As she walked outside, Esther noticed that it was later than she expected.  School was over by now - in fact, it was getting towards evening.  Just how long...?  It didn't matter, really.<br/><br/>In a lonely bathroom stall, the Weed Girl reached out for the one form of contact she could still have, and received no response.  The Other was silent within her.  She was well and truly alone, with the guilt, the greed, the memories, the lust...  In her mind's eye she saw her face reflected in a mirror, lit by firelight.  She saw her face change.  Would she ever truly know what had changed that night?  What price she had paid for freedom?<br/><br/>Idly, she might wonder if even Billy truly knew.  Was he as in control as he seemed, or just another puppet, dancing on more complex strings?  Did any of it really matter?<br/><br/>The tears came freely as the girl who had once been Esther drowned in her despair.<br/><br/>And then...<br/><br/>A warm hand touched her cheek, wiping away tears and sorrow in one motion.  Comforting arms encircled her neck, held her close.  A quiet voice whispered words of comfort in her ear - told her that it wasn't her fault, that it was all going to be okay.  That she was protected, special, that she was going to do great things.  The words seemed to sink into her soul, become a wave of balm that washed away the sand castle of hurt.  Vaguely some part of her felt the Other protest the invasion into its territory.  Vaguely she was aware of it being answered in its own language.  A bargain was struck.  It withdrew.  The waters flooded deeper.<br/><br/>Hope sparked in Esther's heart.  Hope completely alien - nothing of it originated from her.  But it felt so vivid, so real, would she be able to tell the difference?  Did it matter?<em>Everything is going to be okay.</em>She knew the sentiment was foreign, an invasive thought placed within her.  But wasn't it exactly what she needed to believe?<br/><br/>Her eyes opened, seemingly of their own volition, seeking out the source.  And there, hovering in the bathroom stall inches from her face, concern and worry and care writ large in tiny features, was Rose.