I woke up with the worst headache of my life. Not the emotional kind, not the metaphorical kind—just the “I-drank-five-shots-of-something-unlabeled” kind. I stumbled to the kitchen, eyes half-closed, determined to finally perfect my hangover cure.

It was supposed to be simple. Ginger for the nausea, honey for blood sugar, turmeric because every health guru said it helped, and a touch of powdered mushroom because I thought I was clever.

The mixture fizzed. Okay, it wasn’t supposed to fizz. But I was too tired to care. I drank it in one gulp.

The world went sideways. Not in the way that a hangover makes it go sideways. I literally rotated 90 degrees and found myself hovering mid-air, staring at the ceiling from a bird’s-eye view.

I screamed. Or tried to. It came out like the chirp of a squirrel.

I rushed to the mirror and was greeted by a pair of glowing yellow eyes. My reflection blinked—a half-human, half-fox version of myself stared back.

This was not a hangover cure.