"It is wrong." From the cold that slices through her to the sounds and sight. To the very taste of the air. There's a final, deafening burst of static, and then screeching as a tower of energy rises into the air and dissipates. Mercy shields her eyes from the light, but she catches glimpses of humanoid shades that seem to swirl and rise up the column, flinging themselves out into the city.

And then it's gone. Everything stops abruptly and there's an elderly woman in clothes that Mercy knows people of this time consider 'old-fashioned.' She is almost transparent and seems to be confused, frightened, as she looks around and then starts to move. She seems to hold a basket of some sort on one arm. Mercy jerks out of the way, arms curling in toward herself as she feels a bone-deep cold aching inside of her. The knife is clutched tighter in her hand as she watches the woman and begins to shiver.

"M-Ms. Betsy?" The woman looks over.

"Where was I going, now? Oh, the market. Must remember. Must remember. Just past the Wolfe House and down the lane. Are you young ladies on your way, as well?"