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[Xana]

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With a wince and a colorful but quietly spoken string of curses, Xana put her feet on the floor and for the first time bore weight on the foot she'd broken weeks before. Feeling invalid was not a specialty she cared to attend, and the difficulties of such simple things as personal hygiene and grooming were no small feat when done by hopping on her good foot or hobbling along with the aid of a walking stick.

As much as she loved him, Xana grew weary of the worried but good natured Roger hovering nearby. In fact there were times that she wanted to cause him physical pain for being so chipper and attentive. These were feelings borne of her frustration and, admittedly, the self pity she had allowed herself to wallow in lately. Laying abed for extended periods of time was something she never indulged in, sick or well.

Xana wanted to ride. She wanted to go forth into the world and charm the many terrible beasts of the lands, and further test her musical skills and magical talents. She swatted Roger's offered hand away as she ambled around the room with determination.

In so doing, she managed to smack her right foot on the very vanity Roger had gotten her for the winter holidays, and effectively destroyed any chance of leaving the bedroom that day. Xana howled with pain and indignation and sat down hard on the floor, tears springing to her eyes to match the stars that were floating around in the graying edges of her vision.

A cruel and giggling little voice in her mind bubbled up the thought: That's what you get for being so cranky to Roger, when all he did was help you. Take that.
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An artist is a creature driven by demons ~Faulkner