"Lily," Rose peeked out from behind Dad, her face pinched with worry. "The doctor said those monsters come from toxins in your brain. If you keep giving me the ones you see so I can deal with them, you'll get better."

Before, I drew every monster I saw and handed them to Rose. She said once we burned the paper, the monsters wouldn't come back.

But they always did.

I didn't want Rose to worry, though. And I didn't want Mom and Dad to think I was a liar. So I just said, "Just now, I saw a…"

I gestured with my hands. "Something very, very small."

Mom immediately wiped her tears. "What is it, Lily? Don't be afraid, tell me."

Dad stared at me too, his brows drawn tight.

"It's not a monster, really." I waved my hands quickly, forcing a smile. "It was a little snake, rainbow-colored, really pretty. It grew out of a flower."

My voice shrank as I spoke, because I saw the vein at Dad's temple twitch.

"But," I added hurriedly, "it's hiding now. Wait for me—I'll draw it right now. I'll give it to Rose to deal with, and then it won't come back."

I looked at them, pleading. "When it stops coming, you'll take me home, right?"

"Of course." Mom agreed immediately. "Once Rose burns up these monsters and you don't have these strange things in your head anymore, I'll come pick you up next week. I'll make the braised pork you love."

Braised pork.

I'd almost forgotten what Mom's braised pork tasted like.

The food here always had a sour, spoiled smell. Sometimes I could even see bugs wriggling in the vegetable leaves.

But Head Nurse Patterson said the bugs were monsters I was seeing too.

Thinking about eating Mom's braised pork next week made me so happy I could barely get the words out: "I'll go draw it right now. Wait for me—you have to wait for me. It'll be ready soon."

Mom nodded hard, tears in her eyes.

Dad's tight expression seemed to ease, just a little.

Rose gave a small wave. "We'll wait for you, Lily."

I rushed to the table, fumbling a pencil and sketchbook out of the drawer. Picturing the little snake swimming in front of me, I drew.

I kept turning back to look. Dad, Mom, Rose—they were all watching me. I was so happy I wanted to cry.

I sniffled and drew even faster.

When the snake was finally done, I dashed to the door and stuffed the paper through the crack.

Rose picked it up. One glance, and her eyes went wide, her lips parting slightly.

My heart jumped into my throat.

Was she scared?

But I thought the little snake was pretty.

She stared at me in surprise. "This one's so special."

Special?

Not scary. Not disgusting. Special.

I froze. Then something small and warm bubbled up inside me.

Like a secret treasure I'd kept hidden, that no one ever understood—suddenly seen.

"Really?"

I couldn't help asking.

Rose looked down at the rainbow snake again and nodded. "Yeah. But even if it's special, it's still bad. Don't worry—I'll take care of it. It won't bother you anymore."

Mom and Dad leaned in to look. I hoped for something from them, but Dad just glanced at it and tugged at his tie, impatient. "All right, you got it. Don't waste time."

Mom looked more carefully. Her lips moved like she wanted to say something, but in the end she just took the paper from Rose, folded it neatly, and slipped it into her bag.

"Lily, get some good rest." She smiled at me. "Listen to the doctor and the nurses, and take your medicine on time."

Before Mom even finished, Dad had already turned and started walking away.

Mom took one last look at me, linked arms with Rose, and followed him.

"Dad! Mom! Rose!"

I pressed myself against the glass and shouted, "You said you'd pick me up next week. You have to come next week!"

My breath fogged the glass in a small white patch, then quickly faded.

They disappeared at the end of the hallway.

My heart felt hollow.

They left.

That pretty little snake was taken away too.

I told myself it was okay. As long as those monsters were gone, I wouldn't be a lunatic anymore. If I wasn't a lunatic, I could go home.

Here, I had to receive treatment every day. The doctor said that as long as I behaved and listened, those monsters would definitely be killed.

But I had behaved, and today I still saw the little snake.

I asked the doctor urgently—what exactly would it take to completely kill the monsters? Mom was coming next week to take me home, and I didn't want to bring the monsters back with me.

The doctor looked at me strangely. In the end, he kindly told me that starting today, my dosage would be increased, and by next week I could go home.

"That's great," I said happily. "Dad and Mom and Rose will definitely be so happy too."

"Good child."

He praised me and turned to see his next patient.

I ate and ate, and hoped and hoped, and finally it was the day Dad and Mom and my younger sister were coming to take me home.

I waited from morning until noon, and from noon until afternoon.

Until the hallway lights came on.

Head Nurse Patterson came to do her rounds. I couldn't help asking, "Did you see my dad and mom? And my younger sister—they said they were picking me up today."

I didn't like the way she looked at me, like I was lying. "Lily, no one came to see you today, and no one handled your discharge papers."

"Impossible." My voice went sharp with panic. "They said so. Mom said it herself, and Rose agreed too. They said as long as I drew the monsters and burned them, they'd come take me home. I counted the days—today is the seventh day."

Head Nurse Patterson frowned. "Enough. If they didn't come, they didn't come. Don't make trouble."

She stopped looking at me and walked away.

"But—but they promised." I curled up at the foot of the bed, biting my fingernails. "Mom wouldn't lie to me. She said she'd make braised pork for me."

But even after I'd bitten all ten fingernails down to nothing, they still didn't come.

The moon outside the window was very round. I stared blankly as it split open with a crack, silver magma flowing out from inside, transforming into a dress studded with starlight.

The little snake emerged from the ground. When it touched my skin, its beautiful wings rotted away, its gorgeous scales peeling off.

In the corner, a little fairy that had just been born was swallowed by a mass of black fog and turned into a puddle of stinking water.

"Get away."

I held my head and let out a low, painful roar.

It was all because of you. All because of you that Dad and Mom didn't come.

I wanted to go home. I wanted Mom to bring me braised pork with a smiling face. I wanted Dad to praise me for being sensible. I wanted my younger sister to stop looking at me with the eyes she used for monsters.

I thought for a long, long time, and finally came up with a plan to kill them completely.

I've been carrying out this plan for a week now.

Dad and Mom and my younger sister still haven't come to see me.

Tonight, from the seam of the mattress, from the inner layer of the pillow, I found one, two, three, four, five…

Without the slightest hesitation, I swallowed all of them.

When I finished, I curled up quietly on the bed, waiting for the monster to die.

But I felt so awful. I couldn't breathe. My heart seemed to shatter—it couldn't beat anymore.

Powerless, I clawed at the wall, leaving streak after streak of blood.

In the final moment before my consciousness scattered, I wished so desperately that Dad and Mom and my little sister would come see me. I wanted to tell them I had finally killed the monster.

Could they take me home?

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in midair.

On the bed below, a thin, small body lay curled up, spine arched.

It was me.

So ugly.

My face had turned bluish-gray. Dried white foam crusted the corner of my mouth. My eyes were open—two dead glass marbles coated in dust.

Was I dead?

The monster was dead, and I was dead too.

When I realized it, I wanted to cry. I felt so lost.

Would I never get to eat Mom's braised pork again? Would I never go home?

My soul wailed. I tried to rush out of the room, but I couldn't get out.

I said to the moon: could you let me go home? I want to see Dad and Mom and my little sister.

The moon agreed. It took me through the thick concrete walls of the psychiatric hospital, through the barbed wire. Wind howled past my ears, city lights turned into flowing streaks, and then it set me down at The Golden Dome Theater downtown.

I panicked. The place I wanted was home, not here.

The moon didn't speak. It just yanked me inside.

Tonight it was packed. The main stage blazed with light, and every seat below was filled.

Under the gaze of hundreds, a girl in a white gown stood on the awards platform.

It was Rose.

She was so beautiful.

Did she win an award? She was always this amazing.

I flew over proudly.

Then an image appeared on the big screen.

I stopped cold—how could the rainbow little snake I drew appear here? Wasn't it the monster? Why would the monster appear openly in front of people?

Next to the little snake, in large gilded letters:

Annual Overall Champion, Emerging Fantasy Art Competition—"The Serpent of Eden"

Designer: Rose Donaldson.

All at once, I seemed to understand something.

I flew to Rose and stopped in front of her, wanting to reach out and touch her.

Rose won an award using the little snake I drew. I was so happy. Did this prove the little snake wasn't a monster? That I wasn't crazy? That my illness was cured?

But I still didn't understand—why would she use the little snake, while still saying it was a bad thing?

Where were Dad and Mom? Where were they?

In my confused gaze, the host happily handed Rose the trophy and asked, "Miss Donaldson, this work has been praised by the judges as 'a beautiful dream from God.' What was your inspiration?"

Rose took the trophy. Her eyes reddened.

She held the microphone, voice choking: "Actually, the inspiration for this piece comes from my love and redemption for the world."

She paused, as if steadying herself.

"I have an... older sister who is sick."

"She's mentally ill. We sent her to a psychiatric hospital."

"As her younger sister, I have never given up on her. I visit her often, listening to her say those incomprehensible, crazy things."

"I often wonder—in my sister's eyes, what kind of world does she see?"

"I thought about it for a long time. 'The Serpent of Eden' is my answer."

Rose cried. "I want to tell my sister, and everyone in the world trapped in a mental prison: don't be afraid. Love can grow flowers. Love can nurture life. Walk out bravely. We have always been here."