Even as Quinn had said it, a deep, faraway part of her knew she shouldn't have.

But she didn't answer right away. Couldn't, really. She—

She looked into Besca's eye, searching for something. Seeking. Probing. Digging as deep as she could. There was concern there, and she realized it was concern [i]for her.[/i] There was confusion. There was caring and hope. And beneath all of it was something else. Something she recognized, but couldn't say, couldn't think about, something that hurt just as much as she wanted it.

But what there [i]wasn't[/i], was anger. Or hate. Or even indifference. None of it anywhere.

She turned, letting the barest fragment of vision skate over Dahlia. She was sitting on the bed, looking at her worriedly. Worry. She was [i]worried.[/i] She wasn't—Quinn didn't think she was angry. Dahlia would never lie to her.

They didn't hate her.

Her face crumpled and she fell back into Besca. She kept crying. But instead of the long, terrified sobs of before, it was a soft, gentle weeping. Almost [i]serene[/i]. Her family didn't hate her. She didn't understand why. She knew it was her fault, deep down. She knew that it was [i]her[/i] presence that had doomed Hovvi.

And now...her family knew too. And they didn't hate her.

The quiet crying lasted for several minutes as she buried her head in Besca, cut through with words now and then. Simple words, simple ideas. [i]I'm sorry,[/i] and [i]thank you,[/i] and [i]why?[/i]

But eventually, the tears stopped. She went quiet. She released Besca and slunk—like an animal still, but wary instead of hurt and terrified—back onto the foot of Dahlia's bed, where she leaned herself against the wall and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

"[color=ffe63d]Do you—[/color]" She stopped, reached up, rubbed the tears away from her eye as she looked at Besca. "[color=ffe63d]Besca, do you remember when—when I told you I heard a voice in...in Hovvi, telling me to [i]run?[/i][/color]" Even saying the word, there was something of that savage energy to it, that deep and primal urgency. Then she paused again, hesitant. It still felt wrong to tell someone about [color=black]Quinnlash.[/color] But her family—

The more she spoke, the calmer her voice grew. It was still halting, but no longer so sickeningly shaky it felt like it would shatter at any moment. Her family was there, and they cared about her, and didn't hate her. "[color=ffe63d]It's—it's still there. And it's in my dreams, and she's a little me. Both eyes, but they're black. She has horns, they're modium.[/color]"

She realized suddenly how suspect that sounded, so she added hastily, desperate for her family to believe her, "[color=ffe63d]But she's good! I promise! She told me to run in Hovvi, and she told me to get back in when the Modir were coming, and—[/color]" Her voice grew quiet. She hadn't told anybody this. Some of it to Doctor Follen, but not the whole truth, of course, not [color=black]Quinnlash.[/color] She looked down at herself, wrung her hands where she'd clasped them in front. Fretted. Then finally, 

"[color=ffe63d]—And when I phase, she's what—she stops me from falling in.[/color]"