Whimpering, at the needle's scrape. She didn't want to know what kind of monster is was what whimpered, but she had to suspect it was a weak one. Too weak to be a monster and too terrible to be human, and in the meantime the voice is whispering terrible things. Desperation seizes up her limbs, her gaze too fixed on that needle, whimper escaping before she can do a thing against it. Her eyes turn black, and some absent part of her knows this should have happened in the beginning. Remembering what she is, what she can do, but even now she just tries to jerk back from the thing's grasp.

Jules isn't quite sure if relief or horror win out when she sees someone else. "Run," she tries to say, but it comes out as a rasp, like fear has stolen her voice away.