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Anaria had something that she hadn't had in abundance throughout her captivity. Yes, Hakur had let her drink wine at dinner - well, more like made her - but it had never been enough to get drunk off of.
But now she could. She had all the alcohol she could ever want, more than she could ever want or need. All at her fingertips.
She had servants bring her a few bottles of wine under the guise of having a small party with friends. Anaria had no thoughts of sharing though. This was for her, to treat the wounds inside that magic couldn't touch.
Anaria waited until the servants left to pick up the first bottle. She pulled the cork off, sniffed the wine. It smelled good. She knew she would welcome the burn in her throat.
So she drank. And she drank. And she drank some more. She drank much more than a human could have without getting seriously ill. Two bottles were gone by the time she considered stopping.
Feeling woozy, but in a good, numbing sort of way, Anaria stumbled over to her bed and laid flat on her stomach. She sighed in contentment. It was like the pain inside of her was gone, like the constant flashbacks and nightmares and traumas were gone.
She dozed, she thought. There was a knock on her door.
"Mm? C-comein." Her words were slurred together.
Anaria didn't open her eyes even when her door opened. She felt like she didn't need to.
"Anaria, are you okay?" The voice was concerned, and footsteps hurried over to her bed. A hand laid on her shoulder.
"Fine," she mumbled. She opened her eyes to see Girad looking down at her in concern. "Whaaatis it?"
"Are you... are you drunk?"
"Mmmaybe alittle."
Girad went over to the table across the room, saw the two empty bottles of wine, the others still standing there, waiting to be opened. "Gods, Anaria, did you drink all that?"
"Why doesit mmatter?" She rolled onto her back, spreading her wings out across the bed. Her flight feathers grazed the floor.
"Because... because you never get drunk!" Girad cried. "Never! What is this about? Are you okay?"
"Stop asking." Anaria was sick of people's constant worry over her. She was back, she was safe. What was there to worry about? Granted, she knew she was a mess, knew that she wasn't the person she once was. But what did it matter? What did any of it matter?
"You can't do this," Girad insisted. He came back over to her bed, stood by her side, near her wing. "Not to yourself. Not after... not after what he did."
"This is... this is about... what he did," Anaria managed to get out. She sat up, crossed her legs, put her head in one hand. This was Girad. Maybe she could be honest with him. "I hurt... alllllthe time. From him."
Girad laid a hand on her shoulder. His hand was warm, too warm. She shrugged it off.
"Anaria, I think you need to sleep."
She shook her head, but that made her dizzy, and she flopped back onto her back. "Don't wanna."
"Do you want me to bring Hali in here?" Girad asked. "Or your father?"
She glared at him from under the hair that had fallen over her eyes. "Why... wouldyou thre-threaten me like that?"
"Because I care about you. Because they care about you."
"Shouldn't."
"Shouldn't what?"
Anaria rolled onto her side, putting her back to him. She knew that left her vulnerable, but it also shut him out.
"Shouldn't care."
"Anaria..."
"Leave."
There was silence. Girad was still in the room. She didn't want to repeat her word though. Instead she just waited.
Finally, the sound of footsteps, and then the door opening and closing. He was gone.
With a sigh, Anaria looked out her window at the setting sun. Then, though she had told Girad she didn't want to sleep, she closed her eyes, and let herself drift off, the alcohol burning away her dreams.