"You make me seem like I'm a bad person, Opehlia. Like I'm just too much and I don't have a good reason for being this way. It hurts."
Isabella's voice wasn't loud—not yet—but the weight behind it hung thick in the air like smoke from a damp fire. Her arms were folded, but not in that usual lazy, flippant way she held herself. No, this was different. Her spine was straight. Chin tilted just so. Eyes locked on Opehlia with a look that was all storm and no rain—yet.
Opehlia stepped back, her hands wringing together like they were praying for an escape. "Let's not do this now," she said quickly. "It's such a nice day."
Isabella scoffed, flipping her braid over her shoulder. "A nice day? A man beat you in public, and you want to talk about the damn weather?"
Glimora, who had been curled near Isabella's feet, let out a confused little huff, her ears twitching. She stood and walked over to Isabella's side, leaning against her leg as if sensing the mood brewing.
