The sky is dark. She can feel blood smear on her face as he wipes it away. Even as she lies in his arms, her body and mind are starting to sync again as the shock wears off. Everything hurts deeply, the soreness seeping into the marrow of her bones, the structure of her veins. Her limbs feel like they're filled with wet sand, with more piled atop her chest to keep her ribs from being able to expand fully.

He says that it worked, and she answers with the weakest yay that's ever been uttered. Managing to lift one hand, she puts it on his arm, "Not sure I'm... much good for a tent right now," she mumbles, her tone as light as possible, given the possibility. She can barely keep her eyes open -- she feels like she's been drained of every ounce of energy she has.

She gives a feeble laugh, turning her face toward him. And then something unexpected happens. (Well, something else unexpected.)

Seemingly without any intention or energy, her hands glow again. Much more in line with their usual. A few feet away, a large tent builds itself from nothing, the canvas unfurling in elegant sheets. Inside is not just a pile of loose cushions; there is a fully formed and decorative bedroom suite, complete with light fixtures full of floating magical light balls. A properly built fire roars cheerily into existence outside. What had taken her strain and time to do a year ago now happens with her barely conscious.

So maybe there are some very, very mild perks to overdosing on magic.