Quinn looked down at her feet as Besca spoke, and against all odds, that warmth flared up again. Just a guttering ember of it, a fading ash of what it had been; but there nonetheless. And at the same time, a very, very familiar sensation began to build in her throat as well: the lump that inevitably presaged tears. Besca crouched in front of her then, and she met her equally singular eye, desperately scanning it for anything like anger or annoyance or frustration and finding...nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe tension, but she was under a lot of stress, and it was buried deep down anyway. 

No, the emotions that Quinn saw were...

Caring. Warmth. Concern.

Love.

Dahlia squeezed her shoulder. She closed her eye. They weren't mad at her. [i]Again.[/i] No matter how many things she ruined--the duel, the treaty, the attempt to [i]mend[/i] the treaty, [i]Hovvi--[/i]they just...weren't. The lump in her throat grew thicker. She knew full well that she was about to cry, could feel and see the water starting to swell in her eye, no matter how much she tried to hold them back, to keep some level of composure.

"[color=ffe63d]...Why? Why are you both so...nice to...[/color]"

But that attempt was futile, and the sentence went unsaid as she surrendered to the tears. And when they spilled it was like a [i]floodgate;[/i] unlike the usual hiccupping sobs, this was a desperate keening wail. In a way that might've been hauntingly familiar, she threw herself into Besca, wrapping around her like a life raft at sea with an eerie echo:

[i]"[color=ffe63d]Please--please don't--don't leave me![/color]"[/i]