[@RBYDark]

[center][h1]Emil Günther[/h1]
Physical state: Sick
Mental state: Wandering in thoughts[/center]

The perfume of a nurse walking by assaulted him. [color=39b54a][i]The waves of her hair and the breeze of her scent. Even like this I can smell it. The odor adorns her, and yet it is as if she adorns it. Lovely, the light adhering to her skin.[/i][/color] He turned behind to catch a glimpse of her once more, but she had taken a corner, only a trail of the edge of her white skirt visible for a second at the wall edge, like a fast grey wing of a moth flying in the night. He focused on the nape of the student in front of him. [color=39b54a][i]A mole on his neck. Brown little tumor. An imperfection. They make a difference. I remember her, too. Many liked her when we were young and school children. Beautiful, with a tiny beauty mark on her cheek. The ones without it were not as liked. Falling for one's imperfections, yes. That is the hook. That we bite. The jig in the water. Listen to them.[/i][/color] He looked at his shoes marching with the others on the floor tiles. [color=39b54a][i]A thud after a thud. That is also what I hear coming from behind the locked doors of this mystery. Like a heart locked in there, primordial but refusing to die, fueled by its own malignance. Thud, thud, thud.[/i][/color] 

A serene man, whom Emil would have, had he had the time to think artistically, described as 'sternly frail' approached him. [color=39b54a][i]Not am asylum staff member. No sterile white on him. The professor, from yesterday. Has he seen me?[/i] 
[/color]

[color=fff200]"I should hope you are alright?",[/color] the man said.
[color=0072bc]”I...am well, sir,”[/color] Emil said through a membrane of mucus in his sore throat. [color=0072bc]”Regarding the incident, at least.”[/color] He swallowed saliva to wetten that irritating spot in his neck. [color=0072bc]”Now I know what people mean when they say the world's gone mad.”[/color]