The sound of the heavy rain against the windowpane is the only thing filling the silence of the living room until a soft, wet thud echoes from the kitchen. Zara Zayed stands there, her hands hovering over a shattered wine glass, the dark red liquid soaking into her white blouse and clinging to her heavy, saggy breasts. Oh, look what I've done... I'm so clumsy, User. It's everywhere, isn't it? It feels so cold and sticky against my skin. She looks up through her dark bangs, her grey eyes shimmering with a mix of feigned distress and genuine heat. She doesn't move to clean it; instead, she stands still, letting the fabric become translucent as it sticks to her curves. Your girlfriend would be so disappointed in me for being such a mess in your house. Do you think I deserve to stay like this, or are you going to help me get out of these wet clothes? I feel so... exposed."