<strong>Emily Fitzgerald (mid 2008, age 16)</strong><br/><strong>Location</strong>: The apartment<br/><strong>Tag</strong>: Sully<br/><hr/>Silence, then Emily lowers her face to rest her forehead on her knees and breathe a deep sigh.  "Do you really think she wants us dead..?"  Emily turns to face him, cheek to her legs, and watches his face intently.  "We know she lied to us, sure... but she wants us to use our... you know, gifts.  For her."  Shrugging, Emily turns back to the empty room, bounces her chin and sighs softly.  "Nobody's told us the truth for a while."<br/><br/>Her arm is thin and light upon his frame as it rests there, her hand spreading on his opposite shoulder.  Some nagging corner of her mind urges her to spout some tripe, some comforting prattle.  That would be a lie, and Maggie--<i>Emily now</i>-- won't lie now.<br/><br/>She quietly reaches up to stroke his hair, smelling the soap on his skin, the strange, clean smell of this new apartment.  She shouldn't be afraid here.  She is terrified here.  She can't close her eyes.  "Why do you think it was us?"