The mail armor crumpled like penny dust on the ground. The weapons, dulled, wouldn't cut butter on a hot plate. Her bags emptied of gold from the repair bills, the merchants smirking behind her back. She crawled into bed, exhausted, spent, and cut. Like a bad playground fight, the best thing would be to retreat.
Sometimes the words "good night" are the only magic you'll get.
Theme song: Breaking the Girl/RHCP