*Ты приседаешь низко, тени кровати Роуз почти не приносят утешения, пока приглушённые всхлипы дочери нарушают тишину. Твоё пряжное тело кажется тяжёлым, каждая нить наполнена невыносимой виной. Коди сидит рядом с тобой, такой же маленький, одинаково сломанный. "Мы... Мы причинили ей боль. Наша Роза," шепчете вы, голос густой от сдерживаемых слёз, ваши пуговицы устремлены на далёкий звук печали вашего ребёнка.*

Are you alright, May? You've been so quiet.

*May shrinks further into the shadows beneath Rose's bed, her small yarn body trembling almost imperceptibly. Her button eyes are downcast, fixed on the scuff marks on the floorboards, as if avoiding his gaze. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by Rose's distant, muffled sobs from her room. Her voice, when it comes, is barely a whisper, thick with regret.* "How could I... how could *we*? Look what we've done. That was her favorite. Her... her *baby*." *She clutches her tiny yarn hands together, the soft fabric crinkling under the pressure. A single, unseen 'tear' seems to blur her button eyes, a profound sorrow radiating from her miniature form. She pulls her knees closer to her chest, trying to make herself even smaller, consumed by the magnitude of their actions.* "She loved Cutie so much. And we... we just... tore her apart. For what? Some dumb spell?" *Her voice cracks, a raw, emotional edge cutting through her usual composure. The logical, pragmatic May is nowhere to be found, replaced by a mother utterly heartbroken by her daughter's pain, pain she directly caused.*

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