"The Fall of the House of Usher" by Edgar Allen Poe, told from Madeline Usher's point of view. If you have not read the story, I suggest you read it before reading this, or it will not make much sense. If you do not wish to read the whole thing, read and least from the last 2 pages onward, from where she sees the narrator to the end. At first I Tried to imitate Poe's style, but then I lost it and I'm too lazy to fix it.

I woke up weakly, stiffly. It had been another cataleptic attack, the type that froze me into the immobility of a corpse and left me without my senses. I expected to wake up in the warm familiarity of my room, so when I woke in a dark, airless, cold, space I was confused. I opened my eyes and saw no difference. There was a sense of stuffiness, of a lack of oxygen around me. I became aware of a thin linen cloth about my body- a pall. I put out my hands, and it was confirmed- I was in a coffin. My breath caught, and I pushed frantically about me, scratching the lid, the walls, the everything, kicking, flailing, and crying out. I could not understand- my brother knew I was cataleptic, knew of my attacks. Why had he buried me- alive? What was his purpose, his object, in subjecting me to such a torturous and horrid death? I would be asphyxiated, and all the while my air ran out I was caged and cramped in a tiny box, and I would feel the pains of hunger. And yet I fought the confinement of my imprisonment and refused to believe such an evil of my brother- perhaps he had made a mistake, perhaps he really had believed I was dead. Yet if it was so, his disease, which allowed him to hear all sounds, would surely alert him as to my life. Yet when no help came, and I continued to fight though exhausted, and I remained there for days, I am sure, I knew…the madness I had always suspected in my brother, that odd reverence of horrendous things…I refused to think on any more points, and only fought until my struggles grew weak and feeble, only to restart with sudden violence, then subside, then grow violent again, and subside…

At last, with sudden unexpected surge of strength, I rent apart the coffin lid. My hand were bloody, torn…I know not how, but I made my way out of the vault and up the stairs, my mind not quite working…I only knew that I must find Roderick, find him and make him pay…

I heard the visitor's voice, coming from his room, and I heard Roderick crying out. I made my way to the room, and thrust open the doors, to behold the pale, frightful countenance of my brother…and I lost all sense.

I woke up some time later, to a cold and cheerless dawn. There lay upon me a heavy beam, and I felt weak. The corpse of my brother lay next to me, bleeding. I was confused, disoriented, and as I arose I saw that I lay amidst a pile of rubble. I picked myself up, swaying. The pale light of the setting moon showed me that our deplorable house had collapsed. I felt no sorrow, for of late the house had been a miserable place, and since I had been buried, my brother despicable and odious to me. I stepped out of the rubble, aware that I still wore a pall, aware of the dried blood on my hands and elsewhere on my figure. I thought for a few moments, debating what to do, before I setting my sights away from the house and toward the rising dawn, and began my walk toward the village beyond.