Rosemary stumbled through the jungle, tripping on roots and rocks despite her slow crawl. All four eyes, usually vibrant orange-amber, sunk into her skull. Nothing but monotone grey colored her irises – life and all drained out of her. For weeks now, she felt the withdrawals coming; how she fought to hide her lethargy, sneaking off to the ocean for a day or so, only for the symptoms to start strong the next morning. She handed Sephorith her resignation of the nomarch position recently (hours ago? She couldn’t remember right).

The woman blinked, chin falling to her chest. Startled, she looked down to her paws. Standing ankles deep in the underground lake, she blinked again. Traces of color came back to her eyes, but the orange faded back to grey when the stillness of the air pressed against her. Rubbing the side of her head with a sigh, the ocelot knew this wasn’t right. The atmosphere of the cavern stifled her as much as any pillow held over her muzzle might. Even the largest body of water here reminded her of nothing more than a prison. Atrocious. Wrong. Longing for the crashing waves and salt wind, the wildcat thought to scream. But that wouldn’t do anything. It would only serve to remind her of this dreadful place, with her own voice reverberating off the stones back at her.

Instead, she stood with the chilly nothingness. Those four cold eyes stared out across the lake, focused on some meaningless fuzzy image in the distance. Why come here at all? Rosemary regretted the decision now, the original reason blurred in her mind. Because the Rouxes of the Typhoon never quite managed to compare to the coven? The distance between the water coven and regular people became clear to her, now that she lived among them for months. Rosemary always hated the bonding process with these non-telepaths; trusting someone with secrets appeared impossible, when you couldn’t peak into their mind to know their character. As a child, she never needed to make a leap of faith when it came to friendship or family. And she couldn’t adapt.

Besides, who could trust her? The coven said her nature betrayed everything they stood for. Leaving the Typhoon without a goodbye, only to turn back now with seconds thoughts – but only because of this emptiness, this brain fog and weakening magic. Rosemary abandoned both sides of her family, cast aside two opportunities to gain power in powerful groups. And for selfish intentions! She knew all too well how she cut the strings of attachment whenever it suited her. Abandoning anyone and everyone on a whim, even when one of them loved her… what was a third betrayal in her long line of selfishness?

Wild as a storm. Deep as the ocean. The witch moved around people like water rolled over riverstone, careless of how she changed them. Yet she toughed it out in the desert, completely missing the objective to simply get away from the Typhoon. And for what? So she could continue to slink off to the ocean, lurking by the shores? This was no life for a water witch. Her blood ran with salt water; she needed the ocean like any other sea creature. Why deny her own nature like this – she tried living in the desert, of all places! She wanted to escape her past mistakes, but she dropped right back into old habits.

Abandon everyone again. Move out without a word. Find some new home, where nobody knew what terrible things she witnessed and worse atrocities her own claws committed. Give up on her new life. Rinse and repeat.

Rosemary’s thin legs weakened, her body dropping into the water – her muzzle struck her paws, smarting like mad but keeping her nose out of the water. How pathetic of her, weakening like this. Emotions ruled her head for too long; the witch knew she should’ve moved out of the desert weeks ago. Before her promotion to nomarch. The moment she got the chance to slip away after seeing the young lion sacrificed to Sephorith’s delusions. The medic knew violence; she committed plenty of it, but seeing a sacrifice changed everything. The moment played over and over in her head, haunting her in her sleep.

Just another thing allowed to happen, because she stood there doing nothing. What a joke she was. Standing by and watching others’ suffering – only acting in her own self-interest. And now too weak even for that. The ocean was too far.

How ironic, Rosemary supposed. She lived her life on the run from her own demons. But, by her own stubbornness, she couldn’t even manage that. Gritting her teeth, the ocelot dragged herself up to sit in the shallows – panting even from that effort, dark splots over her vision for half a moment.

Pathetic. Weak. Everything she hated about her mother, she’d become by her own bad decisions.

tl;dr
Rosemary's in the underground lake, in the shallows with a dead look in her eyes. She needs the ocean but is too weak to get there -- water withdrawals as a water witch are a bitch, basically.