[Seasonal Event] Table for one, please

Wessex likes to think that she has a decent, if hot and impulse-prone head on her shoulders. She can look at something and plot multiple strategies, easily see how different scenarios might play out. But this? This one has her head spinning. As soon as the monsters are gone, she sinks slowly down to the floor, head sinking into her palms. They cover her eyes and prop her overwhelmed brain up until the dogs come and begin to poke their cold noses in her face. When she finally lifts her head, it is to look around at the farmhouse - to mark the damage she will have to fix, and the windows that are miraculously intact again. This place will never be the same. Fuck, man. Rory better live through whatever prompted him to run out into the night. His house has born witness to a small miracle, and she doesn’t know if she should begin to put it all back together again or leave it as evidence. It doesn’t matter. She still has a long week ahead of her. A week filled with worrying and planning and having only the dogs to talk to. At least they won’t think she’s crazy for bouncing ideas off their silently tilted heads.   WESSEX come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts unsex me here