"Girl, you'll have to wait so I can find out," Isabella said, straight-up and with zero filter. Her tone was laced with her usual sass, but this time she tried—really really tried—to sound nice. Gentle, even.
Ophelia blinked up at her, those big watery eyes wobbling like she was one emotional breeze away from full-on sobbing.
"So… you're saying you can't save her?" Ophelia asked. Her lips were quivering now—violently. Her voice cracked mid-word, and Isabella felt her stomach twist.
Oh no.
Isabella's sassy attitude faltered for a moment as she stared at the pitiful girl in front of her. "I'm not God, alright? Don't look at me like I can save her and I'm just… choosing not to." Her voice pitched defensively, arms folded over her chest, trying to act like it didn't sting.
But it did.
Because the way Ophelia looked at her right now made her feel like she was holding the key to heaven and choosing to keep it in her back pocket.
