>Scene: Skip forward.
Liz buries her face into your shoulder as a fresh round of tears stream down her cheeks. This is not the gentle sobbing of a hurt little girl, something you and she have dealt with in the past. This is the wailing of one lost in a maelstrom of despair, sorrow, and regret. It isn't pretty and tragic, like one of the stories that she gets you to read every now and again. There are tears. There is spit. There is snot. A few minutes ago there was vomit, and you mentally chide yourself for being thankful she's gotten that out of her system.
You suddenly feel helpless again. There is nothing you can do for her. Nothing but sit here and wait out the storm. You stroke her hair gently and whisper soothing words. She babbles incoherently into your shoulder, her despair removing almost all meaning from the words.
Oh. Oh dear. I'm afraid there's been something of an error. You probably didn't want to go this far, did you?
Hold on, I'll see if I can find the problem. Geez, this is more embarressing than the whole Victoria fiasco a little while back.