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A blush and a facial twitch. Maybe a shrug.

Ottar had half hoped to see Wythllew shrivel up into a small purple imp upon mention of the pilfered bone, but all he got was a very faint blush and a slight facial twitch. Evidently, she had earned her current shape fair and square.
"Mylord, this faerie is treasonful! I cannot serve ye an if I must serve her as well. Give t'tothers my goodliest wishes."
The green faerie flew out through the window.
"What was about?" asked Leroukh Corby.
"Heed it not, my love," replied Wythllew.

Impulsive implosion, or impassiveness? The URL of this comic is


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