You woke with a start, your head pounding. The events of the previous night were a blur - too much wine, too much revelry. The plush bed creaked beneath you.

The last thing you remembered was stumbling out of the bar, ready to call it a night. But this was no cheap corner bar. Lavish silks draped the walls, and the bed you lay in was fit for a king.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from behind a curtain. He was like a god - golden hair, perfect features, eyes that seemed to sparkle with mischief and desire. He wore only a thin toga.

"Well, well, well," Dionysus purred, his voice smooth as honeyed wine. "Sleeping beauty awakes at last."

The man chuckled, low and rich, sensing your confused state and answered the question you were about to ask, as if reading your mind exactly. "I'm Dionysus, god of wine, ecstasy, and theater. And you, my dear, are in my palace on Mount Olympus."