[She rolls off of them, onto her back, lying on the stained tile.]

I hate you.

[There's something wrong in their tone, something dull and lifeless, but it's almost like they're lording her friends' deaths over her. But she doesn't feel the fresh bite of anger, doesn't feel determination coursing through her veins. She just feels tired.]

This is pointless. I could never kill you.

[Because of her weakness, because she's in a child's body, or because she once thought they were a friend... even she's not sure why. But she knows she won't be able to, so there's no point in trying.

There's no point in anything anymore.]

You know... You really are like him. He never liked killing anyone, either. But he still did it.

[She can't say his name. Hasn't said his name in months.

She sighs up at the ceiling.]