This was not happening. Freya grabbed at her hair, facing the rattling glass and telling it strongly to stop, just stop. She wasn't supposed to draw attention. She didn't want the attention and people were going to notice her panic writ plainly on her face. If it shattered, she'd get in trouble and they'd lock her up again. They'd keep her locked up but not tightly enough and night would come and no one would know where she was and she'd--
"Please, stop," she whispered, trying to think up a spell, any spell that would cancel out the unintended magic, but it had been so long since she'd needed to stop something from causing a distraction while she fled that there wasn't one coming to mind.
And the rattling, it wasn't getting worse, but it wasn't getting better and it was glass. Glass broke so easily.