a moveable feast...

"And the night was over, and the day began.

The stone doors of the mausoleum opened (apparently of their own volition, for there was no one to open them) and the people, and the dreams, and the gods, and all manner of other creatures and beings, went in, each one after its fashion.

And already the conversations and indiscretions and intoxications of the night before had begun to vanish, like the mists of night, in the heat of the morning.

The mourners took their seats, one by one, without hesitation or question. No one directed them, but they walked into their own seats and sat down, as quietly and efficiently as if they'd been rehearsing for this moment all their lives.

The people moved as if their every move were foreordained, as if they had no true will of their own.

As if every action were written long ago, in a book..."

-Narrator, in "The Wake" by Neil Gaiman