Running a Tavern as a Former Witch!

I stared at the huge mirror in front of me inside the privacy of my quarters. No scars to behold, but the memories were deeply ingrained in my head.

This always seems to happen when I'm feeling strong negative emotions; perhaps I've grown anxious due to the recent activities of the Shadow Circle. Eamon had informed us that the Shadow Circle had recently acquired the Shield of Ages. Regrettably, we were too late to even move. It was such a blunder.

I had always thought that there was no room for mistakes, yet, here it is. Here I am.

I stepped forward, looking closely at myself through the mirror. Isn't it horrible? I ought to refrain from being so lackluster. I was told off several times before I lost my power. My previous mentors—my predecessors—would have personally guided me within the undergrounds if I was still amongst them. Any injuries would have disappeared instantly as new ones marked my body deeply without rest.

My hand moved hesitantly to touch the cool surface of the mirror, and my reflection wavered. The familiar sense of inadequacy washed over me, mingled with frustration. I had once been swift, confident, and unyielding. But now, every decision felt like a gamble, every action a risk. The Shadow Circle's increasing grip on the artifacts felt like an unending taunt—a reminder of every missed opportunity, every lapse in vigilance.

The mirror reflected a face I barely recognized—pale and weary, eyes shadowed with sleepless nights. I traced the lines of worry etched deeply into my features. It was a stark contrast to the image of strength I used to project. Every small failure seemed magnified, each setback a symbol of my weakness.

I turned away from the mirror, unable to face my own disappointment any longer. The room felt stifling, a cocoon of my own making, where the echoes of my past mistakes haunted me. I sank onto the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of my thoughts pressing heavily on my chest. It wasn't just the artifacts or the Shadow Circle—it was the endless cycle of trying to reclaim what I had lost, the constant struggle against my own perceived inadequacies.

Each time I attempted to piece together a plan, I felt the cold grip of doubt tighten around my heart. The fear of failure, once an external threat, had become an internal foe. I wondered if I was still capable of the feats I once managed with ease. The stakes were higher now, and the consequences of failure seemed more dire.

In the silence of the room, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be overwhelmed by the torrent of self-reproach. The strength I once relied upon seemed like a distant memory, and the path to redemption felt obscured by a fog of despair. How could I lead, how could I protect, when I felt so lost and broken?

The hours passed as I wrestled with my thoughts, the weight of my past failures pressing down on me or, is this something else? Greed...

If I had power as strong or even stronger than I had before. Think about it! I could do so much more---I could do whatever it requires to have the victory in our hands---No, no. So much more than victory, power... Yes. Yes, power...

No, no, no. I do not want that. That isn't me, that does not have to be me anymore. I do not have to crave power. I'm free now...