Rather than untangle herself and rise from the floor, Wysteria simply sets her notes aside, tucks her pen into the intangible space behind her ear, and uses the open drawer to held her pivot properly around on the rug to face him. It's something of a production given the depths of her skirts, and by the time she has come fully about she clearly expects him to have something to say.

So for a moment: a pause. Is it agonizing? Who can say. He does look just slightly miserable there in the chair, and smells distinctly of the sort of dreary party which has only one guest.

Wysteria folds her hands in her lap. She regards him there in the chair.

"Tell me, what was the little cat shaped creature you had with you in the dream?"