Isabella crossed her arms but said nothing. Ophelia wasn't even looking at her anymore—she was staring into the invisible past, completely caught up in the memory of her luxurious bath.
"And then—THEN—I remembered what you told me about bubbles..."
At that, she paused. Her excitement faltered into a sheepish, guilty smile.
Isabella's expression went blank.
"Oh no," she muttered.
"Right," she deadpanned, as the realization hit her like a flying rock. "My fucking fault."
She remembered the night so clearly now—sitting by the fire, explaining soap to Ophelia like she was teaching sacred art. She had gotten so carried away talking about the wonders of foam and lather and how to blow bubbles into shapes—she even demonstrated!
She'd basically handed Ophelia the keys to a bubble amusement park and told her to have fun.
