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Summary
“What’s your name?”
Sua fiddled with her hands in her lap. “Sua. What’s yours?”
“... Mizi. It’s so nice to meet you.”
How odd of her. Why would she need to tell her name to someone who’d be dead before dawn? It didn’t make sense.
And, more concerningly, the more she looked at Sua, the less appealing the thought of a corpse in her place became. She wanted to see Sua as hers instead. That porcelain skin would go to waste if greyed. Maybe better painted red.
Just because Mizi was sent to kill Sua doesn't mean that she'll listen.