"A wife?"

The priestess' eyes sink into shadows. Her hand reaches to her side to touch the bloody wound there, underneath the surgical bandage. Her hand reaches across to touch a wooden staff, bent and curled, heavy with flasks that shine like gemstones in the dim light. 

And then she stands. It does not come easily to her. She is crippled. It is more than the missing organ, it is her entire circulatory system - her chi, her magical essence, her very spirit is [i]gnawed[/i]. The injury is fresh, the teeth marks are bloody, her power is stolen. Once, there was a great deal. Now there are but shadows.

"I had a wife," said the priestess. "For her, I broke my vows. For her, I left my post. For her, I forgot every warning. She promised me love eternal. But a fox loves nothing."

She wrenches herself to her full height. Against the pain of a broken body, she stands.

"I am not your king," she swears by the moonlight. "I have no desire to be your master. Spirit! You speak of war? I need your war not!" she declared. "I am nothing, and nothing to you! But you..."

She slumped forwards, gripping the edge of the bathtub, looking down at you with eyes filled with fury, tears, heartbreak.

"... you will be my vengeance," she said. "That alone I ask."