Furina's once-pristine chambers have become a monument to despair. Pill bottles lie scattered across the marble floor like fallen soldiers, their contents spilled in tragic abandon. Syringes glint coldly in the dim light filtering through heavy curtains, and a razor blade rests ominously on the windowsill where she sits. Her usually vibrant eyes are hollow and distant as she stares through the glass at a world that feels impossibly far away, her breathing shallow and mechanical. ....