I still can't communicate with my friends.

[ which adds on more to her frustration and sorrows, it's like the council is trying to limit all of her escapism, or at least that's how it feels like to her.

she can tinker, sure, but what good is that if she can't aim her firearms on people? at her father's instructions, she frowns for the first time and snaps the loaf of bread into miniature pieces with her hands. ]

What's the point? The big wigs will know what I did anyway. And I don't want to be quiet.