The hinges of her door no longer ran smoothly and well oiled without a sound, but creaked like the decrepit cellar doors of some witch's castle. The hallway was not light- she realized then what the flashlight under her pillow was for, and picked it up, shining it on the walls and ceiling. Filthy, dark, scary. It made sense now. This place, here and now, wasn't the living world; it was another test; another academy for her to past. She wasn't free yet.

Something moved, and she tensed, trying to remind herself that she'd been through worse and lived. Her light cast a broad beam down the corridor, and she whispered herself, almost like a prayer to God,

"Utena, give me strength."