With a groan, Dahlia peels herself away from her horrid chrysalis to sit up, sweat pinning her hair to her skin. "Honestly, nothing sounds good right now, but I know it'll help..."

A clean handkerchief is pulled from a small stack of folded ones. Dahlia has since abandoned the pretty ones she usually carries and instead reached for squares of plain or ugly fabric lucky to have a hem at all. She turns away from Radar to blow her nose, then grabs the toast, starting to nibble at the corner.

"Thank you for this," Dahlia says for the hundredth time.