"I see," was Skulduggery's uncertain response to his nurse when she talked about an Arts and Crafts room. "I'm really not that handy with a pair of scissors." At least not in the usual fashion, he almost added, but a comment like that in a mental institute probably wouldn't go over too well. His protests fell on deaf ears besides, and after a very wary trek through the Sun Room he'd been attacked in, Skulduggery found himself in a place where Arts and Crafts certainly lent itself as an appropriate name.

What, exactly, was he supposed to do here?

Still slightly unnerved with his interesting lunch experience, Skulduggery picked a chair at random and sat down. The memory of that bloody fingernail, still much too fresh in his mind, had violently renewed his hyper-awareness of his body. Suddenly the slippers were too soft, the clothes too constricting, the hair too close on top of his head. Skulduggery managed to solve the first problem by gently kicking the slippers off under the table, but there wasn't much else he could do.

Before arriving here, Skulduggery couldn't even remember the last time he'd sat still for longer than five minutes - outside of meditation, of course. Now, it seemed to be all he was allowed to do, and - even worse - all he did. Just sit here and stare at copious amounts of glitter.

[Gabe!]