Ding

The realization swept over her in the usual manner of epiphanies. The last time she had seen him, she had been overcome with pain, anger, and a sense of loss. After the way he’d betrayed her, she didn’t know if she wanted to kick him square in the nuts or just burst into tears and run away.

That had been less than 24 hours ago. She’d cried herself to sleep. It had not been a good night. She remembered a half-empty bottle of vodka and a phone call in the early hours of the morning. She remembered dialing. She remembered a stream of curse words. She remembered the words coming out of her own mouth.

And now, here he was, standing there looking sad and miserable and pathetic. Through the headache and slight nausea of her hangover, she saw him in a way she’d never seen him before. He was nothing but slime. A low-level enemy. No threat to her at all.

Despite her hangover, she felt strong. She felt healthy. She felt in control. She looked into his eyes, his selfish, petulant eyes, and she laughed.

“I leveled up,” she muttered to herself. “And I put all my points into Strength.”

She grinned as she felt her new power surge through her, and she grinned even harder as she saw him realize what he was up against.

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