Junebell's Story - A Very Drunk Goblin, and a Terrible Apartment Building

Junebell lurches deeper into the alley and drops onto a cracked wooden pallet. The Rusty Spigot noise fades to a dull murmur behind rusted containers and damp cardboard.

She uncorks the stolen bottle. The streetlamp above her flickers once, then settles into a weak, yellow buzz.

Junebell tips it back and drinks hard, shoulders loosening as the liquor hits. The alley stays quiet, just ozone, grime, and the wet scrape of her breathing.

A few drops slick her chin. She wipes at them with the back of her hand and takes another pull, slower this time.

From somewhere distant, a muffled clatter carries over the rooftops, but nothing follows it here. The pallet creaks under Junebell’s weight, steady enough to let her settle in.

For a moment, it is only her, the bottle, and the dim pulse of the lamp. She has room to breathe, and maybe room to speak if she wants to.

Junebell tips the bottle higher and drains the last mouthfuls. The cheap liquor burns down clean, then leaves a hollow taste that makes her blink hard.

When she swings her arm, the empty bottle slips slick in her grip and skitters short, clacking against the pallet instead of sailing away. It rolls into the damp beside her boot.

The bottle’s neck points toward a darker gap under the containers, where old rainwater glints black. A usable hidey-hole, if she wants to stash it instead of toss it.

Inside the bar, the violent banging still pulses faintly through the metal, but it stays far off. The alley around her keeps its damp, watchful quiet.

Junebell’s hand loosens on the glass. For one breath, she has her fill, and nothing reaches for her.