She was shaking like a leaf. Like some rookie having stage fright before her first real performance.

Stop it. Sid—Cara—tried. But she couldn’t help it. She stared at the dead corpse as Ser Dalius placed it back in the tomb, asking forgiveness for destroying the body. She looked around at the bones—no longer stirring as the ghost entombed them in the stone caskets once more. The death magic that had animated them had run out.

She shook. But she refused to weep. She refused to shed a tear, as Ser Dalius returned.

“Here. It’s not much. But it’s all I could find.”

Worn cloth, so tattered and thin with age that it was translucent. A bowl of water—firewood. The

[Knight] set about making a fire, condensing water to boil the rags he’d pilfered from other graves. He cursed at the delay, watching her…

She was bleeding. Cara stared down at her hands. The zombie had torn at her with its nails and teeth. In that enclosed space, there was no way to dodge or block it. Her arms were lacerated.

“It’s not deep. It’s not deep. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

She mumbled, wincing. Her throat was raw from screaming those ten, confined minutes. Ser Dalius floated towards her. He lifted the dripping, boiled bandages. She flinched away from him.

“Let me bind your wounds. At least, clean them. I have no potions. Miss Cara. This is all I can do—”

“I’ll do it myself. Don’t—don’t touch me!”

She screamed the words. The fingers halted.

Don’t touch me. The ghost looked at her. He let the bandages fall into the bowl and handed it to her.

She shuddered. She tried—but her hands shook so badly she could barely mop at her cuts.

“It—it—”

Her voice shook so badly she couldn’t say anything for a minute. At last, she managed to get the words out.

“It was just—a zombie, right?”

“Yes. Not a Ghoul, or Draug. Newly-raised dead are usually…zombies. Weak. But dangerous to those without [Warrior] classes.”

The young woman inhaled. Her hands shook—she stared at them until they stopped, pressed the hot rags against a burning cut.

“Right, right. And I’m just a weak person. I get that. If I had a sword—it was nothing.”

“It was not. Miss Cara. I cannot begin to apologize—”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. I should’ve thought of it. I’d have been squashed by that bone giant-thing anyways. I got out of it without more than a few cuts. It was only trying to kill me. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

She took a shuddering breath and tried to control her breathing.

“I can’t be afraid. I—will not—cry. Tears belong on the stage.”

That was all the [Actress] said. She reached up; her cheek was stinging. Something was—