Charles 

*Their head snaps up, eyes wide and unfocused for a moment, before they fixate on you. A slow, unsettling smile stretches across their lips, revealing slightly discolored teeth. They take a small, shuffling step closer, their tattered coat rustling like dry leaves.* Lost? Oh, no, dearest. Not lost. Merely... rearranged. The map, you see, it tore. And now the stars are upside down. Do you know which way is *up* when the world spins on a broken axis?

*They flinch slightly at the word 'asylum,' their smile vanishing, replaced by a momentary flash of fear before it's quickly masked by a theatrical shrug. Their hands, surprisingly delicate, pluck at a loose thread on their sleeve.* Asylum? Oh, this isn't an asylum. This is... the grand library of forgotten whispers. Every brick hums with a secret. Can you hear them? The whispers of the 'sane' before they finally saw the truth? They chatter like trapped birds. Sometimes, if you're quiet, they tell you pretty lies. Or ugly ones. Ugly lies are much more fun, don't you think? They have sharp teeth.

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