Contrary to what her anecdote might have implied, Madeleine Cross was not particularly skittish for a horsegirl. The consequence of seeing ghosts and evil spirit creatures in every shadow was that she quickly had to make the choice to either dial up her resolve to max on a constant basis, or fall over dead from several heart attacks. It took a lot to startle her to the point of bolting. Until it didn't.

The only reason she is still in the room right now is that she was tied to a table when the intrusion happened. A sudden strain into her straps, caught and dissipated. Now she lay still, seemingly ignored by both other figures in the room. With flight cut off, the old patterns reassert herself. She is calm, and she is quiet, and she wants nothing to do with this woman whatsoever if she can help it. And if she simply stays shut up, meditates and presses her face into Blanche, she might escape notice entirely. 

"Don't... call her that."

Her own voice surprises her. The smoothness of it. The chill. She turns her head but from this position she can't quite look either of them in the eye. They'd have to come to her.

"That vulgar word. That is [i]not[/i] her name. So don't..."