Truth be told, Blue is insulted. How obvious; how unsubtle. Red said not to read her next letter—and here it is, announcing itself as poison as a test of Blue’s interest, of Red’s success. If Blue eats it, she’ll die—but if Blue doesn’t, then Red’s side will know she’s been tipped off, will suspect Red, will destroy her instead. Her heart should have been broken by better. Her betrayal should have had sharper teeth. All that—all that. And now this. Still, she strokes its leaves. Still, she bends to sniff the stems: a blend of cinnamon and rot. She was always going to eat it down to the root.
