Dahlia gasped quietly when the eyepatch fell away. She’d never seen beneath it either, never felt the need to know what it looked like, never much wanted to. But she did suddenly realize that she’d never asked [i]what had happened[/i]. Now that she knew about the water, and she was seeing the telltale signs of a growth outbreak, it made perfect sense. 

Every last trace of bitterness within her evaporated in an instant, burned away in the heat of something much stronger. She clutched the sheets, felt her new fingers squeeze so hard they clicked. With every word Quinn spoke, every sick revelation that came with it, Dahlia grew angrier. Her gut twisted in disgust, not at the ruinous state of her eye, but at the implication of its ruining. 

Dahlia had killed monsters. She had killed [i]people[/i]. She had never wished violence on anyone. 

She wished it now. 

With a small struggle, Dahlia sat up again, met Quinn’s eye and prayed she understood the fury in her own wasn’t meant for her, because she could not contain it. 

“[color=skyblue]It didn’t,[/color]” she said, composure shaken. “[color=skyblue]It did not have to happen. They [i]made[/i] it happen. They hurt you, because they’re awful, [i]horrible[/i] people, and they will [i]never[/i] hurt you again.[/color]”

Like Quinn were a cave, Dahlia’s rage resonated within her, and something deep inside echoed it back. Horrible. Unfair. Monsters. [color=black][i]Takers[/i][/color]. But the longer she looked at Dahlia the more that feeling settled. The more it urged her to believe those words. Believe she was safe, now. 

She got the sense that trust was foreign to it. All the same, it wanted Quinn to trust her sister.