It felt colder all of the sudden. Chilly like the night air, like a breeze over the lake. Frozen in her seat Quinn couldn’t know if things were changing around her, but that dread clung to her. Was she still dreaming? Had she slipped through one veil into another? In her mangled periphery there was darkness, but was it real? Was her vision blurring? The doubt was a hand on her shoulder, a whisper in her ear. 

Did her reflection in the polished counter look younger? 

Did it have both eyes?

Were those hoofbeats in the hallway outside? 

Was she hearing her name, still? Formless, wordless, but every moment that passed it was there in her brain, lighting up. Quinnlash. Quinnlash. Maybe she [i]was[/i] still there, Quinnlash, maybe you are. 

Quinnlash. 

“[color=gray]Quinn! Quinn—hey![/color]” Hands on her shoulders, a shape moving into view. Besca, holding her, shaking her gently. “[color=gray]Quinn, hey, you’re here! You’re here. It’s me.[/color]”

God, it happened so fast. Dahlia had left, and Besca was certain things were, well, maybe not [i]good[/i] but at least marginally [i]better[/i]. Then Quinn had locked up, started mumbling into her hands about a voice. About the voice on the phone, in her head. 

She’d asked if it was normal. 

It wasn’t, but then, nothing about what had happened in Hovvi was normal. And more and more it seemed like nothing about [i]Quinn[/i] was normal, either. 

“[color=gray]It’s okay,[/color]” she said. She didn’t know what else to say. She wanted so desperately to give her answers, but she just didn’t have them. Not yet—but she would, dammit. She would. “[color=gray]Quinn, listen to me. Breathe. Listen to me. You don’t have to run [i]anywhere[/i] up here. You’re safe, hear me? You are safe. The only one saying your name right now is me. Quinn. It’s me. Okay?[/color]”