"The past fabricates our exposition, but it is not the whole story."
Having the well known and beloved Alice as her twin, Hannah has always had big shoes to fill. Of course, they were two peas in a pod. There was not one without the other. Ali...
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The repetitive clinking sound of metal dancing together met Hannah's barely conscious ears. Her feet were being dragged down the squeaky tiled floors, her limp body along with them. Her brown head bobbed with every fluorescent light she passed under.
Nausea came in waves. Towering high and slamming down low until her stomach quivered and relinquished it's inability to hold the icky substance they fed her on occasion. If such a horrific, unforeseeable place were on Earth, this would be Hell it all its glory for the human.
Hannah May Brandon had just done another round of the electric chair, most likely her fourth time doing so. Her father and step mother called upon reinforcements to bring them here, Alice and herself. The brunette had lost count of how many moons have gone by since that retched day, but she could still feel the betrayal on her tongue.
The vile taste was posinous to her usually healthy train of thought. It oozed and climbed to every portion of her mind, creating dark spaces where happy memories lied. She hated Him. That man.
Just the very essence of him caused her body to groan and spasm from old electric pulses. She didn't think it was possible to feel such loathing. However, when she heard the screams of her sister, on that first night, while she rotted in the holding cell they called a 'bedroom', she boiled with rage too hot to touch.
Hannah glanced up blearily, the action borderline impossible at the moment, but she did it. The brunette wanted to remember everything about this horrid place, for once she got out, everyone would pay. After what they did to Alice, nevermind how she was treated, everyone who resided in this facility would suffer the worse kind of death. She'd make sure of it.
Her hazel eyes blinked away the white film over her irises, cracking at the creases. What she could make out was the dull grey walls and blue hued lighting. Her wrists and underarms were secured by two guards in all white drab. They were carrying her back to her holding cell. A room they lied about since the beginning. It didn't bring her comfort like they whispered in her ear, just shame and loneliness.
Patient #726.
That was the plaque on her wall aside from the metal door. It creaked open and the sudden dread of abandonment overwhelmed her every sense. Hannah tried to stall her feet, pushing them against the tiles to keep them from shoving her inside, but she lacked the strength to halt their movements.
Hannah's eyes widened as they pushed her in. Her limp frame colliding with the stained bed in the corner. She clutched the sheets to help herself up, dragging her body up and over the springy matteress. Usually, the bed felt like a hard rock, stiff and unrelenting. However, today was a pleasant revelation. Compared to the hospital bench they strapped her to twice a week, it was magic. The bed did not change but her frame of mind did.
