Drama! Intensity! Liquor! Monkey! Wait...

An occasional muttered word, a sudden movement, a gasping breath... Imera was never really awake. A mind barely conscious, tainted by some kind of raging inner poison, masquerading behind a drowsy face, a limply moving body. A gust of warm air rushed across Imera as she stepped through the entrance to the castle, eyes slowly blinking. The whirling skirts of so many dancing ladies... the alcoholic breath of so many drinking men... and Imera's mind, without hesitation, drove her instantly into the midst of these men. A harried servent turned to rush by her and she stopped him, smiling rather seductively. Her hand slipped in to grab a glass of whatever reddish liquid he was carrying on his tray, and with a smile and a swish she had gone again. A slow grin spread across her dizzy face and the brim of the glass rose toward her lips, as if her hand were a magical elevator to heaven. A pink tongue slipped out to lick the glass and to draw it to her lips, and Imera drank. The red wine slid smoothly down her throat and Imera again felt the excited warmness of alcohol in her body. She swirled around, stopping another servant, taking another glass, this time of something light green and thick. This liquid, too, found itself sliding gently into Imera's mouth, just as the first was finding it's timid way into her blood stream.

The thickly warming alcohol forged a path through the inner highways of Imera's body. Soon it would begin to affect her mentally, but not yet... of course, her alcohol tolerance level was (by now) quite high. For now, she continued dumping poison into her body by the mouthful, in complete disregard for the soon-to-come dizzy sickness.

As the night commenced, Imera passed so many servants, drank so many glass-fulls of so many different alcoholic nightmares. Colors began to merge and blur until the dance floor became more of a writhing, multi-colored being, swirling and pulsing in time to the music.

A servant rushed in Imera's direction, moving quickly away from the person whom, from the snippets of conversation she had paid attention to, she deemed to be Larkin the Shrike. She side-stepped gracefully in front of the servant, who stopped suddenly, nearly spilling his tray. Smiling, she slid a hand out to grasp a glass of the clear liquid he carried. As soon as her fingers closed around it, she spun away, leaving the servant blinking after her.

Imera brought the glass to her lips. As she drew it toward her, she smelled it from at least six inches away. Even the scent was strong enough to send shivers up her spine, and she shook her head, clearing her vision.

The glass completed its journey to her lips, and she dipped her tongue into it slightly. It burned. She tipped the glass up, resting it on her bottom lip. A second's hesitation, and then the liquid poured into her mouth, swirling around her tongue and teeth, burning her lips. The poisonous elixir made its deathly merry way down her throat and into her body as she drained the whole glass.

The reaction was instant; Imera's whole brain exploded in an ecstatic chemically induced glee, and she spun, laughing, into the crowd. Time seemed to slow, and Imera continued swirling through the crowd, dancing out of time, to a music only she could hear. She danced and danced, spun and spun, weaving in and out of the people around her. Some were startled, but most just kept on dancing around her. The atmosphere was filled with an unexplainably ecstasy and Imera exploded into a fit of hysterical laughter. She smacked violently into a dancing nobleman; they both staggered, but Imera continued dancing. Time continued to slow down, and everything went in slow motion. Imera's limbs became heavy, and she spun, nearly out of control, straight into a man who seemed much too tall and too menacing to be human; his orange eyes glared questioningly at Imera as she fell into him, and he instantly threw her off, pushing her away: it was the Shrike. Staggering, she continued her dizzy dance, even as time continued to drag and the music grew slower still, thoughts of Larkin the Shrike clouding her already blurred brain. But after what was only a few seconds (although it seemed to Imera to be a few hours), her mind went comfortably blank, and she continued to dance out of control.

She spun once or twice unwillingly into the wall, but bounced right back off again, continuing her death-dance. Suddenly, pain gripped her slender body, and she stumbled into the empty corner... except that it wasn't empty. There was a lonely bard sitting there, manically stroking the strings of his lute.

He seemed barely surprised as Imera fell onto his lap out of nowhere, and somehow, quick reflexes had managed to remove the lute from the path of the falling girl.

Ergot gently leaned his lute against the wall, and, with paranoid fingers, propped her up. Imera smiled carelessly at him, head lolling slightly. Then pain gripped her again, and she tensed. An alcoholic scream escaped her alcohol-stained lips, and her alcohol-poisoned body writhed in Ergot's frightened arms. Then the color faded from Imera's world. The music slowed to an impossible beat, and everything began to fade slowly into whiteness. Her body went limp in Ergot's arms, and Imera smiled one last, alcohol-induced smile, whispering, "The end," as her mind stole away into darkness.