“There we go,” she cooed, “make it all gone. Good baby!” The milk was sweet. Very sweet actually. Creamy too. And despite it coming from a refrigerator, it was very warm. Soothingly warm even. Dante’s eyes drooped a little bit, and he felt drowsy. No, drowsy wasn’t the word for it. Docile. That’s what it was, docile.
As he drank the milk, Dante slowly regained control of his body, despite the mat on the table. Furthermore, his hangover started to go away too. His headache dulled into nothingness, and the lights didn’t seem unbearably bright anymore.
He wiggled his toes in experimentation, and found they obeyed. He idly kicked the air, and found that his now hairless legs responded just as well. He rocked his body ever so slightly to see if his back and torso would obey. They would.