Arguing over something that may need not even happen was a complete waste of their time. Wanda sighed and reached out reflexively to touch the fabric of the gown she'd given Wicked, still lying there in its box on the bed. This was supposed to be an easy happy evening. She rose to pour herself more vodka, taking Jessica's hand and squeezing her fingers, appreciative yet apologetic, as she passed her. After downing the drink, Wanda turned back towards the door with shoulders squared. "I'm not feeling especially social. Let's just make the rounds then leave." A party was really no place for contemplating the loss of her soul. Wallowing in bed with a bottle of wine was probably a better option.