"This isn't a hotel," he clicked the lighter closed getting to his feet and dragging her with him by the arm. They walked from one wing to another when he kicked open one of the psychiatric rooms. There was still an old leather bound couch from one of the latter years that had been left behind. It wasn't new by any means. When she looked a little disgusted he wiggled off his jacket and threw it down. There was little light creeping in from one of the oil lamps on the desk he lit up, tossing the lighter at her. There were some other paintings, one as dark as the next. Envy had quite the disturbed imagination.