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She awoke in a room with white tiles.

The room was entirely covered in a beautiful yet creepy shade of clean white. The color was on the walls, floor, and the door to whatever room she was in with the door closed. Her senses weren't fully awoken by then, so everything was blurry in her eyes as the black dots dispersed from her vision.

When her hearing sense returned, a terrified chill went down her spine. She heard that awfully familiar, sicking sound of a heart monitor by her side, and that's when she took a note of the place she was lying down on.

A classic hospital bed, except for the fact that the blankets, pillows and even the machinery around the bed were white. Her hospital gown was pearly white and her hair was pulled back in a hair tie so it wouldn't cover her face. She lowered her head to look down at her hands, and her stomach churned at the sight of the IV line in her left hand.

(Y/N) couldn't even move, and just the thought of it made her muscles groan in protest. Her throat felt dry and she couldn't utter a single word, not being able to voice her questions in the air or call for anyone's help. She hadn't registered where she was and why was she there, thinking it was nothing until she saw that the bloodied hole in her chest was gone too.

Then the gears inside her head clicked. Where were Harrow and his followers? What had happened back at the tomb?

Layla. Steven. Marc —

The door of the supposed hospital room opened, and in came a familiar female figure. Her curly brown hair was cascading down her shoulders and she wore a nurse's work attire in the same color as the walls beside her. She was carrying a tray between her fingers, that same glint in her eyes being visible to (Y/N)'s eye from where she sat.

"Sorry I'm late, Miss Mahfouz," Layla's voice ringed in her ears and a frown wrote itself on (Y/N)'s features. "I tried to free myself from the other patients so I could visit my favorite, is that okay?"

(Y/N) could only move her eyes up and down Layla in front of her and watched how she grabbed a marshmallow from the tray and brought it to her mouth. The only sound that came out of (Y/N)'s lips was the noise of a squeaked cry, like a baby trying to form a word.

Layla jumped at that sound. "Oh, I hope you're not upset. We've talked about this, (Y/N). You're my patient, it's not like we're best friends."

(Y/N) really tried to cry out. She really did. She wanted to gather all the strength in her vocal cords to scream at Layla to explain what was going on, but before she could do any of that. There was another knock in the door.

This time, Layla opened the door for whomever was behind knocking, and just by seeing him (Y/N) felt her own heart stop beating at that moment. There was no way it wasn't him, she could've spotted him even if he was standing more than a mile away from her without a doubt.

"Marc," Layla greeted nicely and opened the door wide enough to allow him to enter. "Come in. I was about to call for you."

It felt strange, it didn't feel natural at all; watching Marc march up to her with his hands behind his back over to (Y/N)'s bed and stood over her right side.

It gave (Y/N) a sense of deja vu, and she still couldn't form out a coherent sentence to ask the two people in front of her why they were acting in a strange manner.

"I came just in time, (Y/N)," Marc spoke softly to her, as if he was speaking to a toddler. "You can pick just one."

Marc pulled his hands from behind his back and revealed two books in them. One had a bright yet blurry title with ancient Egyptian dietes drawn on it and the other had a drawing of a hooded white figure in a cape and a crescent moon symbol on the cover.

All the confusion and no way of having any answers was nearly making (Y/N) cry. She couldn't comprehend a thing and she felt uncomfortable by the way they spoke and treated her like a baby.

Layla smacked Marc's shoulder and lowered down her voice to whisper in his ear even though (Y/N) was sitting on the bed right in front of them. "What are you doing?! We had specific instructions to not fill her mind with that none sense."

"I thought it would help her out with her boredom," Marc defended, eyeing (Y/N) on the bed. "She's stuck here every day."

Layla shook her head. "Still. We should be helping her with that, not those books."

(Y/N) finally got the courage to utter a few words out, but it came out as some sort of gurgle. "I. . ."

"See?" Layla moved Marc to stand behind her so she could walk forward and grab (Y/N)'s hand. "Poor little thing, can't do anything by herself."

(Y/N) wanted a straight answer. Desperately. Everything in her line of vision right now was making her lightheaded and dizzy, like the feeling you get when you're overwhelmed or haven't slept at all. Whatever it was, it was driving her insane and she almost tried to pull her hair out.

A third knock echoed through the white tiled walls and the door opened by the other person behind it. The attention of the three pairs of eyes inside the room drifted over to the wheelchair that the person on the threshold of the door held, and the realization made (Y/N) gulp.

Not only because of the person holding onto the wheelchair brought her a wave of bad memories, but because the wheelchair itself meant something else. Escaping from the room into somewhere far from here.

"He's requesting her in his office," the nurse said.

Marc and Layla shared a glance and gave (Y/N) a remorseful one, which she knew too well. (Y/N) shook her head desperately, trying to find the enough strength to push herself off from the bed when the two grabbed onto her arms and tried to force her down into the wheelchair.

Her own cries and protests were the first sounds she was able to produce fully, but they were of no use. Marc and Layla's strength won over her own, and (Y/N) still shook her head in denial and refusal to be led down into a place where she had no clue of where it was.

"It's all gonna be all right," Marc reassured. "It's all gonna be all right."

And with that, they forced her to sit down onto the wheelchair and the nurse began to guide her away into the long hallways of the hospital without a care of the world.

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In the midst of being dragged from her own room to an unknown place inside the immense hospital she was supposedly in, (Y/N) closed her eyes for one small moment but at the next one, she found herself now sat in the middle of another white tiled room.

This one was much more spacious than the other one, and there was someone sitting across from her in a desk, his appearance being blurry to (Y/N)'s eyes at first as the sounds and noises returned to her ears.

"I know that you're having a lot of difficulty being able to deal with the condition you have," were the first words she was able to hear properly.

That tone was oddly recognizable. The soft voice that was able to drive her insane no matter how low in volume it got. The appearance of the person in front of her was still blurry, and she had a bunch of who it might be.

"I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of borrowing the book you brought," he spoke again, and this time, (Y/N)'s eyes focused on the man before her.

His hair was shorter, and now he had a trimmed mustache right below his nose. Round glasses were added into his appearance, along with sophisticated and elegant work attire. It was him. Of course it was him.

"How many times would you say you've read that book, hmm? Approximately?" Dr. Harrow questioned, his blue irises staring her down.

(Y/N) couldn't form a single sentence. "I. . .No. . ."

"What?"

"He. . .He gave. . ."

"I know. I'm sorry about that," Dr. Harrow crossed his arms together. "But remember, you're only sedated for your own good. But don't worry, the effects will wear off soon."

(Y/N) blinked and had to listen to what he had to say, yet the slightest blurry memories were rushing into her head. She thought this was an act, but all acts had an end. All she wanted was for it to end and for her to go home.

"We don't live in a material world. We live in a psychic world," he used his pen to tap his glasses as he spoke. "Right? We're only able to make indirect inferences about the nature of reality. Like, take, for example, this pen, right? To me, this is a writing utensil. To my dog, it's a chew toy. Both are accurate."

(Y/N) looked all around the wide and spacious office, searching for any sort of clue that will give everything up. That's when she saw it. That cane, a familiar cane leaning onto the desk casually, and another thing; the statue of Ammit as a decoration in one of the corners of the desk.

"Right?" Harrow knocked her out of her train of thought. "It's just a question of context and perspective. And all I'm asking of you is an honest assessment of your situation."

(Y/N) figured this was the moment for her to speak. "It's all. . .it's all. . .I remember. . ."

"What? Your past? Your family?" Dr. Harrow asked, leaning onto the desk. "Marc?"

(Y/N) snapped her head to lock eyes with him, thinking she finally got him when she remembered that she'd seen 'him' a few moments ago. Dr. Harrow waited for her patiently, eager to hear what she had to say.

"How do — "

"(Y/N), I know you found comfort in creating this sort of 'fake world' in order to distract you from your illness," Dr. Harrow spoke. "You got too attached to your nurse Marc that you made him into your love interest in that world of yours. . ."

(Y/N) frowned and stared at him, that rising urge to speak and interrupt him in what he was saying was coming to her again, this time higher than other times.

"I can't help you if you don't help yourself."

(Y/N)'s lips parted. "You shot me," a chill ran down her spine and she released a shaky breath. "You shot me."

"(Y/N)? (Y/N)? Hey. Hey now. If we can't calmly sit here and take inventory of your feelings — " Harrow called after her when she drifted her attention somewhere else. "(Y/N). Listen, I know — "

(Y/N) tried to push herself up and walk straight forward for the door, but her knees were still weak and they nearly gave up underneath her if it wasn't for her abrupt grip on the chair she was just sitting on.

Dr. Harrow grabbed his cane and stood up from his spot, attempting to walk over to her but she was quicker in moving farther away.

"Get back!" she yelled. "Don't get close to me!"

"I understand how you're feeling," he told. "I too have suffered from mental illness, breaks in psychic awareness, manic episodes. Followed by depression. You can be healed."

(Y/N) still battled in making her way to the door with her weak body strength but she was able to finally make it to the door and grab onto the handle. She tried to open the door but just for her luck, it didn't budge.

"Let me out!" she screamed at him.

Dr. Harrow stayed calm. "You can be healed."

(Y/N) let out a frustrated grunt and broke the window in order to unlock the door from the other side, wincing in pain at the glass shards all around her but she was too desperate to think of it. The action only made Harrow's shoulder sag.

Once the door was open, (Y/N) did her best to run the fastest she could, but two nurses grabbed a hold of her arms before she could go too far.

"All right. Be gentle with her. Don't hurt her. All right?" Harrow ordered the nurses.

(Y/N) stomped on the foot of the one holding her right arm and the moment the man jumped in reaction, she used her now free hand to slap the side of the woman's cheek and liberate herself from the tight grips and run away from the office.