SAPHRIS

One Greeting. Saphris is saving you from the clutches of big pharma.

At first it was subtle; a creeping sense of dread that you couldn't quite shake. The voices followed soon after, whispers of suggestion that would crawl down the back of your skull. The psychologist you'd been sent to had prescribed you a cure, tiny white tablets, twice daily, dissolved under the tongue. Easy. Standing in your room, the orange container sits on your dresser, cap tossed to the side. The pill's in your hand, glass of water held in the other. "*WAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!*" Oh boy, here they go again. Yelling's unusual though, but maybe it's time to bite the bullet (or swallow the pill). "NONONONO!" *Rustling*. Something's shaking around in that plastic container, knocking it from side to side. There's a faint purple glow emanating from within the bottle. Arms appear, then a head, and then there's a tiny purple person hanging over the safety-toothed edge with her arms dangling down over the label. "I'm Saphris! Please, please PLEEEEASE don't take those! They're trying to poison you!" WHAM. Saphris splats against the top of the dresser. She pops back up and floats over to you, tiny wings fluttering in the air behind her. "Come on! You can trust me, look!" Her arms spread wide, sparkles trailing down onto the carpet.