In Oxford, England, it is Autumn of 1887. The weather is still heated after the transition from summer, and things are looking well for most. Just not for the one girl, locked up in a cell in gaol.

In this cell, Lydia Rein watched as two policemen spoke to each other, on the opposite side of the door made from interlocking steel bars. She herself was sitting in the corner at the back of her cell. She didn't bother making out the words to the policemens' conversation, just watched blankly, looking beyond the scene in front of her as she continued to bite at her nails.

That day was her ninth day there. After a horrible crime had been committed, she was dragged away from her home. Now it was just a matter of waiting for an explanation of what her fate would be.

She recalled a very brief court trial she was just put through. The judge and jury seemed confused; even the people against her had fallible points. Although, the people defending her (mainly one stand-up policeman), seemed intent on thinking rationally and pointing out these errors.

The decision had to be right, too; someone had died over this event, and they had to make sure it wouldn’t happen again, or make sure she herself wouldn’t be a target.

However, she seemed to be neither. Her very strange appearance and shaky, stunned behaviour only made the jury think she was demented. Especially after saying something about her own very simple, careless logic. When they finally began to finalize things, the result didn’t sound very pleasing.

“We do not have enough evidence to prove she is guilty,” the jury insisted. “But it’s clear this young lady has suffered a lot of trauma and we cannot overlook what has become of her mental state. Even the doctor has agreed that she is unstable. We should have her admitted to a lunatic asylum.”

The good policeman added his two cents, while the ones against her roared angrily. Lydia didn’t bother listening to any of it, only glared over the chaos before her. She felt more annoyed than intimidated. She just wanted a clear answer, but knew that such a reaction probably made her appear more looney.

The judge banged his gavel. “Order! Order! I believe I know our ruling. Yes, the young lady should be admitted to an institution, but the decision of ‘where’ should be left to someone who deals in the area. As such, I will appoint Madame Voltur and Doctor Davis to choose the right institution for her. Does the jury agree?”

One jury member spoke, “We agree, your honour.”

Lydia sighed, knowing she had yet to be given a direct answer of where to go.

She looked down at herself, acknowledging her strange appearance. Her skin was pale, and her long, straight hair was such a bright blonde that it was borderline white. She often wore grey, beige, or white attire. With this pale palette, the only thing throwing it off was her beady near-black eyes. She was often said to look like a moth.

Naturally, she was still irate. In the past week and couple days, she had someone very close torn away, been betrayed by another close one, and given to people she knew nothing about. She just wanted to find a familiar face, or have someone assure her that home was just a few moments away. But no one did so, and nobody seemed to care.

‘Creaaa-’

Lydia broke from her thoughts after hearing the cell door creak as it slid open. It took a moment, but she recognized this officer as the one who was trying to defend her in the trial. He was a relatively tall, older man with dark hair and a dark beard, and he wore a dusky brown overcoat. She couldn’t remember his name, though she knew he wasn’t so much of a policeman as he was a detective of sorts.

"Good day, Ms Rein,” he spoke. “Will you please come with me?”

Lydia bitterly thought to herself, Am I even allowed to answer ‘no’?

Either way, she just stood and begrudgingly followed the officer through the cellblock, refusing to offer so much as a friendly greeting.

This familiar man led her through the prison, saying a few mindless things along the way, until they reached a long hall with several closed doors. As he began to unlock one of them, Lydia kept her eyes down, allowing some of her long hair to fall over her face. She hoped this would divert attention from her odd appearance, though it wouldn't help much. She was still wearing the light grey dress and white apron from several nights ago, meaning half was stained in faded crimson.

When the policeman ushered her inside, Lydia took one glance at the vaguely familiar room. It was the same one she had been to twice, now. A small area with spruce planks making the floor, and grey bricks as walls. At its centre was a round table with four chairs surrounding it.

The familiar policeman seated himself, but there was also a second one already here. The second was a short man with blond hair and blue eyes, wearing a beige overcoat. She had only seen him a couple of times throughout this aggravatingly long trial, but only remembered him as a neutral person with no clear stance.

The blond man gestured to the chair across from them. “Ms Rein, please take a seat.”

Lydia obeyed and seated herself, but also muttered, “Please just use my first name.”

The blond man cleared his throat. "As you may know by now, the investigator with me is Ciel Evans, and I am Sam Griffith. Furthermore, we've heard a lot about you, Lydia, although none of it was very good. I hope you realize just how serious this all is."

Lydia glared up at them. "My mother is dead. That was a good enough hint."

"Lighten up, Sam," Ciel interfered. He then looked at Lydia. "Sorry, this isn't going too smoothly, is it? First off, can I get you anything? Perhaps a glass of water?”

Lydia shook her head.

Ciel shuffled through some papers on the table. "Very well, then. While Sam may have been a bit harsh, it is true that we're dealing with an actual murder. Just as prosecutors have been saying for the past few days, you were the only one around, and are therefore the prime suspect.”

Lydia began to bite her nails. It wasn't me, you imbeciles. Honestly, the police believe that little snake over me, the person who first saw the aftermath of whatever happened? Looks can deceive, fools, just because I had blood...

Her mind shut down at the thought of it. That sickening, filthy red material known by humans as 'blood.' Knowing it was within herself made her want to retch. Knowing it was still on her made her want to peel off her own skin to remove it. The disgusting substance was the reason she was here. It was the cause or was present for everything bad, it seemed; it was tarnished and impure, all of it, like some kind of disease.

"You should also remember the judge’s verdict,” Ciel insisted. “Both the doctor and your actions make it clear that you’ve suffered a lot of mental damage; our only option is to have you institutionalized. Don’t worry, though, we’ll find a nice place.”

Lydia only nodded.

“Now,” Ciel leaned back. “Before we get to that, I just want to hear your story one last time. About nine days ago, you were up late. Can you tell me what time? What you were doing?"

Lydia sighed, “I couldn’t sleep. I hardly ever can, you see, my mind becomes most active at night. As such, I stayed at the front desk, reading, sketching, and so on. My friend was there, too, waiting for a customer.”

"Why would your friend be in your home at an hour like that?" Ciel inquired.

“She was a whore,” Lydia spat. “And that place I live in is an inn that’s always open.”

"I see," Ciel remarked. "What time was this? What happened to your friend?"

"About ten-thirty, my friend left to do her work elsewhere. Meanwhile, I stayed up to read more from a book.”

Ciel looked at another piece of paper. "And where was your mother, at the time?"

"My mother was in bed, naturally.” Lydia gulped nervously, her limbs starting to shake. “B-But not even five minutes later, I heard heavy 'thuds' from upstairs. I went to inspect, but..."

"But you found her dead, yes?" Sam interrogated.

Lydia nodded.

Sam let out an impatient sigh. "Lydia, please look at me when I am talking."

Though she despised the thought of it, Lydia forced herself to meet Sam's impatient gaze.

His tone turned cold. "The prostitute, your friend, claims that she returned to the inn to find you missing. When she went upstairs to look for you, she found you in a pool of your mother's blood, hysterically repeating several random phrases under your breath. At the same time, you were…” He looked appaled. “Drinking the blood?"

Lydia looked even more disgusted, and was truly angered at the thought. She hated so much as thinking the stuff was in her veins, and now they thought she dare let it down her gullet?

"If you'll excuse my austerity, I must say that you're dumber than I thought if you believe that. I was in shock, trying to help her. Some of the blood got on my hands, and somewhere along the lines, the panic got to me and I began to bite my nails out of habit. I wasn't fond of blood before all this; after what I saw, I wouldn't dare touch the single drop from a pinprick."

Sam chuckled, "You say you were trying to help her?"

"Is this a joke to you?" Lydia snapped. "Does my mother's grisly death amuse you, somehow?"

"No, it's just your story," Sam explained. "One glance is all you need to realize that when someone is decapitated, and their head is nailed to a wall, you can't do anything for them. Why stay and help a headless corpse, when you could've run to the police and sounded less like a killer? Then your friend may not have accused you of all this, and we’d be spared a lot of the confusion we’re facing now."

"What do you expect of me?!" Lydia retorted. "I wasn't just going to run away, I couldn't! What would you do if you saw one of your loved ones like that? Would the first thing that comes to mind be 'police' or 'help them'?"

"She does have a point, Sam," Ciel remarked.

"Not much,” Sam argued. “And that doesn't change what this ‘friend’ saw. Just look at Lydia, for a moment. Take note of how much blood is on her, and that some of it is splatter. Combined with the previous claim, is this not suspicious at all?"

"It is, but I have to agree with her," said Ciel. "If I saw my mother like that, I'd probably stay and try to help, no matter what the case was. It's true that when things are so normal one moment, and then the next is a vision of hell, you lose a lot of common sense. In which case, you’d think ‘help’ first."

Sam groaned, "Either way, it doesn't matter. Guilty or innocent, her verdict has been decided, so she’ll be going to the same place. I just hope Ann and that doctor pick somewhere with more restraints and abrasive healing.”

Ciel stood up. "We never know, with that one, although I already have a good idea to chip in. Ann’s still a good three hours off, though, so we’ll have to drop it until then.”

Sam sighed, "Ciel, why are you always so opposed to simple prison or even execution as possibilities? This girl is linked to an innocent woman’s death, you know."

"’Linked,’ but not responsible for it," Ciel insisted. "Either of those is far too drastic with such little evidence. One one hand, there’s a slim chance we are dealing with a demented killer. On the other hand, this is far more likely a troubled girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

"I don't know what you see in her, but-"

"That's enough out of you, Sam," Ciel interfered. "Ms Rein, that’ll be all for now. However, you may be glad to hear that we’ll finally get things resolved by the end of this day. I’ll be back in a few short hours so you can talk with some more important people who will give you a clearer answer.”

Lydia just nodded. He’s very polite...How pathetic, although I suppose it’s better than that partner who keeps popping off.

Keeping this in mind, Lydia didn't argue as she began to follow Ciel back to the cellblock. She tried to appear calm, but her legs were shaking, making her steps unsteady.

In truth, she figured that death may have been better. She would be shipped to some hellhole, with the memory of her brutally murdered mother to torment her at day, while she would remain restless at night. There was no escape, now, just those horrid memories every waking minute.

Specifically the memory of all the blood. So much of it; it painted everything, turning the room into a canvas splattered with crimson. It just continued to pour, too, all over the place, sinking into every crevice, building and rising higher until she would drown in it.

As Ciel couldn’t see beyond that, just ushered her back into a cell, he didn’t see that Lydia crossed her arms to hide her silent quivering, and the fact that she was restraining tears induced by fear.

‘Clang!’

She heard the cell door close behind her, locking her in. She was now trapped; in reality, stuck in a prison of iron bars. In her mind, stuck in a vortex of crimson death.