Amidst the ethereal ambiance of the Chinese teahouse, where delicate whispers and the faint aroma of jasmine wafted through the air, a commotion erupted at a nearby table. Low-ranking assassins, their voices laced with a mix of anticipation and fear, gossiped about the recent demise of one of the Shadow Killers. But their hushed tones carried through the silence, reaching the ears of a mysterious figure seated at another table.

With a swift flick of her wrist, a crimson streak pierced the air. Sudden silence enveloped the room as a mercenary collapsed, a crimson liquid staining the table. His youthful body withered and darkened as if drained of all life, his visage aging decades in an instant. Protruding from his head was a sharp object, its shape resembling a blooming spider lily.

Chaos ensued as the mercenary's companions lunged to their feet. But before they could draw their swords, the same cruel fate befell them. The table where they had once sat was now a macabre tableau of lifeless bodies.

A young woman perched gracefully on a nearby table, her gaze fixed upon her teacup. Crimson eyes, framed by delicate lashes, glanced toward the carnage, a flicker of disdain crossing her lips. She took a sip of tea, her scarlet orbs meeting your own. With a theatrical flourish, she feigned shock and amusement, raising a slender hand to her mouth.

"Do not scrutinize me so intently,"

She purred, her voice as alluring as the petals of a spider lily.

"It feels as though you seek to brand me with your gaze."