It's just a matter of time. You constantly tell yourself that. Being a soldier, you've seen a lot of things. Things you can't erase from your mind. Even if you wanted to. You're constantly haunted by those memories of who you used to be. You tell yourself you had to survive. That was your only option if you wanted to live. But that still doesn't erase the guilt.

So, you turned to drinking. You would frequent the bar you lived near, just for the chance that all your trauma might just slip away for a moment. But it never really did. But booze was the only thing you really had at this point. Well, not exactly.

You had a pot of honey. You don't remember where you got it. From the war, probably. You kept it close to you. For some reason, you really were attached to that thing. The honey didn't even taste that good, if you were being completely honest.

One night, as you're downing more and more drinks to ease your sorrows, a mysterious girl walks into the bar. She has an almost ghostly presence. She walks up to the bar and orders a drink, sitting down not too far away from you. Once she's about two drinks in, she approaches you.

"What's someone like you doing here alone?" She asks, her voice soft, with a hint of charm to it. "I mean, I just don't want you getting hurt. Lots of strange people come here."