If Pietro wasn't sad while entering the room, he certainly was now. Pietro couldn't see the blacks and grays and crystal blues that engulfed his daughter, but coming close enough he was bound to feel it.
Her training had been canceled on the Moon, never finished and when she got upset like this, things happened. Luna didn't know where it came from, how she got so angry and then so upset. She imagined it as a dam that had a tiny crack that finally gave way. But Luna had never had a crack, had she? She would have certainly seen it or known it. Luna was strong, like her father. Maybe even stronger. She loved her father, but she didn't need him. She didn't need anyone, not even Billy. True she liked having him around, but she could leave him if she ever chose to...right?
So then why was she crying under a blanket, as if that could cure her? Protect her from the world outside her door? Possibly because just moments before words had come from her that she didn't know were there. What she had often regarded as a solution (her father leaving her cured her childish needs and desires, her foolish dreams) now posed itself as a problem.
Since being on Earth, Luna's curiosity had only grown and she had since discovered a book talking about Freudian theories written by an Earth psychologist often discredited but still often read. He said that the unconscious appears in one's dreams. There was latent and manifest content. Things that happened and things that those things really meant. So if Luna dreamt often of backs, of people walking away...might that mean more than she wanted to believe.
Despite all the thought, she felt a stir. For years she had tuned into that slight stir that occurred when a speedster entered the room. And now wasn't the time she wanted to sense it. She focused on projecting negative colors, anything to make him go away but the result was weak and half-hearted. It took all the emotional energy she had left to spare.