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Summary
Heat rose to Isobel’s cheeks; though she would vehemently attribute at least half of it to the wine she was sipping on. “We would never miss the entire party,” Isobel scowled. “Not that you’re any better, Fuletir. I still remember you and Zinlar sneaking off to suck face last year.” The two had been unsubtle and quite loud. Recalling it brought up a year old seed of jealousy that she promptly buried once more.
