She’d been right. Of course she’d been right—Quinn was a kid, and for a brief and humiliating moment Besca had forgotten that. She didn’t deserve to be here, fighting for her life against…god, [i]another[/i] kid, who she’d been more than happy to spend all night planning the death of. If she had the time to allow herself to feel sick, she would have. But she didn’t. 

Quinn cut herself off. It tore Besca’s heart to shreds to hear her apologize, to feel guilty for having a conscience. But it was worse when she asked her next questions.  

[i][color=ffe63d]...How do you live with it?[/color][/i]

[i][color=ffe63d]Does it ever get better?[/color][/i]

Besca froze, and this time the pain did reach her face. It was, without a doubt, the closest Quinn had ever seen her come to tears. It was also the quickest she’d ever recovered from it. She reached across the table and took Quinn firmly by the shoulders.

She didn’t know how she lived with it. She had no idea how anyone else could. 

But she did know one thing.

“[color=gray]No,[/color]” she said, and a hand came up to stroke her cheek. “[color=gray]No, honey. It doesn’t get better. It never gets easier. And it shouldn’t. If something like this has to happen, it shouldn’t be easy, and it shouldn’t feel normal. Maybe there are people out there who [i]do[/i] like this, maybe Roaki is one of them. I…I don’t know if I believe that, but maybe she is. What I [i]do[/i] know, is that is not you. It never will be. You would never let yourself become that. I know that no matter how much it hurts to do this, no matter how sad it makes you, it won’t make you a monster. Quinnlash, look at me. You are not a monster, and you never could be.[/color]”