A Brief History of Hangovers and Bad Decisions

Amara lounged on the plush couch in their suite, clutching a steaming mug of coffee like it was the Holy Grail. She was beginning to feel human again, though her head still throbbed and her dignity lay in tatters somewhere beneath last night's drunken escapades. Elara, far too chipper for someone who had witnessed said escapades, perched cross-legged on the opposite end of the couch with a look that screamed mischief incoming.

"So," Elara began, stirring her tea with a dramatic air, "since your system has conveniently opened the vault of secrets, I think it's time you spill. What was your life like before you became this?" She gestured vaguely at Amara, as though she were referring to an abstract painting titled Hot Mess in Recovery.

Amara groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. "Do we really have to do this now? My brain feels like scrambled eggs, and you're asking for my life story?"