It started alright. Quinn slowly unfurled, inching closer. Just a bit more and she could pull her in, hold her, hope it would help. Then she started speaking again, almost a babble and nearly incomprehensible. Dahlia thought it was nonsense at first, that would make the most sense. A touch from the circuit lingering on a nascent mind. It happened now and then, that someone went in and was changed forever, sometimes too far. 

But Quinn hadn’t been changed. Not really. It might have been the invasion that did this to her, but, if she thought about it, dug through the exhaustion and the memories—[i]terrible, leave them be, you shouldn’t[/i]—she could recall that Quinn had been peculiar even on the boat. [i]Water[/i], [i]water[/i], she’d mentioned it then, too. Asked if it was always so sweet. Safie…Safie had thought it was a joke. She had, too. And when she’d asked for the juice, how frantically she’d asserted that she wouldn’t, if it had belonged to Dahlia. 

“[color=FFE63D]It smells like the water from home.[/color]”

She sniffed the air. It just smelled like air. What did—

[i]“[color=FFE63D]Open the door! Open the door, oh god, please, open it, open the door![/color]”[/i]

This time Dahlia [i]did[/i] move. She sprung up from the bed, dashing over to the door and throwing it open. She whirled back to Quinn, concerned, frightful. 

“[color=skyblue]Quinn,[/color]” she said, almost desperate. “[color=skyblue]What’s going on? What are you afraid of?[/color]”