The bottle falls when she feels the floor go out from under her and the air is forced out of her lungs. She kicks and flails, and holding on to her is something akin to giving an unhappy cat a bath- she lashes out with nails and teeth just as much as the heavy boots on her feet.

When words come out of her again, it's through gritted teeth.

"Willa would have killed Waverly. Your angel. All because you got a hard-on for your little caged bird. Willa was my sister. She was your pet."