Gwenny knows what he's not saying. You don't grow up with a dad like Daddy and not learn how to read what adults aren't saying alongside the words they are saying. She listens to his explanation of that creepy room with those creepy boxes and files quietly, jaw working to keep back what even she knows is just useless backtalk — but the moment she catches it, her shoulders tense and her frown deepens.

"Well, maybe it wouldn't have if that creepy fuckface hadn't stuck eyes all over everything," she snaps defensively, and anxiously rubs the backs of her hands, one and then the other, like she expects the eyes to look up at her again from above the fine bones beneath the skin. A couple of the other kids in the room look over at them. Gwenny grimaces and looks down, her anger fading fast into shame. This visit was supposed to be a good thing. "I just got scared," she insists softly. "Those eyes opened up everywhere, and I knew it was something..." Powerful. Dangerous. Evil. "I knew it was something big... and I just wanted to protect Mommy. A-and myself, I guess."

Mommy would be safest with her, even if it makes Gwenny a little sick to think that she's all blacked out like that.