Once upon a time, there was a miner. Domas was her name. She had a string of children, including a tiny baby, newly born that year.
Due to a gap in the mining operations, she was assigned to the project of paving over the sky. So, she grabbed a rock.
Unluckily for her, this rock was submerged in magma. 7/7 magma. I had just forgotten to forbid the door.
She caught fire, and her feet were turned into mangled, bloody ruins by the heat. She tottered towards her bedroom, keeling over halfway to the charcoal/potash/pearlash/ash stockpile, dropping the baby.
A passing dwarf picked her up, taking her to the nearest vacant bed, which happened to be that of the recently-deceased king consort. The bed then caught fire, along with the queen's bed next to it.
A flurry of pulled levers, dropped bridges, and running water later, and the Emergency Regicide Device was activated. Too late to save the poor miner, who died while the overseer was trying to remember which lever operated which bridge. The ensuing flood of water put the body out in time for it to be carted to a coffin without causing a catastrophe.
Meanwhile, the baby was still laying there on a patch of smooth rock, being ignored by virtually everyone, until someone took pity and gave her food and water. She proceeded to crawl around the fort, painfully sober and ignored by all but those keeping her alive, pausing from time to time to stare wistfully at a booze stockpile.
Eventually, she grew up enough to fend for herself, kept going only by recieving food and water and talking with her big sister. Eventually, she took her first drink of alcohol, staying latched onto the barrel for a good month.