I knew I was near her when I first heard her giggling. It echoed off the stone of her cell and through her window, reverberating through the dimly lit hall. The other occupants of the institution were eerily quiet; not a sound could be heard from any other room but hers.

The doctor shook his head sadly as we reached her door. “Crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it with this one,” he told me. “We’ve never had a patient like this. Even the other patients are terrified of her.”

I resisted the temptation to peek through the bars of her window; all that this girl spelled for me was intrigue. “Why? What’s so different about her?”

“You can be the judge of that, Monsieur. All I know is I wouldn’t go near this one if my life depended on it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “She’s dangerous then.”

“We found her drinking the blood out of a living man’s body cavity. Again, you be the judge.”

A sharp giggle rose from behind the door. “I can hear you,” she sang. Her voice was otherworldly, and as I felt more and more compelled to meet her I couldn’t help compare it to that of a siren.

“Well, let’s not keep her waiting,” the doctor said humorlessly. He opened the door and waved me in. “If anything goes wrong, just scream. We’ll be back for the body.”

I laughed nervously as the steel door closed behind me. I was expecting to see something threatening in appearance. What I got…

She was no more than five feet and two inches tall, and very delicately built. Barefoot, she was spinning around the room, the white skirt of her dress spiraling around her. Her hair was long and black, disheveled and whipping around her face as she twirled. I couldn’t stop myself from watching her, transfixed.

But she stopped abruptly, yet poised like she might start again at any moment. Her hair had fallen into her face, casting it in shadow. “Are you mad too?” she asked curiously. I could hear a vague British accent in her words.

“No, I can’t say I am,” I replied.

“Oh, I do believe you’re lying,” her voice echoed.

“Why’s that, miss?”

In the dim lighting, I saw the corners of her lips turn upwards in a smile. “We’re all mad here.”

I smiled too. “You live alone in a room made of stone. How can you tell how everyone else is?”

“Oh, I can tell. I’m surrounded by murderers and novelists. Even the doctors are mad. They’re French.”

I stifled a laugh, sharing in that sentiment. “That makes someone mad?”

“My father is French,” she told me. “I hate him.”

“But that would make you French too.”

“Oh, definitely not!” she scoffed. “I’m English and German, thank you.”

“Then how is your father French?”

She cocked her head to the side curiously. “Father used to tell me how he was the one who gave me sight. He always told me he could take it away, too.”

Slowly, she pushed her hair back and out of her face. My face contorted in disgust and horror. A white blindfold was wrapped around her eyes, and blood was creeping from her sockets and down her porcelain face.

With a tiny smile, she placed one finger to her lips. “Shh, don’t tell.”

“What’s your name?” I asked, completely clueless as to what else to say.

She giggled psychotically. “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would still have thorns to spill your blood, and still have petals to lure you in. So I suppose you could call me Rose.

“Oh, but that would mean I’d have to explain myself, and I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, because I’m not myself, you see?”

She began pacing the room, back and forth, continuing to murmur nonsense. “No, I don’t see, you silly fool. Father plucked out my eyes for running after the farmer’s wife. Why, he cut them out with a carving knife! Did you ever see such a sight?”

I eyeballed her nervously as she burst into a torrent of giggles. “Let me introduce myself to you, kind sir,” she said with a bow. “You may call me…Alice.”

“Okay. Can I ask you some questions, Alice?”

She giggled. “If your lips can move and your tongue’s still attached, I don’t see why you couldn’t.”

I rolled my eyes. “Where are you from, Alice?”

“Another coast, another time. Why?”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Twelve and my brother. Why?”

“Why did you kill that man?”

“Aye, good sir, you’ve not answered my question.”

I sighed with irritation. “I’m a writer. I’m trying to build a character off of you.”

She laughed delightedly. “So you are mad!”

“Maybe,” I allowed. “Why did you kill that man?”

Frowning, she replied, “But if I reveal all my cards now, they’ll know I’m cheating when I use the ace up my sleeve, and then what am I? A pack of cards!”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Never mind,” she said, shaking her head violently. “I, with no other reason, killed him because…I was hungry.”

As she threw back her head and began to laugh psychotically, I tried to speak above her. “If all you ever do is lie, you’ll be in here forever.”

Anger filled her face as she rushed forward like lightning and grabbed me by the throat. I was too strangled and surprised to utter a sound as she lifted me up off the floor. “Who are you to call me a liar, good sir?” she snapped. “And…you know nothing of forever!” She flashed a smile, and now that I was closer I could see that her incisors were elongated, like fangs. Her tone changed entirely as she asked, “Do you want to know what it’s like, sir? I could show you what forever really is…”

*****

A scream erupted from the girl’s cell, and a train of doctors rushed to her door. It grew dead silent; the only sound was the guard fumbling with his keys. Suddenly, there was a clang against the door, and her face appeared behind the bars, bloody and smiling. The brown eyes of the writer peered out from her sockets.

“I can see you.”