The stitches become raggedy. This—had been a long week. Zep felt as if small goblins had set up house under her eyes, bringing bags full of rocks, taking souvenirs of sleep. She twisted the silver band around her finger. Every instinct in her wanted to rain golden light on the group, not cast shadows and death. She was terrible at this. Practice? Yes. She turned the ring three times. How did her sisters do it? She put down her needle and thread. She laid her head on the embersilk pillows, a gift from a patron, and found edgy sleep.
Oh, my...the poor little priest girl is a bubble or two away from level 84, and is really awful at being a shadow priest. Much more complicated than it looks.