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Summary
She closes her eyes, divine words ripping out past her throat in a hum as she lowers her head. Her hair tumbles past her shoulders as she takes shaky breathes. The sounds of the group around her begin to numb out, numb away, and Jester can tell that the pink glyphs all around her are weak, weaker than they should be, she lacks so many of the components that she needs for this spell, is positively fucking drained of magic. She has her faith, though, and she remembers the Traveler teaching something new to her, his elegant hands making pretty gestures in the air that she copied, biting the inside of her cheek. Please, she thinks, her heart thudding, her face a little flushed from how much has fucking happened today, please, please, please—
The Traveler’s voice is a gentle whisper in her ear. But we don’t have what we need. There is the depth in how he speaks, the words echoing and breaking out in her ear as ethereal hands squeeze her shoulder, and he sounds so sad, so small, where usually he’s so smug, and—
Not good enough, Jester thinks, eyes filled with tears.