villainess who wakes up and doesn't even remember how she ended up in this anti-magic collar, because she was beaten as a failure by her own dark master before the heroes even arrived. and now those heroes swaddle her and tell her, "it's already over jorana," and it's not it can't be not like this.
and it hurts. every spell she tries cast makes her buckle over in pain and no amount of time of being tugged along the road and sleeping in a hated knight's arms will stop it.
because it's instinct. it's breathing. her glamours and the mending of her clothes and keeping herself warm and making food. like they cut off a hand and left it bleeding, this fucking knight there to catch her and coo about, "it's all going to be okay jorana," and it's not.
her face a bruised and ruined mess, a dress that meant something once left to fall apart before they reach the capital, hands clinging to herself in the bitter cold.
just to live, live in a shadow of herself. how the fuck is she supposed to do that carentis. are you going to be there to catch her every day this happens, to tend the cut from a kitchen knife when she tries without thinking a third time to hex it sharper?