"Maybe yours are nice. The ones I heard weren't." Madison replied, pretending - or was she? - to be traumatized and bothered by the voices she had heard in that place. And the blood, and the things in the mirrors.
She was getting bored of the poetic lunacy bullshit, but made an effort not to show it. "If you don't miss them, then why would you care either way?"
Madison smiled. "I like it enough. Why do you ask?" She eyed the brush next to her hair, then looked back at the loony. "That's where my mom was from. By the time she had me, I think she regretted ever leaving...maybe that's why she named me that." This was all true. But nobody would ever know, if they were watching, and Madison found comfort in that.
"Maybe you were, in a way. You travel all kinds of places if your imagination's good enough. And your focus, I guess."