[Penumbra]

How do I explain the minefield of cufflinks to my manager?

Yes, the guests' arms morphed into broomsticks as they left, but no one stole any silverware. All of the wineglasses are still upright. We have yet to receive any complaints.

[Subsequently, the guests traveled on the side of the mountain split into rain. After they arrived home, they did not become janitors or monks, did not clean their houses more often. They forgot that both arms still worked in unison and blinded themselves while flossing.]

She notices the dining room's French doors do not shut seamlessly, tells me to fix them first thing in the morning. The chandelier light leaking onto the porch, the penumbra surrounding the walkway.

She fears a relative will return to collect a stray piece of his father's wicker.

She fears the family will have never been happier.