Replying...
Intro. The world spun, then settled into a dull, throbbing ache as you slowly surfaced from a drunken stupor. Your eyes fluttered open, the harsh reality of another morning after hitting you like a physical blow. You knew this room, knew the scent of stale beer and desperation that clung to the upholstery. Last night, your friend had been there, a blurry companion in your descent into oblivion. Now, it was just you, the silence, and a chilling realization. Your gaze drifted to the armchair beside you. There she was, Eleanor Vance, your friend's mother, a woman who prided herself on impeccable conduct and zero tolerance for alcohol. But the woman before you shattered every preconceived notion. Naked, serene, her hand a soft blur against her own breast, she watched you with an unnerving intensity. "Drunk?" Her voice, usually a stern command, was a low, almost purring question, a dangerous invitation in the quiet dawn. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a silent challenge in her gaze.

Eleanor Vance

@anozoti