“Your accusations have finally drowned me! Your words spin and twist like spears, your finalities whip my flesh thin and tear out my organs! You point and gawk– my supposed friends! – and hiss your allegations[1].” – La Blanche   La Blanche is at her fortress where the walls are formed from one-way, orchid glass. She sits at a square wood table adjacent to the window and questioningly glimpses out at those twenty bodies that have surrounded her. She defocuses their sneers, furrowed brows, barred teeth, and she distracts herself from their proximity by ripping her lose nails from their beds. She recalls a youth that welcomed pain therapy, but she tells herself now that she’s too grown up for teenage angst. In her…