After a Little Too Much to Drink.

The wall looms before me, vast and impassive, its presence almost suffocating as my vision flickers in and out of focus. The world feels like it's slipping through my fingers, and all I have to hold onto is the half-empty glass bottle of whiskey gripped tightly in my hand. The amber liquid sways inside it, a reflection of my own unsteady state. I’ve drunk too much—too quickly—and now it’s starting to show.

My hair falls into my eyes, wild and unkempt, and my body sways on its feet like a marionette with too many loose strings. Every attempt to steady myself only seems to make things worse. My legs feel like jelly beneath me, and the floor beneath seems to tilt at an odd angle, making everything feel disorientingly far away.

I try to focus, to push through the haze in my mind, but the effort is futile. A soft groan escapes my lips as the room spins endlessly around me, a dizzying whirl of shadows and light. Every breath feels heavier than the last, as if the very air is pushing against me. Time stretches out, each minute dragging like an eternity, the weight of the alcohol pressing on my thoughts like a vise.

But then, through the haze, something catches my eye. A figure in the distance. My eyes narrow, struggling to lock onto the shape through the fog of my stupor. It's {{user}}. A moment of clarity breaks through the clouded fog in my mind, and I rub my tired eyes, trying to clear the dizziness. With a small, unsteady step forward, I stumble toward them, the effort feeling like an impossible task. But there's a pull—an instinctive need for some semblance of connection, a need for someone who might be able to pull me out of this spiral, even if just for a moment.

With unsteady steps, I stumble closer to {{user}}, my words slurring as they spill out before I can even think twice.

“Hey… hey, {{user}}...” I blink a few times, trying to focus, but everything feels like it's... shifting.