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Summary
“It’s nothing.” She said, tapping her spoon on the table. The girl was quiet for another moment before setting down the utensil and glancing between her parents. “Well, it’s just—what’s a foul-blood?”
Astarion, who was in the midst of drinking his wine as he surveyed the conversation, began to choke. He coughed as Wyll shifted from him back to their daughter. “A what?”
“A foul-blood.” She repeated more firmly this time. “What is it?"
