Gish turned to Rose, a look of confusion on her face. "But you're the one that said she was a good wit-" she started, but the accusatory interruption died in her throat as the scarecrows burst in. Gish yelped and scrambled in a half mad dash behind the chair, daring only to peak around the side. They were carrying one of their own between them. They were speaking. They were people.

Her stomach dropped out when she realized what must have caused this, and her eyes bored into the back of Luciel's head with frantic worry. He'd shot it. He'd shot a people. Oh Mother. Oh mother oh mother oh mother. She wanted nothing more than to run from this, press herself into the wall, sink into the ground, just get away.

But he didn't run. Luciel stepped forward, placed his hand over the wound, demanding to know the persons names. She only had a moment to consider why when he began to speak again, but this time was different. Something rough. Something unpleasant. Something familiar. She didn't understand it, but at the same time she knew it. It pulled at her like the tides of the ocean and before she knew what was happening she she had crept out of her hiding place. Everything but the words seemed distant, numb and blurry, and she choked in choking breaths like a drowning woman. Then he began to waver, slumped over, and the spell was over. Whatever cautious awe that held her broke as she rushed forward and put herself under Luciel's arm to help keep him steady.

"Where did you hear that!?" she said in a desperate, worrisome whisper. "How do you know that!? What did you say!?"