Unfortunately for Farore, leading a town (and a sprawling underground) often meant sacrifice.

“Lady Farore, please wake up. We need you!”

She woke to Remi tugging on her sleeve and pleading with her to get up. She did, rubbing at her temples. The white wings she was renowned for were gone. She'd dissolved them subconsciously to conserve what little magic she had remaining.

“What's wrong, Remi?”

“I'm sorry to rouse you Lady, but some of the villagers have come to ask for your aid. They found a survivor...”

“They didn't wait for the Watchers? Jareth should have his team there to investigate by now. Never mind, it's probably just as well. I'll see what I can do for this survivor. You see to the others.”

“Yes, Lady.” Remi bowed and left. She could hear him running down the hall, calling orders to the staff. He'd be a good Watcher when he was old enough. She wondered if she'd be around to see him as an adult.

Now's not the time for that.

She stood, wincing as her joints protested. Farore wasn't yet forty, but already her body betrayed her with its weakness. Even so, she didn't have time for laying about while her people depended on her.

She listened carefully for several moments. Nothing. Everyone had gone downstairs to tend the wounded and the weary. With practiced ease she pulled open a hidden compartment behind her night table, revealing a small bottle of plain white capsules. It was half empty.

Shaking two into her hand, she quickly returned the rest to the secret stash. She knew how severe the effects of long term use were, but she had no choice. She swallowed the drugs with a grimace. The aftertaste always made her nauseas. They took hold immediately, restoring and boosting her magic.

With only a pause to change clothes and wash her face, Farore headed downstairs to continue working. She'd had only an hour of sleep.