A muffled scream ca from under the fabric.
Then Isabella dragged herself back into sitting position, hair wild, face pure chaos.
"FINE. Continue."
Bubu nodded in satisfaction.
Isabella frowned. "But if I don’t force it, how do I MAKE it enter ?"
Glimora blinked.
Bubu blinked.
Isabella paused. "...that sounded wrong."
Bubu sighed dramatically.
Isabella slapped her knee. "I WASN’T STUFFING—"
"YOU DON’T KNOW THAT—"
She choked again.
Glimora wiped tears from laughing.
Bubu pressed on:
Isabella stiffened. "Don’t—DON’T BRING HIM INTO THIS—"
"BU—!"
Isabella looked like she was on the verge of breaking into tears again — ironic, really, given the whole earlier ltdown.
Bubu’s tone beca surprisingly instructional:
Isabella gritted her teeth. "Are you calling STUPID?!"
"YOU ARE CALLING STUPID."
Isabella gasped as if slapped. "I AM NOT DRAMATIC—"
She shut her mouth.
Glimora nodded slowly, patting her leg again like: Yes mama... you did do that.
Bubu continued:
Isabella blinked. "I THOUGHT my ridians already—"
"WITH WHAT?!"
Isabella scread into her hands again.
Then exhaled.
Then inhaled.
She looked up tiredly. "So... what? I need moonlight? I need so spiritual fountain? I need so energy spring?"
She stabbed a finger upward. "THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY THIS FROM THE START?!"
Her entire soul left her body.
Glimora gently placed a blanket over her shoulders like comforting a widow.
Bubu floated closer.
Isabella nodded slowly, face blank with exhaustion. "Okay... okay. I can do that. I just need to... find energy. Fine. Where do I get it? The moon is literally OUTSIDE. Should I just... go? Sit under it?"
BUBU paused.
Isabella blinked.
"...what?"
Then—
Isabella just stood there, finger still pointed at the sky, breath shaking like a kettle about to explode, because she could not believe her damm ears.
Bubu’s last words floated around the tent like a death sentence.
The silence hit first.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
The kind that slapped her ego, her ancestors, and her future children all at once.
Her finger slowly dropped.
Her eye twitched.
Her mouth opened—
—and then she rembered it.
That cursed mory.
Bubu... casually ntioning... MULTIPLE TIS...
"Oh, Host, by the way, there is no moonlight here."
"Oh, Host, this place is spiritually dead."
"Oh, Host, your cultivation will not work here."
The little hints.
The little reminders.
The little "oh by the ways."
All the things she ignored because she was too busy thinking about killing Osiris, kissing Cyrus, and whether her future babies would inherit her eye shape.
Her soul deflated with a sad whistle.
Instead of screaming like usual, Isabella just let out the longest, most defeated exhale known to mankind.
A sigh so deep it echoed like her will to live was packing its luggage.
"...okay," she whispered, voice hollow. "Okay. Fine. Sure. Why not. Great."
She turned around like an old woman at the end of a tragic drama episode and trudged toward her bedding like she had aged forty years in three seconds.
Glimora watched her go, nibbling a berry with the face of soone witnessing a funeral. (She’s always eating sothing)
Isabella dropped onto her sleeping mat like a corpse being laid to rest.
Grabbed her blanket.
Pulled it over her head.
And buried herself so deep under the fabric she looked like she was attempting to tunnel directly into the afterlife.
A muffled, tortured scream ripped into the pillow.
"GGGGGGHHHHHHHHRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH——"
Glimora paused mid-nibble, tiny ears perked like she was listening to a tragic opera.
Bubu hovered there, completely unfazed, as if this was a perfectly normal human response to learning basic cultivation rules, and not the emotional collapse currently vibrating through the tent.
The screaming continued, echoing pitifully against the tent like a wounded spirit whale.
Another muffled shriek.
Then a violent flail under the blanket.
Then stillness.
Complete, eerie, spiritual-plane-level quiet.
Glimora slowly inched closer, tapping the mound of blanket with one tiny paw.
"...pip?"
No answer.
Just the quiet despair of soone reevaluating every decision they had ever made.
Bubu blinked.
Twice.
Then, voice dry and therapist-level unbothered:
With a soft pop, the hologram vanished.
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