The night stretched endlessly around her — quiet, cold, watching. The moon hung high, bathing Isabella in a pale, ghostly light that softened her anger but not the ache behind it. The breeze tugged at her dress, made her hair dance around her shoulders, and somewhere in the trees, a lone owl hooted like it, too, could sense her unrest.
Bubu's screen floated before her, flickering faintly. The little system had been unusually silent since her outburst — no teasing quips, no sarcastic comments, just the faint hum of its energy cutting through the stillness.
Then, softly, it spoke — and for once, it didn't sound like a system at all.
[Isabella,] Bubu began, its tone careful, steady, gentle. [There is a reason I persuaded you that day to accept the necklace.]
Isabella froze, her arms crossing instinctively as if shielding herself from invisible claws. Her jaw tightened. "Don't," she whispered, her voice shaking despite her best effort to steady it. "Don't talk about that."
