It was a crisp day in Stockholm, Sweden, and Elsa had been growing more tired by the day in search of a new, fresh face to be an act in her freak show. She had been to five other major European capitals, including London, Paris, Madrid, Berlin, and Rome with no success in finding a new member. She had been in more hospitals, asylums and prisons than one could count on one hand so she could do what she was best at—deceiving the staff into thinking she was their lawful guardian and even bringing money to bail them out. She slept through her entire first day in Stockholm, her fatigue getting the best of her before the next day being spent going to a nearby psychiatric hospital that was called Konradsberg.

Upon entering discreetly as to not attract the attention of doctors and nurses, she snuck into a closet and put on a nurse's outfit and fixed her hair, taking a blank clipboard and pen before opening the door to leave the closet and go down the hall. She walked past three doctors, all speaking Swedish, and looked downward as she walked down the hall, and up a flight of stairs to see nurses walking around and tending to patients with congenital defects in wheelchairs and slurred speech; one of these patients was much like Pepper, the playful microcephalic woman who was in her freak show. There was a small shutter that slid to the side on each door, and Elsa took the liberty of sliding them open to peek inside to see who were in the rooms. Schizophrenics made up a large part of the hospital's patients, but on this floor alone, there were many aside from those sent there by their families to live and be treated for things they couldn't help and were born with.

Elsa's feet were tired and her knees were feeling heavy—still, she pressed on. On the second floor was full of the more delusional of Konradsberg's patients, and Elsa's curiosity led her to each door, opening the shutters to get a good look at the patients in them. One was a young man jumping around his room and on his plain, metal-frame bed who was heavily convinced that he could fly. Another was a young woman who lay in her bed with her arms crossed over her chest as though she were dead in a coffin, lifelessly without motion. The next door, like many of the ones she had already passed, had a file attached to a small holder bolted into the wall. Without hesitation, she carefully took the yellowish folder out and opened it, not understanding a single stitch of the meticulous Swedish typed on the front document. However, she took words from her native German and compared them to what had been written under what looked to be a list of disorders associated with the patient inside. She read each one, carefully spotting similarities between the languages.

Vanföreställningar schizofreni.

"Schizophrenia," Elsa concluded in German.

She looked again to see the word "självmords" typed beneath it. Elsa couldn't think of a German equivalent, so she looked to the next word.

Melankoli— "depression," muttered the German woman.

Elsa opened the shutter slowly and peered into what looked like a young woman sitting on a stool by a plain bed that resembled the other beds in the hospital rooms she had seen through the shutters. It had a metal frame with vertical bars on the headboard and footboard with a plain white sheet and pillow. The appearance of the young woman seemed to illuminate and brighten her stark white, plain surroundings from her long golden blonde hair fastened in a braid, her fair skin like peaches and cream, and her lithe, willowy figure looked so frail and beautifully dainty. Elsa opened the shutter and saw an easel—the patient was sketching in pencil, but she looked closely and saw she wasn't using her arms, let alone her hands, at all—it was as though the pencil was writing by itself, and as Elsa noticed the girl's intense concentration on the object sketching for her, she turned the knob slowly and opened it ajar. The young woman was still levitating the pencil to sketch on the easel's large pad of paper what looked like a large barn house with a silo, freshly plowed, fertile fields, and a windmill. Elsa stepped into the room and closed the door—the sound of her high heels and the closing door startled the young woman, causing her to turn frantically and stare at Elsa fearfully.

"Ah!" the young woman shrieked.

"I will not hurt you, mein leibling," Elsa insisted, patting the edge of the plain hospital bed to get the young woman to sit. She quietly observed the German with a curly, strawberry-blonde coif taking out what looked like a pack of cigarettes, opening it and taking one out before lighting it and taking a slow drag.

"Hm, would you like one, leibchen?" Elsa offered—there was no answer, which so found strange. Perhaps she did not know a word of English? Or maybe she was just shy? Either way, she continued. "It's fine. It's Lucky Strike. It's good for you." She extended the open pack to the golden-haired young woman, whose peridot green eyes looked at her with hesitation, her light-colored brows furrowed inward against Elsa's further encouragement.

"Here, go ahead. Take one."

The young woman gingerly reached out and pulled out a thin cigarette from Elsa's carton, seeing the hazel-eyed woman smile in a sly, calculative manner until the young woman took it, put it between her lips, and seemed to concentrate on the ignitable end. Elsa's smile faded to pure amazement as she noticed the tip of the cigarette glow a bright red by itself; without the assistance a lighter would otherwise provide. She noticed the lovely young psychiatric patient take a nervous initial drag of the small white paper tube filled with filtered tobacco. Knowing that it possibly was triggered by the same mental mechanism as her making a pencil sketch on its own, Elsa smiled gently and dismissed it.

"What a pretty girl you are," she complimented, looking at her divine, gem-like green eyes. The freckles on the bridge of her nose made her appear more youthful, and her face looked somewhat gaunt but in a lovely heart-shape. Her mouth had not moved; she probably doesn't understand me, she thought.

"You are still so young and full of life, uh…" Elsa looked down at the file folder she had taken from the holder outside and into the room with her, reading the name on the tab, "Britta?"

The patient quietly nodded, keeping her pink lips zipped tight as Elsa continued; "Britta Nordlund. That is your name? Hm?"

No answer, but Elsa still continued to talk and smoke her cigarette at the same pace as the patient revealed to be Britta. The young woman had adjusted a strand of golden hair so it stayed behind her ear.

"Britta," she began again, "you should not be surrounded by these…diseased individuals who secretly want to kill each other. Life is to be lived."

When the patient didn't seem fazed at all by what Elsa was telling her, obviously due to the language barrier, the German woman seemed to pull out something from behind her; as if by magic or as though she had hidden it beneath her nurse's disguise. Britta's eyes widened at it to see that it was a magazine bearing the graceful, glamorous image of famed actress Greta Garbo on the front. From the star's permed light brown locks to her overdone makeup, from her overly-arched, extremely thin eyebrows and her ethereal, far-away gaze, it made Britta smile slowly to reveal perfect white teeth behind her light, naturally pink lips.

"There's a little bit of Greta in you," Elsa explained, pulling the magazine away just as the patient was putting out her hands to reach for it. "Your bright eyes…your fair complexion…your power?" The urgency of her tone make Britta jerk up to erect her back and stare at her defensively. Elsa just continued and chuckled proudly; "Ja, they called her the 'Divine Garbo'. Her talents and beauty made her divine, and they still do. You are divine by your powers. I saw what you were doing with the pencil, liebchen."

I saw what you were doing with the pencil, liebling."

The young girl had a worried, distressed look on her face as she struggled for a deep breath, dragging on her cigarette as she looked at the easel holding up her detailed drawing at an angle. Elsa glanced over at the large sketch and smiled, looking at Britta's nervous countenance as she continued to speak English to her.

"You weren't using your hands. I have never seen such extreme talent in all my life."

Britta just stared at her, biting her lower lip as though she were on the verge of crying. She felt ashamed, and Elsa could tell. "There is no need to be ashamed, liebling. You were born special. You are special," she told her in a whisper. "I know many special people, but you are at the top of the list."

The lovely, young blonde patient took a labored sigh and took the cigarette from her lips, looking at Elsa's hazel gaze and watching her neutral lips move to say her next words in the form of a question.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

Her eyes widened with confusion—I don't understand a word she's saying, Britta thought, taking another drag of her half-a-cigarette as she watched Elsa, in her nurse disguise, walk over to the easel and put out her cigarette on the small space unoccupied by the pad of paper. Britta gasped slightly, trying so hard to pick up on verbal and non-verbal cues from her tone and body language to understand what she meant.

"I must admit," Elsa said as she put out her cigarette butt, "any man would be foolish to pass you up." She then took a gander at Britta's thin, willowy body of unrealistic proportions and shook her head slightly. "Then again, a man wants curves, not a stick." Then Elsa's voice became a creepy, droning whisper that sent chills down Britta's spine; "I bet no one has ever tasted your cherry pie."

Britta's green orbs widened, intuitively knowing from her sly, seductive tone that she is implying sex. She kept silent, shocked by what she was conveying as she took a drag so hard that she nearly started to choke from the sting of nicotine in her lungs.

"Hopefully, we can do something about that," Elsa continued.

But that was all she was allowed to say—Britta spoke up, crushed the cigarette she was given between two fingers, and pointed toward the entrance of her cell-like room with her free hand.

"Gå ut härifrån!" the young woman screeched in Swedish, gritting her teeth wildly as her eyes remained wide open and directed at Elsa. "Lämna det här rummet! Syndare!"

Elsa backed away, trying to not be afraid of the sudden burst of anger coming from the patient. She looked down and shook her head before leaning toward her again and whispering gently.

"I will return, leibchen," Elsa seethed gently. "That is a promise."

Late that night, Elsa managed to sneak back into the hallowed halls of Konradsberg. She had be wary of security guards blocking the entrance, so she snuck out the back and wore her quietest pair of shoes as she ventured up to Britta's cell on the second floor of the institution. In her freaky, embroidered bag were some provisions obtained especially for Britta and her release.

Meanwhile, while in her room, the golden-haired beauty heard her shutter opening and closing before hearing a key unlock her cell-like room. She had been sitting on her bed, having jumped to see Elsa standing in the doorway with nothing but moonlight to illuminate her mature, nearly wrinkled face and her penetrating gaze.

"Liebchen," whispered the German as she lightly closed the door behind her.

"Nei," the patient breathed roughly, maintaining speech in her native tongue. "Get out. Now! I told you to leave!"

"Keep your voice down. Remember to whom you are speaking, liebchen," Elsa warned, looking down at Britta intimidatingly as she sat on the plain bed by her lonesome. "Here, I went out to town and got this just for you."

Out of her freaky, embroidered bag she pulled out two articles of clothing. Britta gasped, reaching to feel the fabric of a plain, white blouse with long sleeves as well as a red and blue pinstripe overdress that went to the knees and a matching button-up, sleeveless vest. Britta also saw Elsa pull out a large handkerchief with Scandinavian designs embroidered into the fabric intricately to create a beautiful, traditional design that evoked memories from her early childhood. Her countenance seemed to calm down, as did her temperament, looking at Elsa and making a noiseless sound.

"Eh?"

"I want to save you, liebchen," the German said, moving closer to the young woman and moving a wayward golden strand away from her face. "You are coming with me."

"Eh?"

"Ja," Elsa said, putting her hands on Britta's shoulders. "To America."

"Amerika?" the young Swede asked with confusion, her eyes staring at Elsa with wonder as her lips parted.

"Ja, meine liebchen," the older woman said. "You will bring…great fortune and fame to my…cabinet of curiosities."

After accomplishing her ultimate goal, Elsa was so happy that she was smiling on her way to sneak into the center office and snatch discharge forms to get Britta out of the psychiatric hospital. She let the patient sign first before Elsa created a false name with which to sign. She made up a name, looking at one of the badges a nurse had left behind in the office, taking the name "Magdalene Oxstierna", signing in perfect penmanship before they snuck their way past security guards and into the chilly October night.

From there, they began their long journey back to Jupiter, Florida—it began with a liner from Stockholm to London, and from there, another liner was to take them across the Atlantic and to their destination. Britta, though grateful to be taken out of three years confined to the psychiatric hospital, was nervous and scared; she kept quiet for practically the entire trip and read the magazine Elsa had given her as a token of their new business relationship—she had plans to have Britta exhibit her telekinetic abilities in her sideshow. With every word in English Elsa said, the harder she tried to figure out what she meant by non-verbal cues. Little did she know that what she was in for was nothing she would have ever expected, even if it was performing for a sideshow. Ironically, she did not understand English to know this was the reason she was being brought to America.

A/N:

I decided that this story needs a revamp for a couple of chapters, so in case you are wondering why, it is because I felt the first fourteen chapters were unrealistic and NEEDED to be changed. However, these are relatively minor and do not affect the plot for the rest of the series.

TRANSLATION: "Gå ut härifrån! Lämna det här rummet, du syndare!" – "Get out of here! Leave this room, you sinner!"

I hope you like (and notice) the new improvements I've made!

I appreciate Reviews, Favorites and Follows!

Thank you!