Amena was a super maid. She always got everything done, no matter the request. Alicarde had asked her for a ten-page essay on such short notice, and she had delivered… yes, delivered him to his grave.
If he had to say, he didn't blame her. How could he? After all, he was the one who told her to use his own tone and keep his personality in mind.
If anything was to blame, it was his shitty personality.
'Why am I the way I am?'
"What are you waiting for? Continue."
Malefica's voice cut through the room like a cold blade against his heart. Staring at the last few paragraphs of his essay, he knew it was over for him. The words written there would no doubt screw him over.
If there was any consolation, it was the fact that they were all indirect and off-hand remarks—truly his way of doing things.
If he didn't know better, he'd think he wrote those words in a moment of mad defiance against the system.