"I didn't sleep much, it seems," she murmured, rubbing her thumb along the inside of her wrist—habit, not comfort. "Again."
Awakened bodies, she reminded herself, didn't need sleep the way others did. Their cells burned cleaner. Faster. She could go days without, if pressed.
But that was the body.
The mind was another thing entirely.
Especially for a mage.
Especially for her.
Because for mages, the mind wasn't just a battleground—it was the castle. The library. The last thread of clarity between control and collapse.
And hers?
Hers was beginning to feel more like a haunted ruin than anything else.
She didn't bother lighting a spell-globe. The dark was fine. Better, even. It didn't ask questions.
Barefoot, still in her linen shift, she stepped to the door, fingers light against the cool wood. Her other hand tugged her cloak from the chair without looking. Habit. Ease. Nothing in her movement said ritual, but it felt like one.
