I couldn’t face Abeke’s couch tonight. Not after that last battleground.
So I ended up at Wayfarer’s Rest.
The tavern was quiet, the kind of late-night hush where the only sounds are clinking glasses and the occasional low murmur of someone trying to forget their day. I claimed my usual stool at the far end of the bar and stared into the wood like it owed me answers.
A glass of Arcwine slid in front of me without me asking.
“Rough one?” came the familiar dry voice.
It was Raelor Sunveil, the night bartender. He’s been pouring drinks here longer than I’ve been a priest. Older Blood Elf, sharp eyes that have seen too many wars, a quiet kind of exhaustion that feels… safe. He doesn’t pry, but he always seems to know when I need to talk.
I took a long sip and let it all spill out. The terrible coordination. The way I kept getting trained and stun-locked while no one peeled for me. How Abeke and I are still arguing about positioning and heals like we’re speaking two different languages. I kept going until the words started running together.
Raelor just listened, slowly polishing a glass with that calm, steady rhythm of his.
“You healers carry more than most people realize,” he said eventually. “Everyone expects you to be everywhere at once, but no one wants to make it easy for you.”
I laughed, but it came out tired.
“Yeah… well. Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one trying to keep everyone alive while they’re busy running into the meat grinder.”
He gave me one of those small, knowing half-smiles.
“You’ll be back tomorrow anyway. That’s the curse of people like you.”
I didn’t argue. He’s right.
Raelor’s becoming one of the very few people I don’t feel like I have to pretend around. Vynna gets the anxious, overthinking version of me. Raelor just gets the quiet, defeated one who needs a drink and someone who won’t judge.
I might be making a habit of this.
~Sahsha
(Professional Bar Regular, Quietly Falling Apart in Public)