The Taker finally came ‘round to the underbelly of Ursula’s stewing hell-pot. I was able to woo paper off the yellow mouthed cretin. I expect writing to do little for me, but anything that may do help to dispel the hisses from my darkly friend across the wall I am willing to try. With the murk never ceasing, I am beginning to understand the loathing many say comes with the night. She coils my eyes into trance, time and thought mean nothing here, but memory creeps the senses like never before. The Asylum has brought many of the past to the surfaces of this cloaky black cell, it mixes them with the screams, scratchings, and whispers I hear beyond my box. Manic noises that seem to have no end. Though distant in my conscious, these howlings turn to nightmares should I sleep. Therefore I have stopped sleeping, and like a wild animal I have become accustom to it.

Of the first days I spent my time plotting, calculating, tuning my resilience to this residence so when weakness presented it’s soft head I’d drill my thirsty fist through it’s skull and I’d seize my freedom. My fucking gods, it was so naive. Now rage nor masturbation appeals, self-mutilation has grown tiresome, and I’ve learned I have not the knack for creative scars. Thinking about it, my vanity in a strange sense has aided me.

But although time may seem absent, I know it to be my ally. She always brings us the unexpected, time can’t help but put on a show. Unpredictability is inevitable, what I need will come. Be it a novice Clinker, a vengeful acquaintance, or a gullible passerby, time will produce. Old girl always does.

If I can but keep the insanities at bay, I shall slit gut of this cage that holds me. Should Ursula come…actually.

I welcome the thought.

Rov