The sound of hoofsteps on the floor rouses you back into the waking world far, far earlier than you would've liked. You're still sleep deprived, but you still force yourself up to survey the room.
Opal's pacing back and forth in small circles in the middle of the room, a worried expression etched into her face as she glances toward the door and mirror. Her field of vision must pass over you half a dozen times before she seems to actually notice that you're also awake. She stops suddenly upon eye contact with you, still mid-trot. What is this mare doing?
"You, uh, in the middle of something over there?"
"I, well, I was... thinking..."
"And do you always pace when you're thinking?"
"Well, no. That's more of a nervous thing, actually."
"And you're nervous about what?"
"I, um... I was looking for a way out."
"To do what, exactly?"
"... I keep thinking that I should be trying to escape."
Troubling, but not totally unexpected. You can't let this keep happening, though. You decide to push her to talk more in that jittery tone.
"Should be trying to, or wanting to?"
"Do you really desperately want to run off into the woods looking like you do, or is it something you think you should do because that's what's normal?"
"I don't know!"
"Right, you don't. It can't be that important to you if you couldn't make up your mind, right?"
"That's just it! I should be able to! He's done something to my head! Yours too, I bet! This isn't right!"