While she wasn’t comfortable using a word like [i]‘accustomed’[/i], Dahlia had been learning how to handle Quinn’s lower moments as they came. She couldn’t always pull her out of them, but she had at least built up a better understanding of their severity. Frankly, it didn’t take much to wring the tears out of Quinn, so being able to differentiate between a mild upset and a breakdown was important. 

This, for instance, seemed rather serious. The key tells were in her voice, her posture—she checked her arms for nail-marks and was relieved to see them unmarred—and most of all: the fact that Dahlia had no idea what she was talking about. Cohesion was not one of Quinn’s strong suits at times like this. She spoke in a thin babble and it was hard to understand her. Something about her eyepatch, something about someone hating her, not telling her something. 

That was all fine. For the moment it didn’t matter what she was talking about, and wouldn’t until she could collect herself enough to say it clearly. What [i]did[/i] matter was being there, giving her an anchor to pull herself up with. 

“[color=skyblue]No,[/color]” she said, meeting Quinn’s rising aggravation serenely. “[color=skyblue]Of course not. Shh. No one hates you, Quinn. Just breathe for me, okay? Just try to settle, we can work through this.[/color]”