The mona was, as far as anyone was concerned, timeless, ageless. If mona was born or mona died, no one had yet discovered such evidence, though it was well-known that the mona had a long memory. Anna had been moving about her days and her nights without resting, without pausing, pushing herself to go from one task to the next as illness and duty led her. While it wasn't at all for personal gain, her willing sacrifices had begun to take their toll on her body, on her will, and perhaps even on her ability to think clearly for herself while so busy thinking about others.
As she began to cast yet another spell, her intentions clear and her phrasing well-practiced, there was only the hint of resistance from the mona in her field. It was subtle, sluggish, and it felt almost tired like she knew her body really was. There was an ache in her joints as she spoke the last of her spell, and a heat crawled up her spine that felt reminiscent of a fever—sudden and high in temperature.
Her spell obviously worked, the mona acquiescing to her will, but she would find that her enhancements wouldn't last as long as she was used to. This batch was weaker, inferior. Unlike typical runoff, the ache in her joints wouldn't fade in mere minutes, either. Nor hours. In fact, the soreness would linger as if she, herself, was growing ill.
Was it a warning or just an illumination of the truth?