I blink in the brightness of the room.

I'm leaning against something. A wall, I think.

It's morning, I'm fine. I changed the story and my fate, and now Amato is gone, or good.

Either way. I'm spending tonight in Prague.

I try to stretch, but my arms won't move.

They're pinned to my sides, in front of me.

I open my eyes.

Carved into my arm is the single word, 'Amato'.

The floor is rubber, the walls are rubber.

I blink up into the heights of the fluorescently-white room.

Asylum white.

Good morning.

A man in a white, trailing lab coat enters the room. White lapels, white pockets, white pockets, "Good morning, how are we this morning?"

He doesn't look at the corner. He can, but he doesn't, he won't. He wouldn't see if he did.

Amato is smiling at me from the corner. Beautiful, horrible. His smile is ever the gash that I remember.

Good morning.

It's all in your head until dark, Love.