A Field of Mushrooms

-Madness-

~Goth-Victorian Yharnam~ ~Behind wrought-iron gates~ ~A field of mushrooms~ ~Sister Aemone~ Aemone was a young woman hidden in her robes, an orphan taken as a babe by the Good Church - Saviors of Yharnam. She did not understand the words they spoke when she was an infant. She did not care much when they took her to the white room; put needles in her arm, had her watch them cut into poor souls strapped to surgery tables, or bid her drink the blue rubbery liquid. There was always the garden to play in. It didn't matter how the bad men made her feel.       It was so long she grew up. The robed men always pulled more from outside the walls, always subjecting them to experiments. Aemone used to talk to nice boys and nice girls, whose eyes' shone with the hue of understanding. They could hear the plip-plop too. But the bad men found out in time. And the others tended to disappear the next day.       The bad men always watched. Talking, prodding, cutting, injecting, forcing. Before too long, Aemone had no more to talk to. She didn't need that. The mushrooms were always there, and the drip-drippings were becoming intoxicating. It was a symphony, and it drowned out the noises. The screaming and pleading.       Do you hear it? plip-plop plip-plop plip-plop . . .       She didn't need to hear the bad men anymore. All she needed was the sound. She slowly needed less sleep. It was slow at first, 8 hours, 7. Seven became five. Four. The bad men began strapping her to tables and extracting her precious fluids at three hours of sleep. It wasn't fair.       Didn't they understand? Blood was the holy medium of the father. Water was the divine medium of the mother. The mushrooms knew. They offered for Aemone to hear. But the bad men refused to listen. They took the answers from poor Aemone instead.       But Aemone wasn't angry. Because a worm said so one day. She was standing in the garden to listen, and she heard slip-slop. When she looked down, a worm was eeking along and staring up at her. It was divine beauty!       The worm told her not to care. The bad men had no eyes, and could not see. But Aemone could. The worm was nice. It wanted to play and have fun. Aemone agreed, and so they played in the garden; and damn to the bad men.       One day, the bad men came. This was normal. But the worm told Aemone to be strong, and she asked the worm why. They want to take your eyes, Aemone. Do not listen to them.       She was taken to a surgery alter, strapped in and given a jar of blue liquid. It burned and reeked and she hated it. But they pinched her nose, hit her belly, made her drink. Then came the probes. Oh, how it hurt as they began trepanning! She screamed and pleaded, but the men cut and sucked her brain. Her eyes! Greedy! So lost and senseless they were.       They put something in her head. It made a new noise. Ugly. Oppressive.       She survived the ordeal; but they made her head hurt, and they couldn't get any eyes. Because they couldn't see.       The worm understood. The garden plip-plopped. Crawling on her arm, the worm wept for her. It told her the noises weren't real, and to not listen. Just stay in the garden and play.       But Aemone cried. It hurt! Her head hurt. She could feel the noise.       And the worm told its friends, and they told their friends. The garden became so full of worms, and drip-dripped with so much beauty.       Aemone asked about the bad men. Why did they stop testing her? The worm told her they couldn't hear and couldn't see, so they needed to be reprimanded.       It didn't stop the noise, but she realized the worm was right. The noise wasn't real.       Do you hear it? It sounds like a one-note ringtone in your left ear. It wants you to turn around. It wants you to look.       But the worm does not lie. The noise isn't real.       The worm never lies.