"I was not," through gritted teeth, "Asking for your pity. I was asking for your understanding, which you are obviously not going to give me. I don't want you to tell me it'll be fine, I don't want you to make jokes, or flutter your eyelashes at me or just fucking disappear into someone else's bed, I would like to FUCKING TALK."

She's breathing a little hard, and her hands are balled into fists at her sides, but she's also crying. And if Goldy has learnt anything in her centuries of life, surely she knows that heart-sore teenage girls are rarely entirely rational.