Some hours later, Timshel has you wandering random paths through the torch-lit room, each walking like an animal of your choosing. You slog forward as a sheep, your mind as leaden as your movements after the day's inanities—when three sharp claps catch your attention.
"Wonderful! Wonderful, all! Give yourselves a round," says Timshel, applauding.
You join the spatterings of applause and shake yourself back to sanity as the "rehearsal" ends at last.
A day departed, with less to show for it than you care for…. You grit your teeth, feeling the edges of your vision go red as bile takes hold. This company, and this Timshel in particular, are going to leave you humiliated if you allow them to. You are determined to tend your own future better going forward; let them all hang, if need be.
Onward