Molly hisses a bit as she feels the power moving through her. The prickles of heat in her skin as burns and scrapes and cuts knit themselves together and vanish as if they never were.

The pain is leaving, bit by bit, but she isn't relaxing at all, and her tremors are not subsiding.

Her inner mantra has changed now to: I want Cain. I want Cain. I want Cain.

"I want Cain."

She's not even aware that she's spoken aloud, but her eyes are open now, staring off into middle space again.