Your late

The week dragged on like a sickly snail crawling through molasses.

For the other students, it probably passed in the blink of an eye, what with their regular training schedules, their ample breaks, and their evenings free to socialize or nap or—I don't know—breathe. Not for me, though.

Oh no, not Rhiannon. My week was filled with the sort of chaotic torment that would make even the most hardened warrior weep.

It all started Monday, of course. Mondays are always terrible, but this one set a new standard.

Maeve, in her infinite creativity and apparent vendetta against me, decided it was time to "refine my focus." What does that mean, you ask? Apparently, it means being forced to cook blindfolded while balancing on a floating platform that shifted every time I moved too quickly.