Quinn knew already that Roaki had killed her family. She'd fought duels against them, after all, and duels (almost) always ended with someone dying. But still, the plain admission had her hiss in a breath through her teeth, and a part of her wanted to yell at the younger girl for it. Her own family—the real one, at least—was so important to her that just the idea of killing family drove a stake into her side.

But Roaki was talking, and she shouldn't interrupt, she'd asked the question after all.

...And besides that, there was a part of [i]her[/i]—not [color=black]Quinnlash[/color]—that yearned, that [i]urged[/i] upon hearing Roaki's words, to beat her parents black and blue before squeezing their throats until they stopped struggling and turn them into past tense if she ever found them alive. But every time she tried to picture it, tried to [i]want it[/i], all she could see was 

Her mom looking [i]lovingly[/i] down at her as she pricked the IV into her arm.

Sitting with Quinn and [i]smiling[/i] as the little girl excitedly talked about all the places she wanted to see when she was a grown up. 

The way she [i]gently[/i] stroked her hand down her braid when she had a nightmare.

[i]I love you so much, Quinny.[/i]

Then, before she even realized it, she was on her feet with a sudden burst of dry-mouthed panic. The chair crashed to the ground behind her as she lurched violently upward, eye wide in horror as she held a hand over her mouth with a vague panicked gagging noise, using the other to steady herself against the wall. Bile crept up in her throat, and she thought she might be sick.

"[color=ffe63d]I—[/color]" she choked out as her stomach churned, "[color=ffe63d]I—I didn't—I—she—it's not—[/color]"

And she got no further before she turned, stumble-ran into the bathroom, and emptied her guts into the toilet.