A shiver runs down Margaret's spine and over every limb besides, and where she may have attempted to jerk against the strange, haunting hands, she finds herself without the energy to do more than tense up.

Even as the skeletal digits press against her skin, it's hard to fully connect them to the voice. The tears keep coming, rolling down pale cheeks in thick rivulets.

"No," she gets out, and speaks like some affirmation she's said to herself before: "I-I don't need any of them. I'm just f-fine on my own."