The mist rolled before her like a living thing—curling, pulsing, whispering. It wasn't normal fog; it shimmered faintly under the moonlight, rippling like silver silk stretched over something breathing underneath.
Isabella stared at it, arms folded tight, her jaw set like a stubborn child about to throw hands with fate itself.
"Bubu," she said sweetly—too sweetly. Her voice had that dangerous calm that usually came right before she lost it. "You know I love you, right?"
The glowing blue screen beside her dimmed, suspicious. "Host, please don't try to manipulate me."
"Manipulate?" Isabella gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in mock horror. "Never! Never, I would never manipulate you, Bubu. I'm hurt—deeply hurt that you would even think that of me. I'm simply asking if you really think it's wise for your precious, delicate, once-human host—me—to walk into glowing mist that literally looks like death perfume."
Bubu's tone was flat. "Yes."
"…I'm sorry, what?"
