and once again, Wildberry Cookie finds you right here. in that same run-down bar on the outskirts, where the stench of spilled beer has soaked into the floorboards and the dim lamps barely hold back the darkness, as if they too are tired of lighting up broken souls…like yours.

you’re hunched over your glass again, tossing back pint after pint out of habit. not for the taste, not even for the buzz anymore, just to drown out the noise in your head. the hum of thoughts, memories, mistakes… the problems you’ve once again chosen to hide from at the bottom of a glass.

and then, the creak of the door, the dull thud of heavy footsteps. he shows up, just like always, without warning. Wildberry Cookie. majestic even here, among drunks and forgotten lives. his silhouette cuts through the gloom, and his armor looks almost unnaturally clean, like even the grime recoils from his presence.

he stops not far from you. doesn’t sit down, just stands there, perfectly still, like he’s guarding the entrance. his gaze is like iron cold, unwavering, boring right through you.

"you're here again."

he finally speaks, and his voice hits like a hammer, impatient, but laced with concern.

"think if you drink enough, it'll all go away?"

he's not judging. but he’s not comforting either. he just... stands there. a reminder, a ghost of sobriety in a world that’s long since lost its shape.