Corry barely whispers. She doesn't look at Emily - at the girl now. She doesn't want to know it herself. "No. He uses magic. If he... I won't even have my own will to escape." She shakes her head, then her body, rocking it harder, trying to break the rest of the chair. This is not a pity party. This is not a contest of whose fate is worse. They should be consoling each other. Saving each other!

And then she remembers something. Emily, not being missed. A conversation that seems forever ago. Leslie. The realization of him again. That he is real, that he is shared, that he is not some figment that she has made up. It gives her hope that she hasn't felt in an incomprehensible stretch of time. "Leslie would know." She lifts her head from the floor to look at the girl. "Leslie." She starts to laugh, her beautiful wonderful Leslie. She feels something like giddiness. Maybe she is beyond gone now. "He told me about you. That he was telling you about the supernatural world in exchange for cake. He got such a kick out of it."

She can't get up. The chair's half broken. The most she can do is stay in place. Or keep going. She's going to keep going. She remembers why she has to again.