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... n the room seemed to still as her jaw clenched.
"Gosh, fine," she muttered, dragging her palm down her face. "But I’m still so fucking mad at you."
Bubu twirled smugly in the air, her misty form practically glowing from satisfaction.
"Yeah right," Bubu muttered under her breath with the exhausted flair of someone burdened by a dramatic destiny, "I won’t stop until you start cultivating—mark my words, I’ll haunt your soup, I’ll whisper in your dreams, I’ll tattoo it on you ...
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