oh, bina's actions have made it so whatever brought her here won't bring her here, and the weird wind and tingling she is feeling is herself being erased by the paradox
Bina hears a rushing noise and for a second thinks its blood in her ears, and that she's about to pass out. But the sound she hears, it's not blood, it's the wind. The wind is rising, and it's strong enough now that even Josephine, who can't feel it, notices what it's doing to Bina and cries out.
Her hair whips around her in a tiny storm that nothing else in the room seems to feel. The wind tears at her clothes, her face, her arms, but it's her HAIR that gets the worst of it. It whips around her face like a living thing, nearly blinding her.
The feeling is terrifying. Like being trapped in bottle. Like being on a hillside when a storm is coming. The wind is cold, and wet, and smells strange. Not of rain.
No. Not rain. That damp musky odour. This is something much different. Familiar. Unwelcome.
Diamond wheels on a sunny day in June. Work crews. Men with muddy gloves wearing bright orange vests scuffed reflective strips. The piercing scream of tortured stone.
A thin smell. Dry.
The strange wind, the wind nothing in the room save Bina seems to feel, smells of cut bricks.
Or not quite nothing.
Backed into the far corner, trying to hide under the table, her fur and ears flapping, huddles Piotr. Whining. It is a tiny terrified noise, like a thing being strangled.
Piotr is not having a good day.