Dahlia didn’t know what to say. Seeing Quinn wither further and further was absolutely crushing, and every last atom [i]screamed[/i] for her to do [i]something[/i], but she just…didn’t know. She had nothing, no answers to give, no comfort to offer. Nothing she could say or do seemed like it could ever be adequate. She just couldn’t match that fear. 

[i][color=skyblue]You’re not enough. Again.[/color][/i]

[i][color=skyblue]Stop trying. You’re making it worse.[/color][/i]

So she just sat there, squeezing Quinn’s hand while she continued to cry. She called herself a [i]doll[/i], and though the mere suggestion sickened Dahlia to her core, she couldn’t bring herself to argue. Maybe it wasn’t her place to. Maybe it wasn’t the time. It was hard to know anymore. All she could really do was hope, and right now, hope seemed utterly worthless. 

Whatever remained of Dahlia’s will to smile died. Burned to the roots.  

“[color=skyblue]We should go,[/color]” she said softly. “[color=skyblue]Back to the dorms, or the gardens. Somewhere else. Somewhere quieter. This…this isn’t good for you.[/color]”