At length, Quinn's shuddering cries faded, and she released her deathgrip on Dahlia as she fell silent. Another minute or so passed. She remained still, unwilling to move. She felt...safe here. With her.

Then, still unmoving, "[color=FFE63D]Dahlia...[/color]" Her voice was nearly inaudible; weak and weepy, it came out in a thin rasp. "[color=FFE63D]...I ruined it, didn't I?[/color]" Of course she had. She'd lost control, said terrible things. She had been so [i]angry.[/i] And so violent. Those thoughts, running through her head like a broken faucet, pure and potent as water. Fight. Fight. Kill. Kill. [color=black]Kill.[/color] She didn't know which ones were [color=black]Quinnlash's[/color] and which were her own, and it shook her to her core. Was that the kind of person she was, deep down? Violent and angry? [i][color=FFE63D]What's wrong with me?[/color][/i]

She shut her eyes tighter. Then, "[color=FFE63D]Can I—[/color]"

The bunks were small, she'd seen them earlier, not to mention being on one right now. They were barely big enough for one person to lie on comfortably, realistically. And it felt absurd to even imagine asking it. Absurd. Stupid. Childish. But imagining herself lying there, in the dark, awake, [i]alone—[/i]knowing what was about to come—agonizing over it—it was almost enough to draw a renewed flow of tears out of her. Instead she squeezed her sister tight again, clung to her, fighting desperately to keep the tears at bay.

"[color=FFE63D]—can I sleep with you tonight?[/color]"