Dr. Ettinger's Home for the Mentally Infirm

When the smoke cleared and Lamina Manira felt the sensation returning to her body, she would find herself in a very different room than she'd been just a moment ago. Instead of the staging area beneath the arena, they stood in a small, greyish stone room. A heavy iron door stood adorned one wall, shut tightly. The three masked figures stood beside Lamina, and Mr. Bitters laid on the ground, still bound and mumbling. The wardens turned to Lamina, voices distorted behind their masks.

"We work for the Department of Anomaly Containment, a secret branch of the Isran government. We work with anomalies, things that can't be explained with our laws of reality. This man saw one, and was left in this condition as a result. Tell me...what was he most afraid of? More than anything in the world?"

The wardens nodded, and the ropes fell away from Mr. Bitters. He collapsed to the ground, curling up and continuing to mumble unintelligibly to himself. The wardens opened the door and stepped out, pulling Lamina out along with them. Once they were all out, they shut the door with a loud clang, locking Mr. Bitters inside.

Lamina would find herself in a long hallway lit by lamplight, lined with identical iron doors. Presumably, each one housed a cell like the one they'd just left, as the hall was consumed by a ruckus of screams, sobbing, laughter, and incomprehensible chattering. The wardens seemed undisturbed by the noise, and led Lamina down the hall to a spiral staircase. As they headed down the stairs, one of the wardens spoke.

"We base our operations out of Ettingers, mostly for convenience. Anyone driven mad by the anomalies can be easily housed here. Nobody questions the screaming. If someone here sees something they shouldn't, well...they're mad already. If they ever get out and tell, nobody will believe the rantings of the mad. It's quite simple, really."

The odd group descended deeper into the sanitarium, until the stairway ended at a long hallway. One of the masked figures snapped his fingers, causing the oil lamps to burst into flame and illuminate the hall. This passageway was built similarly to the first, lined with doors. However, unlike the previous hall, this one was eerily silent.

"That's an excellent question, Ms. Manira. Tell me...are you strong of mind and spirit? You'd have to be, to become a sun marshal at such a young age...but how strong? How far can your mind be pushed before it breaks? If you see something that you can't explain, that shouldn't be possible, will you try to make sense of it? Reject it? Or...would you try to contain it, to protect the minds of others? It's dangerous to try and make sense of something that simply should not be, even though that's most people's first response. Could you look upon an anomaly, Ms. Manira? Can you see something and resist the urge to try and make sense of it, or would you succumb like poor Mr. Bitters?"

The wardens nodded, continuing down the tunnel. Their footsteps echoed in the silent hall, boots clicking sharply on the brick floor. A sharp-eyed observer would notice that the bricks here seemed almost untouched, in stark contrast to the floor upstairs, which had been worn down from years of feet stumbling across it. One of the wardens glanced down towards Lamina, almost whispering.

"That's good, Ms. Manira. You must be afraid, it will keep you alive. Fear is our shield, it prevents us from looking too closely. The moment you lose your fear, you start to wonder if you can try to understand the anomalies, and then you lose your mind. Of course, the opposite is also true. You must embrace the fear, but you cannot let it consume you. If it does, well...you saw what happened with Mr. Bitters. This place is populated with many who have gazed upon the anomalies, Ms. Manira. They weren't strong enough. However, we believe that you may be. To become a sun marshal at such a young age must have taken great strength."

The wardens stopped at the end of the hall, before a massive steel door. All three drew keys from their pockets and inserted them into three identical keyholes, twisting simultaneously to produce a series of mechanical clicks. The trio turned to Lamina, speaking in unison.

"Are you ready?"

The wardens stepped aside, and the door swung upon without so much as a squeak. The room within was bare and white, lit brightly with by the hundreds of candles that lined the walls and covered the floor. Besides the candles, the only thing in the otherwise-bare room was a picture frame hanging on the far wall, covered by a cloth. The three wardens stepped in behind Lamina, shutting the door behind them. One stepped forward and pulled the cloth aside, revealing a startlingly realistic painting of...Lamina. The painted figure smirked, an exquisite representation of the real sun marshal. All of a sudden, the painted Lamina moved, brushing the feather in her hair back and letting out a soft laugh. When it spoke, it was in Lamina's own voice.

"So...you've come to visit me? Come to talk? Or are you just going to stare, like some bug-eyed fish?"

The wardens were silent, watching.

The painted Lamina snickered, clearly enjoying the confusion on her three-dimensional counterpart's face. Despite Lamina's attempts to find even the slightest flaw, the painting seemed to be perfect. The hair, eyes, expression...everything was exactly as it should be. If it wasn't for the way the painting moved, it would almost be looking in a mirror. If she looked closely, she would see the brush strokes and oil paints...but it was still awfully realistic. Noticing her searching gaze, the painting pulled the neck of her shirt out, revealing the scar on her shoulder that perfectly matched Lamina's own.

"Really? Come on, how do you expect anyone to recognize you if you can't even recognize yourself? What did those mushrooms do to you, hmm? Do you think there's a stranger in your room whenever you look in the mirror? What would mother think if she could see you like this? Her little girl, too broken to even know when she's looking at herself. What a disgrace."

The wardens watched silently as Lamina began to get aggravated. They stood stock-still, barely even breathing among the multitude of candles. The picture, on the other hand, simply laughed. She rested her elbows on the picture frame, almost seeming to lean out of the painting.

"Don't talk about what, hmm? Mother? Why not? Because you know you're not who she wanted you to be? Because she'd be disappointed if she saw you? Because she probably wouldn't even recognize your face? You know, I'm sure she'd love me..."

Another figure stepped into the frame, a woman that Lamina hadn't seen for over a decade. The young gladiator would only be able to watch helplessly as the her mother embraced the painted version of herself. Her painted mother turned, a disappointed frown on her face.

"I didn't raise a prizefighter, Lami. What happened?"

Lamina's mother sighed, shaking her head. She wrapped her arms around her painted daughter, holding her close. The painted girl snuggled up against her mother, before turning to Lamina and giving her a smug smirk. Her mother spoke, her voice tired and disappointed.

"Who's choice was it, then? What was so important that you didn't ever turn back, you didn't try and return to your mother? Why have I never seen you since you left? You're a sun marshal now, free to search for me...but you didn't. Why not? Have you forgotten your mother already? How could you, Lami?"

The other Lamina grinned coldly, squeezing her mother's hands.

"How could you do that to your own mother, hmm? What sort of person would do that?"

Lamina's mother listened, eyes downcast in sorrow. Without a word, she released the painted Lamina and stepped off to the side, out of sight. Lamina was once again left staring at herself, the painting gazing down at her with a contemptuous sneer.

"Look at you, sobbing like a baby. Some sun marshal you are. Is that all it took, really? Come now, you're no use to anyone. In your state, you couldn't even raise your sword! What good are you if you can't lift your sword, hmm? I bet even I could beat you."

The painting drew her sword, which glinted in the candlelight. Somehow it looked more real than the rest of the picture, seeming to almost come out of the frame. Surely it had to be actual steel, it couldn't possibly be just a painting! Would it actually spring forth from the picture to cut flesh? The painting seemed intent on finding out, as she leveled the blade at Lamina.

"Draw your blade, Lamina. En Garde, come on."