let Suseas have the first introduction with me. I flinch at the nun standing in the corner of the room with her head bowed in prayer, muttering to herself.
“You were almost committed to the women’s ward for your inability to keep up with your Lady-Doll Regimen.” She trails a sharp, unpolished fingernail over my lower belly, clucking her tongue. “Almost.”
She pauses to smile down at me with a glint of confusion clouding her eyes.
“You look so familiar, Miss Valdawell. So very familiar.”
I should hold my tongue. I should have learned my lesson about speaking out at a time like this. “I believe you know my parents.”
I believe you tortured my parents.
I believe my mother boiled you alive in the scalding bath treatment before she burned this place to the ground.
“Hmm.” She places a finger on her pointed chin. “I have attended many parties with my husband. We meet quite a few faces.”
None like my parents.
“That must be it,” I respond without blinking.
“Well, I’d ask you to give them my best, but you are in here after all for the time being.”
A burst of hope fills my lungs. I wonder…could they be here right now? Where in history are we? Is my father a patient? Is my mother a conformist?
“We have decided not to commit you to the female ward after receiving new information.” Suseas nods at the nun still praying in the corner. “I understand you believe you can time travel.”
Vrath, you stupid, conniving fucker.
I nearly bark out a laugh. But this isn’t funny.
Not at all. It’s one thing to be committed for eating too much.
Yes, the treatments are fucked up to get a woman to comply with surviving off of fucking breadcrumbs to lose weight, but it’s all nothing compared to being committed to that one special wing of the asylum…
“Welcome to the Intricate Section. We bring very, very special cases here to rehabilitation.”
I am swallowed by a collapsing black tide of terror, my body suspended in its violent current with no shore in sight.
No hand to pull me from the stormy waves.
Though this ward is silent now, the screams that have echoed down these halls have been absorbed into the shadows of each room.
And I am locked away, between these walls that breath like ribcages, getting smaller and smaller as it sucks the air out of the room.
“I…I don’t think I can time travel,” I sputter out frantically. “You received false information.”
Suseas looks down at me with pity. “I don’t believe we did.”
“No, really. This is so silly, Suseas. My…husband and I attracted the attention of a terribly ill stalker! He has been spreading horrible lies about us.” I sigh and shake my head dramatically. “It’s a shame, really. My biggest crime I will admit to is, of course, eating too much.”
Forcing myself to say that last bit is the aftertaste of vomit.
“That is for certain.” Suseas giggles behind her hand.
Oh, fuck you.
“Will you just send me to the female ward, then?” I ask, then look around. “Wait, where is Ni—my husband?”
It’s frowned upon to gallivant around with a man who is not your husband in this time period. I’ll gain more respect if people think I am married to Niklaus.
“Out of moral precautions, we cannot send you to the female ward until we are certain your mind is no longer possessed with these notions of traveling through time.” She giggles to herself again. “Your husband has been committed to this section as well. He is in room three.”
Only a slight glimmer of relief. At least we’re both here in case I travel again.
“Moral precautions,” I repeat.
“Yes.” Suseas nods.
“You think it is moral to hold a woman against her will for eating until she is full?” I—I have a death wish.
“Excuse me?” The head conformist tilts her head.
I drop my head. “I’m sorry.”
Suseas narrows her eyes and stares at me until I lift my gaze to meet hers again.
Even though I’ve been to many different moments in time as of late, looking into the face of the head conformist of the Emerald Lake Asylum is looking into the face of the past. She has the blood of the asylum written all over her.
Every inch. Her lengthy figure. Elongated face.
Makeup so pristine she looks like a mannequin in the main street boutiques.
“I’m prescribing you a strict diet for the next three weeks, then we will reassess.
” Suseas turns to the orderlies as she scribbles on her clipboard.
“Six a.m. she will have three raw eggs and a glass of water to wash it down. Lunch will be rolled oats and two laxatives. Dinner a glass of water and a tablespoon of cod liver oil.”
My mouth falls open.
“Sundays are fasting. Wednesdays administer an enema in the morning and at night.” Suseas peeks over her clipboard, eyeing my physique one more time.
“Let’s add an emetic purge as well. Ipecac syrup with some water.
I’ve seen gorgeous transformations from this weekly.
Oh, and on Fridays, she will be weighed in front of the female ward with the others. ”
Weighed? Publicly?
“If she gains even an ounce, increase the enema and emetic purge to twice a week. Although, I doubt that’ll be the case.” Suseas finishes scribbling as the orderlies nod in agreement.
The clipboard is handed to the orderly closest to the door, and he disappears. My entire body trembles from the cold air and wondering if he left so quickly to prepare my food.
“Now, onto more pressing matters. Your delusional disorder.” The psychotic woman tsk-tsks.
“I’m a bit understaffed, but I want my best and most hardworking conformist on your case.
Since your husband has a similar delusional disorder, we can do dual treatments to save time and resources.
I’m thinking electroshock therapy, the isolation tank, and the bloodletting treatment should do nicely.
But your conformist may adjust strategies based on your needs. ”
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to fucking travel. If it’s adrenaline, I’m good to go. Adrenaline marches through my veins and chants a war song. I am not sticking around to survive the full presidential asylum experience. No. Hell no. Goodbye. Thank you. Happy holidays.
“In fact, additional treatments to correct his enablement of your eating habits could have significant benefits to your recovery and your marriage.” Suseas taps her chin in thought.
Divorce. She better mean divorce.
“Have you been pleasing your husband daily, dear?” she asks.
“I—I don’t recall.”
“Ah. It can be an easy trap to fall into…not performing your marital duties, but let me assure you, Miss Valdawell. Oral sex will do wonders for maintaining your physique. And semen has unforeseen nutritional value.”
God, you can take me right now.
She laughs. “I know, I know. What does this have to do with my treatment? Well, we recently started experimenting with a new marital exposure treatment called The Matrimony Method. Your husband pleases you sexually if you resist food. If not, you’ll be given a potent dose of wormwood concentrate.
Those terrible stomach cramps will stop when you perform exceptional marital duties on your husband.
It’s a full circle therapy that I have absolutely fallen in love with. ”
I realize I’m staring at Suseas with bulging eyes and a gaping mouth. I shut them both to concentrate on traveling again.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I spit out.
Suseas does that condescending little head tilt again. “It’s not really up to you, is it?”
I slice into my own tongue with my two front teeth. I’ll be damned if I let my mouth run me into the ground again. I have to act this out just right. They value a submissive woman in this era. Quiet. Meek. Obedient. Polite.
All of the things that I am not.
But am I going to be smart or am I going to be stubborn?
“Whatever you think is best, Suseas. I trust your educated judgment.” I bow my head, noticing the shackles.
I couldn’t fight my way out of here, even if I wanted to.
“Delightful. Any other questions before your daily regimen begins, young lady?” Suseas asks, clasping her hands together.
I shake my head, then consider something I am dreading even bringing up. There is only one positive outcome to this. It’s a long shot.
“Who will my conformist be?” I ask.
Please, say Skylenna. Please, God.
“That would be me.”
The door opens, squeaking as I realize that voice is not my mother’s.
The woman in the doorway, arms crossed, much shorter than Suseas stares as me from her position of power.
White pantyhose, protruding collarbones, a powdery face with a perfect smile.
And I mean, a perfect smile. Her teeth look so white, so shiny, so straight—I could be convinced that she endured some kind of cosmetic procedure for them.
But that smile does not touch her eyes. Black as a starless sky. And nothing behind them. Dead, even. She hasn’t even blinked yet.
I’ve seen her photographs in the history books.
An oblong face shape. Narrow nose. Skinny eyebrows.
And that signature raven-black hair.
It’s Meridei.
Meridei is my conformist.