Ambrosius couldn’t move. He wanted to rub the itch in his eye, but something was holding him still. He cracked his eyes open slowly. An unfamiliar ceiling greeted him, followed by unfamiliar walls, and when he looked around, an unfamiliar bedroom - like his dorm, but devoid of personal belongings and even smaller.

He tried to move again, but in vain. The bed he was laying on had him strapped down.

“What… why…” he mumbled. His thoughts were slow and sluggish. He couldn’t remember why he was here.

Just then, the bedroom door opened and a man wearing scrubs stepped inside. He gave a friendly smile.

“Oh good, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Ambrosius heard himself mumble something about being unable to move.

“Let’s fix that.” The man walked over and started undoing the restraints holding him in place.

“Why… was I…”

“Just a precaution.” The man said, then helped him sit up.

Ambrosius finally got to rub the itch from his eye. It was then he noticed he was wearing a loose gray shirt and pants. That was odd - he didn't remember owning anything grey.

“What happened?” Ambrosius asked groggily.

“You don’t remember?”

“No…”

“Well it should come back to you once you get moving. Come on.”

The man walked Ambrosius out of the room and into a hallway, then down several other halls to what seemed to be an office. There was a friendly-looking woman behind the desk who offered him a comfortable chair across from her.

“What is this?” Ambrosius asked as he sat down. The man in scrubs remained standing behind him.

The woman smiled.

“You’re in the psychiatric ward. Just until we can be sure you aren’t a danger to yourself or others.”

Ambrosius blinked. His thoughts took a moment to register.

“But… I’m not crazy.”

“No Ambrosius, you’re not. But you’ve had a psychotic episode and we need to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

Ambrosius stared in confusion. The woman moved a holographic screen into her field of view.

“It says here that you tried to attack The Director, then continued to fight despite orders to stand down. Do you remember that?”

Ambrosius’s memory returned slowly, like a train crashing in slow motion.

“… The Director killed the queen.” He mumbled. “I was going to arrest her.” He felt like that should be a big deal, but at the moment he felt nothing.

The woman behind the desk typed something on a screen off to the side.

“What made you think The Director killed the queen?”

“She had Bal’s sword in her office. And a paper with the email on it.”

“Email?”

“The email she used to order the blaster sword. It was all there in the cabinet.” Cabinet? Or drawer? Why couldn’t he think clearly?

“It says here that you brought the sword with you into the office.”

“No… it was there the whole time. In a drawer. There was a secret button.”

The woman said nothing in reply. She just kept typing.

“I have other evidence she did it. Right…” He reached for his pocket, where the invoice would have been, only to remember he no longer had his clothes from before. The invoice was gone. His phone was gone. The packet of Bal’s ashes was gone. Ambrosius felt a burst of anxiety at the realization.

The woman spoke.

“You’ll get your things back when you leave.”

“But… that was my evidence.”

“What evidence?”

Ambrosius found himself reciting his day to the woman behind the desk. He told her about Meredith. He told her about Nimona. He told her about how he’d tried to save Ballister’s life the day before and failed. It all just tumbled out of him.

“I was so close to saving him…” Ambrosius mumbled, “But I wasn’t fast enough. And now he’s dead. And it’s all my fault.”

The woman stopped typing for the first time since he’d started talking.

“His death wasn’t your fault, Ambrosius. Ballister alone was responsible for his actions. The consequences were simply carried out.”

“… But he was innocent. I could have saved him.”

“He confessed to the murder himself.”

“That wasn’t him!” Ambrosius blurted out, lurching forward in frustration. He heard the man in scrubs shift his feet, as if ready to pounce.

The woman sighed.

“I know you want to believe he was innocent. I do too. But everyone saw him shoot the queen, and the confession was vetted. He was mentally ill. If we’d only caught it before all this happened, things would have been different.”

Ambrosius leaned back in his chair, jaw clenched, willing the tears in his eyes to go away. That couldn’t be right… Ballister had seemed fine before… hadn't he?

The woman continued.

“As for your pink friend - is she in the room with us now?”

Ambrosius blinked.

“No… she isn’t made-up. She was real. Someone else saw her too - a guy from the archives.” he held a hand up. “He was real too, I swear!”

The woman went back to typing. Ambrosius leaned forward desperately.

“Find Meredith Blitzmeyer - she saw Nimona!”

“This Meredith Blitzmeyer?” The woman pushed a screen between them with a scan of a document on it. It was a death certificate. With Meredith’s name. Cause of death: fire.

Ambrosius stared at the screen.

“That isn’t right… I saw her earlier today.”

“Ambrosius, she died the day before the knighting. You probably saw her name listed on the news.”

Ambrosius shook his head. “No… they got the wrong person. They had to have.”

There was a long silence while the woman continued to type at her computer. Finally, she sat back and looked at him.

“Hallucinated events aren’t an unheard-of occurrence. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, and Ballister’s treason and execution were no doubt traumatic experiences for you. Sometimes when the mind can’t cope with its load, it creates its own reality. Nimona and Blitzmeyer were just that - a mentally easier explanation for why things went the way they did.”

Ambrosius wanted to protest that Nimona and Blitzmeyer hadn’t made things any easier, but the woman continued.

“I’m prescribing an antipsychotic and scheduling some talk therapy sessions. Let someone know if you see Nimona or Blitzmeyer again. Hopefully with time, you’ll be fit enough to return to duty.” When Ambrosius didn’t respond, she added, “We want to help you, Ambrosius.”

Ambrosius only stared at her in shocked silence. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t have imagined the entire day’s events. He wasn’t crazy… he wasn’t…

The man in scrubs placed a gentle yet firm hand on Ambrosius’s shoulder.

“Come on. I’ll show you back to your room.”

~ ~ ~

That evening passed in a blur. Ambrosius didn’t know what to think, once his head cleared and he could think. Nimona had to have been real - he’d reached out and touched her multiple times. And Meredith had jolted him with her electrified umbrella… unless he really was sick in the head like everyone was saying.

Dinner came, and along with it, the medication the woman behind the desk had ordered. Ambrosius didn’t want the pills, but the staff told him to take them if he wanted to be given any food. Reluctantly, he took them.

Everything seemed to slow down. His thoughts slowed again, along with his control of his hands and feet. Walking was slow. Eating was slow. Everything about him was slow, worse than how he’d felt when he’d woken up here. It seemed to have worn off when he woke up the next morning, but with breakfast came a new round of medication and the slowness that followed it.

Ambrosius asked for the invoice that he’d had in his pocket when he’d arrived. That would prove he hadn’t imagined the day with Nimona. The therapist he’d seen the day before told him there hadn’t been an invoice with him, just his phone and the ash packet. He could have them both back when he left, if he behaved. Ambrosius didn’t want to behave. He wanted to find proof that he was right.

He asked for someone to check the secret drawer in The Director’s office. He was sure it would be empty by now, but the fact that it existed would show he was onto something. The therapist didn’t humor him. She only wanted to talk about what subconscious triggers might have made him come up with the previous day’s events. Ambrosius didn’t want to talk about that, but after several sessions, her logic began to make sense. He shouldn’t have been allowed to go through the Arms & Hammer office without a warrant. He could have seen some other person try to bribe the Knightly Storage worker. The Director killing the queen was absurd. And a pink shape-shifter that had never been heard of before? None of it made sense.

Ambrosius didn’t want to believe he’d imagined his day with Nimona. He wanted her to be real. He wanted Ballister to be innocent. Scratch that - he wanted Ballister to be alive. Just wanting it wasn’t making it real though - at least, not in a way that the ward staff would acknowledge.

With nothing else he could do, Ambrosius buried himself in some old novels he found in the communal activity room. He didn’t have the mental energy to do anything else. The other psych ward residents got the cue that he wanted to be left alone, and so they did exactly that.

Ambrosius wished he had the packet of Bal’s ashes with him. That alone would have been some source of comfort amid all that turmoil he felt. Right now it was probably stashed in a plastic box somewhere, alone. Like he was.

The medication continued to be awful. Ambrosius tried skipping meals so he wouldn't have to face the orderly who handed out the pills, but she always caught up with him sooner or later, accompanied by a worker who looked like a bouncer.

Nimona didn’t appear again. The therapist said that was a good thing - it meant he was getting better. Ambrosius said it was because he'd been abandoned - it wasn't like she'd be coming to visit him, if she even knew where he was.

He did get a visitor though; Captain Ironwill, the superior officer who’d told him to take the day off after Bal had died. He was in uniform, but without armor. Somehow that put Ambrosius more at ease. They sat in the activity room, their meeting fully visible to the ward staff.

“How long are they going to keep me here?” Ambrosius asked, not caring who heard him.

“I don’t know.” Ironwill answered, “It depends on how well you’re recovering.”

“I feel fine.” Ambrosius lied.

“I hear you've been trying to get out of taking the medication.”

“Maybe I want to start seeing things again.” He said without thinking.

Ironwill didn’t laugh.

“Ambrosius, more than just your job is on the line. If we can’t prove you were mentally unstable when you attacked The Director, you could be imprisoned.”

Ambrosius stared. The news was like a bucket of ice water in his face. Imprisonment? Him? But… even if he got out, that would disqualify him from knighthood for his entire life! Being a knight was his lifelong goal - before he was born, he’d been destined to be a knight. Everyone in his family line had been. He didn’t know anything else he was good for.

Ambrosius looked down.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Cooperate with the staff. Take the medication. Get grief counseling so you don’t snap again.”

Ambrosius nodded slowly. Ironwill stood up to leave.

“I’ll tell them you’re working toward recovery. You do your part, and maybe they won’t decide you’re permanently unfit for duty. You’re important to the Kingdom, Ambrosius.”

“Captain?”

Ironwill glanced back at him. Ambrosius took a deep breath, working up the courage to ask the question that had been nagging at him.

“The day of the execution… when you told me to take the next day off… did you see a pink cat in my room?”

Ironwill paused.

“There was a cat, but it wasn’t pink.”

Ambrosius grew quiet. Ironwill continued.

“Did you leave it locked in your room?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll have someone check. Anything else?”

Ambrosius shook his head.

Ironwill turned to go.

“May Gloreth make your recovery swift.”

A few seconds later, he was gone. Ambrosius sat at the table, lost in thought.

The cat wasn’t pink, he thought.

Nimona hadn’t been real.