A Spell: “The Episodic Encystment”

Which Is a Difficult Prayer to Convert a Regretted Action and Its Consequences Into a Physical Object, To Be Hidden

Any action, regardless of intent, regardless of thought or will behind it, has a Primary Actor^*. In the first four dimensions of Mundanity^†, the Primary Actor is bound to the actions it owns with guilt, pride, observation, and time: four dimensions of responsibility. In other spaces, these bonds are of silver cord.

This magic pulls those cords together and in an arachnoid fashion webs and cocoons what they touch. All conscious knowledge and evidence of an action is removed from experiential reality and replaced within one object thematically related to the act. This object, now known as the Episode, must be no larger nor heavier than the target of the spell can manipulate with one grasping appendage, and is often a pound of flesh. As long as the Episode is hidden by the Primary Actor, the Action occurring within the Episode^‡ remains outside of reality.

If the object is stolen^§ from them by another Actor, carefully examined by an Actor, or destroyed by anything: the caster, the Primary Actor, all others who were directly affected by the Action, all within the immediate area of the object, and all within the settlements of sentient creatures nearest those already named within this list immediately know all about the Episode, even if they did not know of it prior to the spell being cast. All physical evidence of the act returns to material reality. Any intervening time did not pass for this physical evidence: if the spell held for a million years, the material evidence exists now as it did a million years ago.

The time between the casting of the Spell and the Action to Encyst affects the logistics of the spellcasting.

without an intervening solstice or equinox, the Spell is cheap, requiring about an hour of concentration and a day's labor's worth of materials.
within a year, the Spell requires a day's concentration from the caster and a serf's yearly income worth of materials.
within a generation (based on the target's lifetime), the Spell takes the caster a week and requires a bandit's hoard's worth of materials.
within a lifetime (again, based on the target's lifetime), the Spell requires a month's work from the caster and a king's ransom worth of materials.

The costs described are incurred by the caster. The caster is free to charge whatever they like.

The Example of Curtis, Who Ate Some People But Wished He Did Not

Curtis wishes to avoid anyone learning about the time he ate someone when stuck on a mountain. He would also rather not turn into a wendigo or something, as the gods frown on a long pig-on-long pig diet. His adventuring companions don't seem to believe his story about the weight he put on in the weeks he spent in that snowbound wilderness, or that the chubby villagers Curtis had hired to carry his equipment must have just found a way home. Well, Gurt might have bought that story, but Gurt is really very stupid.

Recuperating in the foothills a week after his rescue, Curtis secretly consults with a shaman about his regretfully anthropophagous activity who suggests Curtis rely on the Episodic Encystment and pay him a reasonable sum up front. An hour of mumbling, the waving of smoking bundles of herbs, and shuffling dances ends with the shaman dropping a handful of bloody bone fragments into Curtis's lap.

Human Leftovers As Episode

The shaman turns away and shouts at Curtis to put the bones away, into a bag or pocket now, but really hide them well as soon as he can. And forget about them. As Curtis leaves, he begins to wonder what he was doing hanging out with some greasy villager. Minutes after that, the shaman turns around and notices Curtis' gold coins on his table, shrugging as he scoops them into a pocket. Random gold coins are just part of being a shaman.

So Long as Curtis Keeps the Bone Fragments Hidden:

If he ever sees the bone fragments or the place they are hidden, he will know he should keep them hidden, but not recall why. If pressed, he will eventually come up with a reason, but it will not be correct. (“Uh, they are from my little sister's pet homunculus! They have sentimental value! No, you can't see them!”)
He will not recall eating human flesh or feel any guilt about it.
Any other evidence of his meal cannot be discovered. If they had been discovered beforehand, those who discovered Curtis’ dental impressions in flabby peasant meat would no longer recall every making that discovery and no evidence they retained of that discovery could be found.
He will not suffer any consequences for that eating of human flesh, even from god-level creatures upset by such actions. He will not turn into a wendigo, werewolf, or suffer any other magical curses or boons such an action normally incurs.
If he had consulted with the shaman immediately after his regrettable meal, he would have immediately become as hungry as if he hadn't eaten that meal at all, because he no longer would have. If that meal had been all that kept Curtis alive, he'd be in danger of immediate starvation.
Those who knew the eaten villagers make whatever assumptions they would normally make–some will assume Curtis betrayed them, some might think he ate them. They were not part of the action that has been encysted, so the spell's effect is only to hide the evidence if any went to go look for it. Curtis' companions were more directly a part of the action, as they rescued him and have been asking questions since. They never bring it up ever again, not even Gurt.

Should Curtis Fail and the Bones are Pickpocketed Away from Him in Capital City, (or crushed by a boulder, chewed up and eaten by a raccoon, or even if he takes them out and looks closely at them):

Whatever physical remains of Curtis' meal exists up on that mountain returns, in whatever state it was when he first visited the shaman.
Curtis, his companions, the pickpocket, and everyone in Capital City spontaneously knows exactly what happened on that mountain top in full detail, from the perspectives of Curtis and his dining companions. He is likely to be the victim of a righteous (though nauseated) mob, unless, well, read the next bullet point.
The consequences of Curtis's actions immediately resume. A human that eats another human is no better than an animal, and on the third moonlit night that human becomes a werewolf! It is months of moonlit nights later that he finds himself suddenly aware that he ate some people, strange he forgot about that, but those thoughts take a backseat as his face stretches and tapers to a healthy wet nose. The mob's justice looks less certain as each inch of tooth and claw rips from Curtis's body...

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