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Awareness is the enemy of sanity, for once you hear the screaming, it never stops.
"Not just any insane asylum," she exclaimed indignantly, as though I had offended her, “though you certainly do not deserve it. You are a very lucky girl indeed, for you have been assigned a bed in the most progressively innovative, the most morally experimental, the most, ah, the most ingeniously directed medical institution for the mentally ill, led by my own dear son, Doctor Motmourn C. Stockhill. You are the worthy child, are now an inmate of the Asylum for Wayward Victorian--"
Ooh, this shot (and the flowers) are gorgeous!
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