It's a long shower. By the time the water is running clear (soapy, but clear) and Ilde is ready to do much more than stand beneath the spray, it's cooling down and she feels quiet again.

"I died," she says to the mirror, like she's testing the weight of the words. How they feel in her mouth. There is no response; just her steam-distorted reflection, black-eyed and tired-looking, and she presses her hands to her face until she can concentrate long enough to reform her glamour. There's a first aid kit under the sink, and she sits down on the floor with it to wind a bandage around her hand, and it seems wrong that the only injury she has left is one she got in the arrival room.

In her bedroom, Angus is sleeping on her pillow and there's a playing card on the mirror that wasn't there when she left. She observes both of these things dispassionately for a while, until Angus wakes up and then she's trying to navigate finding clean clothes with a cat winding around her ankles, which isn't completely terrible but does involve a lot of sitting down.

"I died," she tells Angus, and he pushes his face into her hand and under her wrist. "Okay," quieter. She'll go back downstairs in a minute.