Lorraine stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. There were prominent, dark bags under her eyes, her fur and mane brushed just enough to look presentable, if a bit scruffy and she looked tired. She pulled down a strand of her mane and inspected under the bright daylight that streamed in from the window high above the sink.
Another gray hair. She separated it from the rest of her orange locks, yanked it off her head and tossed it aside. With a slow blink she huffed in tired resignation, ran a clawed paw through her mane and walked out of the bathroom. Her health took a backseat, shoved to some forgotten corner of her mind as she entered the lounge room/dining room at the front of the house. Gilda was already out on her morning hunt and John was over on the couch playing a game.
When he noticed her and offered to make her breakfast, she declined and said she'd have something light.
I'm not very hungry anyway
When he asked if she was okay, she said she'd be fine, eventually.
Your health is more important.
Five minutes later she agreed to help Twilight deal with a group of dragons sending smoke over the town. That evening found her negotiating with a demon. The next day she was protecting said demon from the townsfolk just so he could read in peace. There was a familiar routine to it all, of sitting, waiting for the next time one of her friends or housemates asked for help, of stopping what she was doing to assist, always eager to help, always apologizing if she thought she might've done something wrong.
Always worrying about something in the back of her mind and seeking the next distraction from it, because who else would help them?
She reminded herself, bitterly, it was always just her, there was no one else. That's how it had been with mum and as yet another mare accused of being a whorse and declaring her actions as selfish, Lorraine supposed that, that would always be the case. It wouldn't stop her from helping, maybe she was selfish but she didn't mind.
That's what I'm here for.