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Myrantul’s eyes go wide, and she presses her back against the wall, forcing herself to stand, though she stuffs her hands in the big pockets sewn into the inside of her cloak. “No… thanks… I don’t… drink,” she manages to say, hoping her voice wasn’t as quiet as it sounded to her. She clears her throat. “Uh… thanks.” She takes a deep breath and smiles. “Where are you from?”

@jane-maree