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That's fine, dear. SSWM: 350.
The sound of a giggle roused Fiachra from her reverie. She sat up from the place she lay in the forest, head against the base of a tree, and tried to remember what she had been doing. Sleeping? Yes, but not originally. She looked around her. Her flask was nearby in the snow, and her head was swaying. Dear God, was she hung over? A scream from her head as the sun hit a patch of snow confirmed her diagnosis. What the hell was she doing out in the snow, with her flask and a hangover? She groaned. She had hallucinated, clearly. She tried to shake off the nausea, only to have a sickening flood of pain overtake her body. She collapsed back against the tree and sighed. God, she was so sick. Whyyy? whined a voice in her head. Because you're a moron, another replied with disgust. Another sigh. She needed help. She needed to stop drinking. She needed another drink. Fucked if she knew what she needed. But she needed something, and it seemed that she needed it badly.
With a groan and sheer power of will, she dragged herself up from the ground, flask in hand, and tucked it into her jacket. Memories flooded back. She had hallucinated Naniko. Dear God, why? Her flask, she had noticed earlier, was completely empty. That would be why. Her snow white queen occupied every free moment, every spare space within Fiachra's mind. It was a small wonder that she didn't hallucinate her when sober. She closed her eyes and tried to clear Naniko's face from her inner eye. It was impossible. She tried instead to gather her bearings and breathe deeply. She focused so hard that her head throbbed and she swayed, her body threatening to collapse again. She gave up and began to walk.
She found the source of the giggle without meaning to, and nodded her head in greeting. A crooked smile that leaked the reality of her sobriety - or, still, lack there of - took over her lips as she spoke. "Hello, stranger. Fare thee well?"