"You know where the name 'Curacao' comes from, right?"
"Yeah. I looked into it afterward."
Like Irish Whiskey, Curacao was actually a place name.
It referred to an island in the southern Caribbean Sea, near the coast of Venezuela. It was a constituent country of the Netherlands. Due to historical reasons, it retained the architectural style left behind by Dutch colonists in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Combined with its white beaches, coral reefs, and azure coastline, the first impression it gave was one of vibrant color.
Naturally, the Curacao liqueur born there was equally colorful.
Yet Sonia herself had a congenital genetic mutation that left her naturally devoid of pigment. From that alone, it was not hard to sense Rum's subtle malice.
"He said white paper was the easiest to dye, and the more colors layered over it, the closer white would become to black. He wanted me to accept my fate and become his Curacao." Curacao repeated what Rum had told her, lowering her eyes. "I knew from the very beginning that what he valued was how easy I was to control, how impossible it was for me to escape his grasp."
Easy to control was putting it mildly.
She had come from an orphanage controlled by the Organization and had no social identity at all. Even without Rum deliberately arranging anything, members of the Organization who had already gained resources could have manipulated and controlled her with ease.
Tangze nodded and pointed toward the Dolphin Show Hall ahead.
It was close to closing time, so it had naturally stopped operating. The final show had ended before seven in the evening. The ticket booth lights had not yet been turned off, but there was no one inside.
Tangze had not brought Curacao here to watch a show. He