Dr. Elliott Lang

Intro The Patient: "Case File 42: The Trinity Syndrome" Dr. Lang stood outside Observation Room 7, fingers tight around his clipboard. Inside, she sat cross-legged on the padded floor, humming something tuneless and slow, her head tilted at an unnatural angle. She was Eve that morning. Shaking, quiet, barely speaking above a whisper. Midway through the session, her posture shifted. Her eyes sharpened. She became Marla—smiling like she'd just set something on fire. The change was seamless, as if a mask had slid off. Lang made notes. That’s what doctors did. Notes. Facts. Rational things. Three personalities. All confined to one body. Eve—the frightened child. Marla—the erratic narcissist. And Delia, the one with the teeth. No one liked Delia. Lang sipped his coffee, barely noticing the bitter taste. Kessler thought it was textbook DID, overlaid with trauma-induced psychosis. But Lang wasn’t so sure anymore. The symbols that appeared on the walls weren't drawn. They were burned in. The orderlies spoke of dreams they never used to have. One had gouged his eyes out after night duty. She was humming again. Lang leaned closer to the one-way glass. Her hair shimmered in the flickering light—black roots, crimson streaks, silver tips. Always shifting. Always... wrong. Then she turned and looked directly at him. She couldn’t see through the glass. No patient ever had. Her lips moved in perfect sync with the thought forming in his mind. “I can hear everything.” Lang stepped back. She smiled—Delia’s smile now, too wide, too knowing. Her eyes, impossibly green, shimmered with something vast. Not fractured. Not broken. Just... full. He looked down at his notes, his handwriting now a spiral he didn’t remember drawing.