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While Kyra tried to convince herself that the thing she saw were not real, Ivan sat calmly in his room with his prized sketchbook. He drew, and he drew, and he continued to draw. He drew a detailed picture of a small girl with beautiful braided locks. The girl wore a simple dress that flowed down to her knees. To add to her angelic appearance, he gave her wings. Soft to touch. He put down his pencil, the sketch only taking him a few minutes to complete in full detail. He took out his color pencils and drew in color. Fair skin, blond hair, deep blue eyes matching her sky blue dress. She was complete. Only a foot tall, but complete.

He put his pencils down, and the creation came to life. She looked at him, frowning.

"What did you do?" The high-pitched voice asked. "Where am I? Who I am?"

"..." Ivan stared at her with dull eyes. "Rebecca"

"W-What?" The artificial girl put her hand on her chest. "Is that my name?"

"Yes." Ivan pointed his icy hand to Kyra. "Go to her and make her stop."

"Stop...what?"

"That."

"What?"

"That."

Rebecca was not going to get an answer from Ivan. Not wanting to argue with him anymore, she flapped her wings and flew next to Kyra. She was only a foot tall, so she easily could sneak herself into the room.

"Hello...My name is Rebecca...what are you doing?" The girl weakly said. She didn't know what was going on, but she felt compelled to come to the girl. It was...it was...a purpose she had. And she could not fight it.

Bastian Coriander
Bastian aid on his bed, his eyes cast up to the ceiling, his hands matted into his clean blond hair, batting his lashes he tilted his head slowly, canting it from one side, then gently back to the other. In his head played an imaginary scene; a white night riding in and saving a princess. Bastian took all the time he needed to envision each little emblazoned and rich detail of the knight's polished armor and starched standard. He could almost see the embroidered flowers along the princess's elegant gown. As he imagined her turning to look at the knight, her savior, he saw her face turn toward him, catching luminescent in the flickering candle light. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever imagined.

A pang ran through him as loneliness washed over him. He'd never be able to see such a soft and loving smile from a girl; not in here, and probably not on the outside, either. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to hold onto the look she gave him in his mind, but slowly if faded and he sighed. After a bit of trying to reconjure her face he felt something tangled in his hair. He sat up, putting his hand in front of them, pulling the small object easily away. In his hand was a small, flat, embroidered rose like he had imagined on the princesses gown. He brought it too his cheek and rubbed it softly across his skin, he could smell a faint perfume lingering on the tiny flower. He sighed and frowned, so very unhappy.

Bastian Coriander
The sound of the doors starting to open stirred the emotions in the pudgy youth's heart. He sat up and pushed himself off of the bed, tucking the little silken, flat rose under his pillow before moving to his door. As he waited he slipped on his shoes and peered out at the other children of varying ages. Next to him was Ivan, the kid that seemed to draw a lot, he always wanted to ask the boy to draw things for him, but never managed to bring himself to. Across from him was the cute girl with the glasses. He never really talked to her either. It seemed like most of the kids either kept to themselves, or to a small group.

Before the Doctors and staff could come by he managed to spot her talking to something small. It looked like a little doll or a person or something, it was hard to say. Maybe he did belong here. He furrowed his brow and tilted his head trying to piece it together. Was that a real person? He slowly shook his head looking down.

"No," he said so soft that he could barely hear himself, "it's nothing."

Not before long they were guided out to the enclosed outside area. As they walked Bastian looked over to the girl, Kyra, trying to make heads or tails of what he had seen, but gave up as the nearly mid-day sun rose and poured warmth over the lot of them. Sure it's wasn't noon yet, but the sun ever inched closer to that high point. The boy relished the warmth and headed over to his usual spot. He sat near some shade that he could lay in if the sun became too much for him to handle, but placed himself out of the way and gazed out passed the bars. Maybe he'd go and ask the girl what it was he saw and if she had seen it, too, but he really wasn't sure if that was a good idea; talking to other people, period. He was a little afraid. He didn't feel crazy, and what if he became friends with someone here and they were really off their rocker? Then what? It weighed heavy on his heart, not knowing if he should reach out to someone, or even who.

[[@Leid: LOL! Not Stitch! Wrong roleplay...this is Ivan Beech, not Ivan Jacob Bernard Amid Agia III xD
...I like the name Ivan >>

@Lena: That sucks D:]]

The small girl with wings was baffled by those names. "What are those things? I don't know what I am. What am I?" She watched the doors open, and Kyra quickly left, as did Rebecca. Only, Rebecca did not follow Kyra. She went to her creator, Ivan, and landed on his pad.

"What am I? She asked me. And left. I don't know what I am. What am I?"

Ivan kept walking, ignoring at first the paper girl on his sketchbook. She bothered him, but he was in the routine of walking in the line and going outside at this time. He worked best with schedules. It was a routine. He walked, as instructed, and did not talk--for that was not instructed. When outside, he was told to enjoy the air. What did that mean? He enjoyed air quite frequently. Regardless, he would find an area and draw shamelessly. It was his purpose.

Today, however, the paper girl, that paper creation, was bothering him. He sat down next to a tree, resting his back against it. As more people poured out of the building, they gave Ivan more attention than normal. There was defiantly a small "thing" with him, that was not human. Not normal. What was it? Everyone saw it. Small groups of patients, who normally floated to each other when released outside, made Ivan's creation the topic of conversation. He had only been here a month. Who was he anyways? What was he doing with a small girl with wings?

"What am I?" The small creation, that small girl, began to plead. Tears came to Rebecca's eyes. "Tell me please! Why won't you talk to me?"

"It doesn't matter," Ivan stated. He scanned the area and spotted Kyra with his hazel eyes. She had stopped muttering, and they were outside where--even if Kyra was muttering and crying--it didn't disrupt him.

"You've served your purpose, and now you're annoying." He picked Rebecca up by closing his hand around her small head. Rebecca's screams were barely heard underneath Ivan's flesh. He squeezed harder. The muffled voice was stopped. A small amount of blood oozed from between Ivan's fingers. Ivan stood, holding his creation--that small girl--by her head while her limp body swayed with his walk. Underneath his free arm was his sketchbook. He found the playground's trashcan by the gate, and dropped her body on top garbage. He then went back to his oak tree, sat down, wiped the blood on his gray jeans, and began to draw once more. His face stayed in a frozen state of apathy, never once even blinking at his actions or thoughts. He was almost like a machine. A machine with cat ears.

Draw. He drew so often, but he never knew what he was drawing. In this case, he began to draw at a steady pace a beautiful pond in a creek. A log was resting over the shallow water, only five feet deep perhaps. A heavy rain shower stained the area with sobbing leaves and muddy ground. There was no one in the picture, just some bugs barely noticeable amongst the leaves and flowers. The log was a perfect bench, and Ivan began to wonder if he could someday sit and enjoy the crickets' serenade. But first he had to finish the details. He went slowly, hardly thinking about what his pencil was doing. Moving from item to item, step to step.

Then. She took his sketchbook. A nerve snapped inside of him. He pushed himself to his feet, kneeing her gut so that her grasp loosen and he could retrieve his sketchbook, which was his purpose.

His tail swung low to the ground, his ears flat against his head but his face remained numb. Perhaps she could see the small shimmer of emptiness in his eyes, but perhaps not. He clung to his sketchbook while he stood next to her. Only after a pregnant pause did he decide to answer her, "How am I a murder?" He sat back down, opening up his sketchbook to the page he was on, and continued to work on the forest scene. He began to add the three-dimensions to the tiger lily pedals.

Bastian Coriander
Bastian's gaze moved out passed the bars as he sat in a very warm patch of grass. The sun cascaded over his soft and pale features warming his smooth skin. He put his hands behind his head and laid back into the grass and turned his gaze to the sky. He listened to the sounds of others playing, the few who have made bonds with others who were not afraid to introduce themselves. He rolled to his side to look over his peers, the blades of grass like a carpet along the ground, stretching out across the area they were allowed to roam free in.

"So beautiful," he said softly, running his fingers over the blades, talking just to himself. "I wish you were here," he added, talking, still, to himself, but addressing the princess he liked to dream about. He could imagine the embroidered pattern on her dress, the soft swell of her breast rising and falling with her light breathing, her long eyelashes fluttering as her innocent eyes looked over the sky. "I love you," he whispered as softly as he could. He knew there was no way for him to conjure her, but still a tiny part of him clung to the hope that if he wished hard enough she would come into being and he'd find her one day and the two of them would be happy always.

Bastian looked from the spot where he wished his imagined beloved would lay back to the other captives in time to see the conflict arising between Ivan and Kyra. Specifically he saw Ivan knee the poor girl. He quickly pushed himself up from the ground and looked around for someone who was in charge. Not seeing one the boy stood and looked over the other children. No one else seemed to care or notice. Kyra looked like she was in pain, she had even dropped her doll. It took a good deal of mental effort to take that first step toward the pair, but soon Bastian closed the space between them and he knelt beside Kyra, offering her help to stand from her seat on the ground.

"H-hey!" He stammered looking toward Ivan, "Don't kick girls, okay? That's not right." If she allowed him Bastian would stand with Kyra, his posture defensive, but still weak as his hands quivered and his knees felt like liquid. He swallowed and addressed the girl now, "Are you okay?"

Bastian cast his gaze out, again to look for a doctor or someone to help, to get Ivan in trouble for hurting a girl. When he found none he then found the small doll on the ground. She had no head anymore and was covered in ketchup, ink, maybe? Blood? Who's blood, though?

"Did you tear the head off of her doll?" he said, more shocked then anything. Why would he bully her? He couldn't understand it!