Dahlia listened to Quinn as she stumbled through her words, stuttered to get her thoughts running, and then failed to keep them controlled as they devolved into pitiful ramblings again. She listened, each word a drop of water in the pot. She thought, and the words simmered, and the pot began to boil.

She stood there for a long time. 

“[color=skyblue]What…[/color]” she muttered, and it was all she managed. 

Almost in a daze, Dahlia made her way back to the bed. She lowered herself down, legs suddenly weak, stomach suddenly [i]churning[/i] and for a moment she tasted acid in her throat, threatening to drag her breakfast up with it. 

It was like Quinn was a thousand miles away, but she could still hear her crying silently. 

[i]What did they do to you?[/i] she wanted to ask, but part of her already had an idea. The pieces were small, but they were many. The water. The doors. The panic. Something terrible had been done to Quinnlash. Not once, not twice, but every day of her life. Every day. Her mom and dad…

[i][color=FFE63D]It's gray there.[/color][/i]

“[color=skyblue]You—[/color]” she started again, and then swallowed the rising lump in her throat. Laying back helped the nausea, so she settled down beside Quinn, stared up at the ceiling. “[color=skyblue]You’re not in trouble, Quinn. You…you were never in trouble, and you never have to say sorry for any of that stuff again. Not to me, not to Besca, not to anyone.[/color]”

She felt a grimace twist her face up. Anger did the same to her insides. “[color=skyblue]And if your parents have a problem with that, they can write a letter, and you and I can shoot it out the airlock,[/color]” she said, and looked over at Quinn, face still buried in her hands. “[color=skyblue]I'm not gonna let anyone lock you away. Ever. Never again. Do you hear me, Quinn? Never. Again.[/color]”