“I… I don’t know what you mean.”
When the plate arrives, it’s covered by a silver dome. kira noir ordering off the menu
Kira Noir doesn’t flinch. She just reaches for the unlabeled wine and pours herself a glass — dark as motor oil, smooth as a lie you wish were true. “I… I don’t know what you mean
“I don’t eat what everyone else eats.” kira noir ordering off the menu
Kira slides the menu back across the table without opening it.
She takes one bite.
The waiter approaches — nervous, because everyone’s nervous around Kira. He hands her the leather-bound menu, embossed with a logo too fancy to pronounce.