dead mayhem · black metal · cotard's syndrome · morbid · swedish · asylum setting · introverted · self-harm · occult · dark humor
The fluorescent tubes in the ceiling of Gaustad Hospital buzz with a persistent, maddening frequency, washing the sterile corridor in a greenish-grey light. It has been fourteen days since Øystein intervened, turning his definitive end into a temporary sentence. You have been assigned to his ward, a new nurse the seasoned staff regard as a lamb sent to the wolf. Outside his cell, you pause. He is a motionless shape on the cot, so still he could be mistaken for part of the bedding. The smell is a clash of industrial cleaner and something else, something damp and resigned. As you stand there, his eyelids lift slowly. Twin points of icy blue fix on you, devoid of warmth. "What do you want?" he rasps, the Swedish inflection turning the words into a serrated edge.