"Ask him," Meg taunted. Truth was always the easiest weapon against noble people. "Ask him where I live. Ask him the color of my sheets." She winked salaciously. "I bet he won't even have to answer. His adorable little blushes do so give him away." She took another step forward. She was a bit too close to her now. There wasn't enough space to properly dodged, but she didn't want the woman to think she was afraid of her.
"And if you want to talk about who killed you, you're not even looking at the right species," she hissed. "The fact is that we didn't care about you, and you didn't have to die. Dean's the one who got you killed, baby doll. Maybe you should turn those pretty little knives on him."