Mia needed a turnabout hero and fast. Both her stomach and shoulder bleeding. Her limp unconscious form cradled in her cousin’s arms. Her wallet slipped from her pocket. The Fey did hold to some old memories. Ones of when they were younger. There had been times were Mia Fey deeply hated her cousin, but others where she missed those days in Kurain. Today just wasn’t Mia’s day. And answers she wanted to why Dahlia became the way she did were all assumed. The truth, she may never hear.
In the meantime, Dahlia simply does nothing but hold Mia in her arms, delighted to watch her bleed out slowly. Should anyone come to the rescue—highly unlikely—Dahlia has two methods of finishing the job: shooting Mia at point-blank range, or slitting her throat with the pearl-inlaid dagger hidden beneath her skirt.
Go to Hell, Mia Fey, and get a taste of your own medicine~
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