## Story 1 ![12-1.png](/uploads/12_1_fc58e2c0f4.png) Flickering lamplight. Glossy fingertips. In a corner of the manor, a woman is focused on
decorating her beautiful nails. Her garments are just as impressive and alluring as her
fingers. But unlike the rest of the courtesan's fanciful appearance, her eyes are cold steel.
Behind her, a man peeks around a folding screen. When he spies the woman's red nails, he lets
out a low whistle.

"Surprising how much you look the part," he chuckles.
"You'd never know you were actually a merciless killer."

The woman's only reaction is to blow lightly across her nails.
But he is correct: She is an assassin pledged in loyalty to a great lord. Her courtesan's
dress is a disguise to deceive her latest target. The bemused man has been tasked with leading
her to the object of her work.
She has been ordered to find the commander of an army set in opposition to her lord. The
commander has a well-deserved reputation for both lewdness and depravity. Her task this night
is to end his life by whatever means necessary. The woman and man exchange a few brief words,
confirming the outline of their plan.

In the dark of night, the wheels of a bloody scheme slowly begin to turn... ## Story 2 ![12-2.png](/uploads/12_2_f55b643e86.png) The disguised assassin and her assistant set off to kill the enemy commander. As she had been
asked for directly by a man of such high rank, it is a simple thing for them to leave the
pleasure district. When they arrive at the castle, the guards escort them to a door of
magnificent construction. Once there, they forbid the man from going any further. They then
turn their gazes to the woman, not even attempting to hide their lust.

"Do well," says the man before he vanishes back down the hall. "Do very well indeed."

The woman is brought into an inner room. The commander looks her up and down, a prurient smile
smeared across his face.

"I have been waiting for you," he murmurs.

Before another moment can pass, the guards grab the woman and bind her. Though her freedom of
movement has been stolen, she continues gazing at the commander with a cool, almost bored
expression. His only response is to bellow with laughter.

"My, my!" he cries.
"It seems even the most infamous of demons is nothing but a child once robbed of her mettle."
He wipes a thin line of spit from his mouth before continuing.
"Oh yes, my dear. I know all about your plan. Your little friend was happy to tell all he
knew in exchange for some of my gold."
It's betrayal, then, she thinks. Betrayal for coin.
But this truth is cold comfort, for she is now alone and forsaken in the heart of her enemy's
territory... ## Story 3 ![12-3.png](/uploads/12_3_bd8782af0d.png) The assassin had disguised herself as a courtesan and entered the enemy's base in order to
slay their commander. But the work of a treacherous spy now finds her bound in front of her
would-be target. The commander leers at his assassin with scorn. His face expands into a grin.
"You came here disguised as a courtesan," he says. "Perhaps it's time you served that purpose."

He looks at the guards as he says this, and they respond eagerly.
But then, a faint shadow of surprise moves across his face. There is a slight sound—almost a
whistle—and then an utter, perfect silence. A single hairpin juts out from the commander's
forehead. The man crumples to the ground with a soft thud.

In the same moment, the rope binding the woman's wrists falls to the floor in two neat pieces.
Panicked, the guards draw their swords—but they have been a step behind all along. The woman
allowed herself to be bound in order to lower their defenses and reduce the number of enemies
present. And she made sure her carefully filed nails were sharp enough to sever any rope.

Nothing had been left to chance.

Slowly—so slowly—she raises her hands and extends the fingers. Her polished red nails are the
talons of some great and terrible beast. And when the alarm drum finally sounds and guards
come swarming into the room, all they find is a woman drenched in blood. ## Story 4 ![12-4.png](/uploads/12_4_3eadd1afbf.png) The man who betrayed the assassin had received a great sum of money for his efforts. And the
night now finds him miles from the enemy camp. As he counts his coins, a broad smile crosses
his face.

"Do well," he whispers. "Do very well indeed."

His final words had not been meant for his assassin partner. They were instead meant for her
guards.
But there is no way she could have known, which makes his betrayal all the sweeter.
As he thinks on this, an indescribable feeling of amusement wells up inside of him. Chuckling,
he lifts his hand and prepares to sweep the pile of coins into his purse.

But he is stopped by a sudden, terrible pain.

A familiar blade has pinned his hand to the ground. Standing in front of him is the very woman
he had been laughing about not a moment before. Cold sweat drips into the wound, and the man
cries out.
In a high, nervous voice, he begins to stammer out a pathetic series of apologies.
"M-my daughter is sick!"
"I needed the money for her treatment!"

But the woman simply continues to appraise him coldly. When she speaks, her face looks like a
mask.
"It's not personal," she says. "You're just another target."
"I knew you would betray me from the start."

As she raises her blade, she glances down at the man's skewered hand. The blood pouring from
the wound paints his nails red. Almost as though he had intended for them to look that way.
The woman stares at them for a moment before uttering the last words the spy would ever hear:
"Tsk. Those don't suit you at all."

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