[Seasonal Event] Table for one, please

It feels like the calm before the storm. It feels like it’s trying to trick her. It feels like… it almost feels like she’s won a contest she wasn’t aware of, shouldn’t be a part of. Somewhere deep inside, Wessex knows she’s a pawn in a bigger game, and yet she can’t bring herself to acknowledge it. So she’ll take this win, if that’s what it is, and she’ll run with it. Literally. She has questions that need to be answers, theories that need to be thought out, tales that need to be unspun. Maybe even… no, best not get ahead of ourselves. Keep the hubris in check, lest it be her fatal flaw, again. And then it comes for her, and she claps her hands against her ears as it overwhelms her with its discordant voice, its slavering jaws and teeth and misbegotten lumps of flesh. Her head bows against the onslaught but that streak of defiance, that streak that scarred her back and turned her blood to silver, that streak is too cold and wild and engrained for her to answer. Yes, she is reborn, but she won’t reveal - can’t reveal her secrets - anything to them. They’ll need more than a hissy fit to prompt her to talk. WESSEX come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts unsex me here