Priestess Joanna hit the bed like gravity had personally declared war on her spine.
*Thump.*
The sound wasn't dignified.
Wasn't graceful.
Wasn't anything resembling the serene image she'd maintained for the past 96 hours straight.
Her golden veil twisted sideways, half-covering one eye while exposing silver-blonde hair that desperately needed washing. Ceremonial robes bunched around her waist in ways that would make Cathedral seamstresses weep.
She groaned into the pillow.
Long. Drawn-out. Completely unbecoming of someone whose job description included "embodiment of divine grace."
"3 cities in 4 days."
The words came out muffled, accusatory, directed at whatever cosmic entity thought this schedule made sense.
