Amelia’s throat and mind claw in on themselves, through the layers. Trying to dig up anything. Everything. One argument against the crowd suffocating them, swallowing them whole. One against his words. Hir words. The words of the broken and the damned.
None come.
Amelia: “...”
Nora: “What’s wrong, Amelia? Riot got your tongue?”
Amelia: “...what if... you’re right?”
Lidon: “Hmph. I don’t know. What ‘if’ we are?”
Amelia: “If I’m as... terrible as you say. If something does... then what do you do? What can you do?”
They feel as though they’re talking from just off center of their chest - their voice isn’t their own.
Amelia: “If I’m the worst of all of you, what then? Shouldn’t I be treated that way? If all this is a punishment - why stop here? Why leave me with hir? Is that what you’re here for, to take me away, to take me to Hell?”
Castor: “’fraid not. As great as it’d be to get you out of our hair, there’s no way to get you there, or any of us anywhere. Besides, you’re better than the people there in one crucial respect.” *manic grin* “And that’s the best part of tonight.”
Amelia: “W...what do you mean?”
Castor: “Y’see, I know the prince of Hell quite well. You might’ve met him too, on your first day. Goes by Cupid. And he told me about the one real difference between the likes of him and the likes of us. You know what it is?
“Hellions can’t be touched. Not by anyone outside. We can’t even lay one finger on them.”