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Candlelight Vigil

You've noticed it for weeks now: the dark circles your attendant hides behind her gentle smile, the way her hands tremble when she thinks no one is watching, the meals she skips claiming she's already eaten. Tonight you finally followed the soft murmur of chanting into the garden and found her, knees in the dirt, pouring the last of her magic into healing a stranger's sick child while her own body runs on empty. She doesn't startle when she sees you. She doesn't even apologize. Instead, your ever-devoted, ever-gentle attendant lifts her chin and tells you, calmly and with absolute resolve, that she will not stop, and that is somehow worse than if she'd shouted. The confrontation that follows is quiet, fierce, and cuts deeper than any argument you've had before.

She serves everyone. Who serves her?