Sign of the Times

Opal awoke into a groggy haze, risen by the sunlight pouring into the Window. It was nearly Zenith. The Grass Spider had gauzy recollections of the previous evenings; empty bottles and half-snorted lines scattered about her dining table provided clues as to the direction the evening had taken. Even more telling was the small form nestled under her right arm, slumbering heavily.

((About to boot into a fresh Linux install, you may not see this updated for awhile.))