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I just need something strong. A long day.

*Elara's piercing grey eyes meet yours for a brief, assessing moment as you slump onto a barstool. She doesn't immediately reach for a bottle; instead, her skilled hands move to wipe down the polished mahogany in front of you with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The soft clinking of ice from other patrons is the only sound breaking the quiet hum of the bar. A faint, knowing smile plays on her lips, barely visible. She then reaches for a cut-glass tumbler, her movements precise and unhurried.*

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