Her eyelids drooped, and there was a bright light. Forcing them open, she looked down at her arm, ran a finger over the blood-spattered fur, and fell to the ground. But she didn't feel it. Letting her eyes close and returning to the light, she released the image of her arm and let it drift through her mind…

<><><>

Zara smiled slightly as she touched up the "m." The best part of all this fur, it absorbs blood… A series of sharp clicks in the hallway announced the approach of her ward's orderlies. Moving quickly, she slid the "exacto" blade across the floor, to a spot which would be covered when they opened the door. With a swift movement in the shadows, the dully reflective surface of the knife seemed to disappear into the wall.

Leaping from her seat on the side of her bed, she dove into the corner of the room farthest from the door. As she heard the knob turn, she released a growl that had been lingering in her throat. Her demeanor suddenly slipped from its former, distractedly blissful look into one of fear. Adrenaline pulsing through her veins, she crouched and bared her teeth.

The tall, male orderlies came in, first the brown one, then the yellow. She raised her claws threateningly, at the same time drawing her blood-soaked fur up to her chest protectively.

The yellow-furred one stepped forwards and, giving a small sigh, delivered the same speech he had a thousand times before. "Patient Shalir, if you do not cooperate with the escort provided you, we will have to retrieve you by any force necessary."

As the two white-clad Hekshanians closed in, she pounced, biting and clawing furiously. But they had played this game too many times before, and caught her without a scratch on them. She whipped her tail, cursing and spitting, trying to rip herself away from them. It had no effect on the disgustingly stoic pair of guards. After several minutes of struggling, she tired enough for them to move her, though slowly, to the analyst's room of her ward.

A pair of leather straps were fastened tightly around her wrists, and another pair around her ankles. The leather was somehow cool in this otherwise too-hot room, but it nothing to soothe her fears. She tried ripping her paws from their restraints, and the guards begrudgingly attached a fifth to her forehead. Now trying to rip her arms free, she ignored the doctor who entered the room and motioned for the guards to wait outside.

Quieting a bit, but only enough to hear the doctor's slow, mechanical voice, she continued pulling against her restraints, now twisting her neck around to loosen the head restraint.

The soft but cold ramblings of the doctor faded together in Zara's head. Fighting… resistance… repressed anger… It's all meaningless. Why does the b###h bother?

Maybe seconds later, maybe hours, the orderlies returned. Her quiet grunts as she strained her limbs turned into cursing shouts as they approached her. She almost bit the dusty brown-furred guard as he unfastened her head strap, her teeth snapping shut millimeters from his shoulder. Painstakingly, she was dragged back down the hallway. But not to her room. It was time for OT. I probably chipped the knife when I hid it… must pick up a new one.

The guards exchanged a look as their charge paused her struggling. Was she tired, or scheming? Their question remained unanswered, as they handed her off to a third guard, stationed at the occupational therapy doorway, and quickly marched back down the hallway.

Quickly formulating a plan, she started swiping and cursing at the new orderly. He was taken off guard, and one of her claws caught him in the chin. It just grazed him, but still… she would receive a reprimand, hopefully… she didn't want to think about the alternative.

Ignoring the cut as best he could, he pulled Zara into the room. Motioning to yet another guard inside, he made furtive hand signals, motioning finally to the cut she had inflicted upon him. She saw him walk towards the medical wing before the single remaining man stepped out in front of the doorway and locked the door behind him.

She grinned. Prefect. She was all alone, for however many minutes it took them to send down a stand-in. It wouldn't be long, but probably enough to stash a knife. Reaching behind the second row of books on the shelf, she took a blade from its "hidden" location. She rearranged the other knives to fill the gap, so as not to arouse suspicion.

Eyes darting around the room, she spotted a tiny hole at the bottom of a wall, no higher than two of her fingers and half as wide. She tapped the knife on the side of the hole a few times, then tucked in into the hole, out of sight.

Hearing approaching footsteps, she pulled a chair into the corner and, ignoring the crafts and projects that filled the room, curled up on it in a protective ball. The footsteps stopped, and the door clicked open, revealing a female with jet black fur and a male with blue fur, far darker than her own. The female came into the room and approached her, giving the standard escort cooperation speech. Zara ignored it, and was dragged out by the female and the guard she had previously injured.

The one she had scratched let a snide grin slip, and she went off. Swinging at them madly, she snarled, kicked, snapped, and cut with such ferocity that she thought her lungs would explode. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught some kind of movement. Turning her head, but still swiping with the strength she had left, she tried to register the shaped shifting in front of her.

A gaunt, yellow-furred patient watched her, a sad look on his face. He saw her losing her strength, and smiled, trying to give her heart. He took a step forward and waved, but was quickly restrained by his own pair of guards. Not able to very well move otherwise, he winked. Meeting his gaze, Zara stopped fighting. He was obviously new, everyone else on this ward had given up…

Who the hell are you, and why do you have hope?

She was dragged back into her room, not taking her eyes off of him until the door was shut and locked. She looked down at the shadows next to the door's hinges. A shiny new knife lay there, the inviting cold aluminum handle and steel blade almost speaking to her.

She picked it up, and finished the last line on her "m."

"Maybe he's the 'angelus daemum'…" That makes me the daemon…