The news of her killer’s identity had undoubtedly shaken Sara. Though she had spirited Oliver away from that awful cliff top outside of Nanda Parbat and he was secluded away while he recovered from his resurrection, she knew she had to do something to try and get Thea to realise the monster she was calling father. The thought of the little girl she had once bought all sorts of trinkets for during the holidays and who she’d babysat sometimes being manipulated by Merlyn sickened her to her stomach.
She didn’t blame Thea for what had happened on that rooftop. Even in the few moments before the first arrow had struck, she had known something was terribly wrong, and learning that Malcolm had brainwashed Thea made sense with what her memories had given back to her after finding out from Oliver what had happened. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to live with herself, and Oliver’s sacrifice at Ra’s hands, would be for nothing if she didn’t at least try to get through to his sister.
The new costume she had chosen to go with the new name was much like her old one in appearance. The black leather of her costume and mask now replaced with a deep dark red, the jacket’s shoulders designed like the wings of the tattoo that now sprawled across her back and embossed with an almost feather like pattern. Though not quite as bright a shade of red as Roy’s outfit, the addition of the ginger wig in place of her old blonde one had transformed the Canary into Al-Anka; the Phoenix. Now all Sara had to do was try and convince Thea to at least listen to her.
Finding her had been simple enough. More accurately, all Sara really had to do was wait outside Verdant for long enough, until Thea emerged from the back door to the club for some fresh air.
”Thea Queen,” she said, her voice distorted by her voice changer as she stepped from the shadows, “We need to talk.”
“Sorry, did you say something?”