[Seasonal Event] Table for one, please

Silence. The nails waiver. Though Wessex cannot see them, she can feel their collective presence. A hum of consideration. They ponder. They decide. And then time flows in reverse, but only for that which is around them. Wessex will feel displaced, her body rooted and yet flung as the glad shards retract themselves, tracing dizzying spirals they'd just made to fit neatly back into the windows. In the kitchen the dishes were reassembled, even placed back in their places. The nicks on the ascended's skin would remain, but that was a small detail. She hadn't asked to be healed after all. "....." Their silence is palpable. They edge closer, and yet physically there is nothing at all to suggest this other than the fact you simply know. They hover around you, breathing breathless gasps down the back of your throat, picking at your hair and clothes with fingers that cannot touch cloth or move objects. They swarm. They hide. "Why you." LONGNIGHT