CHAPTER 492: CHAPTER 492: I CHOOSE LONELINESS

Dead silence.

Not the dramatic, thunder-in-the-distance kind.

The internal, brain-rotting, soul-clogging kind.

Because Isabella sat there in her tent — arms folded, jaw clenched, entire aura vibrating like a pressure cooker about to explode — and she absolutely, violently refused to admit the truth:

Osiris had ruined her brain.

And not in the fun, "haha I’m giggling and kicking my feet" way.

No.

In the "why the HELL did that oversized phoenix with negative IQ mention tears and make me think of Cyrus at a time like THIS" way.

She lay there on her back, starfish-mode, staring up at the ceiling like it personally betrayed her.

Glimora sat beside her, quietly nibbling a biscuit, watching her human spiral like this was her nightly Netflix show.

Isabella inhaled sharply.

Then exhaled with enough force to propel her soul out of her body.

She rolled to her side.

Then rolled to her back.

Then sat up.

Then fell back.

Then sat up again.

Then lay down.

Then sat up.

Then lay back.

Then kicked her blanket away.

Then dragged it back over herself.

Then shoved it off again because it was "too hot."

Then dragged it back because "no, now I’m cold."

Glimora blinked slowly, munching her biscuit, head tilted like: ...mama what the hell.

Isabella groaned into her pillow dramatically. "I. AM. NOT. THINKING. ABOUT. HIM."

Glimora paused her chewing. "Pip?"

"I’M NOT," she snapped, grabbing her pillow like it was Cyrus’ stupid soft hair she absolutely did not miss touching. "I don’t care if that man is dead! Alive! Crying! Breathing! Bald! Singing! In love! Out of love! I do not care!"

She cared.

She cared so much she could cry.

Which is exactly why Osiris’ dumb mouth needed to be legally sealed shut.

She let out another groan, flipped onto her stomach, banged her feet on the bedding like a toddler, then flipped onto her back again.

"Mama..." Glimora squeaked gently.

"What?!" Isabella snapped — then immediately regretted snapping, melting into guilt. "Sorry, baby, it’s not you. It’s that idiot bird and his idiot observations and his idiotic instincts and his idiotic comment about salt."

She gagged.

Salt.

SALT.

He smelled SALT.

She pressed both hands to her face.

Her dignity was bleeding out somewhere on the forest floor.

She sat up again.

Lay down.

Sat up.

Lay down.

Glimora finally walked over and placed her tiny paw on her arm like she was comforting a distressed celebrity who had just lost an Oscar.

Isabella dragged her hands down her face until her cheeks squished unattractively.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered.

Her brain whispered:

Cyrus would’ve known better than to mention tears.

She froze.

Glimora froze.

The TENT froze.

She looked around sharply like someone had spoken aloud.

"No. Nope. No. Not doing this. I am a strong, independent, emotionally stable, mentally fortified, spiritually fortified, LEGENDARY WOMAN."

She puffed out her chest.

Glimora stared at her chest.

Isabella deflated. "...shut up, I know I’m lying."

She flopped back onto her bedding again.

She shoved her hair off her forehead and stared angrily at the tent ceiling.

Why was she thinking of Cyrus?!

She had cut that man out of her life like stale bread.

She had told the universe, the heavens, and her ancestors:

"I choose loneliness."

"Love is not for me."

"I would rather be a single mother than EVER fall in love again."

She meant that.

She STILL meant that.

Probably.

Maybe.

Ughhh.

She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. "Stupid Cyrus with his stupid smile and stupid gentle energy and stupid arms and stupid—"

She slapped her hand over her own mouth.

"Nope. Not thinking. Brain OFF."

She sat up.

Lay down.

Sat up.

Lay down.

Glimora was now sitting with the blank, traumatized stare of someone who had aged twenty emotionally draining years in ten minutes.

Then Isabella suddenly froze.

Her eyes widened.

Her mouth parted slowly.

"...wait."

Glimora perked up.

"I had my meridian cleansed."

Glimora blinked.

Isabella sat up, posture straightening as if someone had plugged her into electricity.

"I had my meridian cleansed."

She put her hand dramatically on her chest.

"I CAN CULTIVATE."

Glimora dropped her biscuit.

Isabella jumped to her feet so fast she knocked over half the bedding. "OH MY GOD. I AM A GENIUS. I AM SO SMART. WHY DID I NOT THINK OF THIS AN HOUR AGO?"

She stomped over to the middle of the tent, kicking aside pillows like they were obstacles to her destiny.

Glimora stared up at her mama, big-eyed, ears twitching like: You scare me but I support you.

Isabella dramatically sat cross-legged on the floor like a monk preparing for enlightenment, except she did it with the energy of someone who was ready to file a complaint if enlightenment didn’t happen in the next twelve seconds.

She rolled her shoulders back.

Lifted her chin.

Closed her eyes.

Inhaled.

Exhaled.

And waited for the magic to happen.

Nothing happened.

She inhaled deeper.

Exhaled louder.

Still nothing.

Her fingers twitched.

Her foot tapped.

Her eyebrow twitched.

Glimora sat in front of her, staring like a tiny, anxious therapist observing her patient crumble.

Isabella inhaled again and tried to "focus on her inner energy" like those cultivation manuals always said.

Instead, her brain said:

"Did Cyrus ever finish that story he started telling you once? The one about—"

She screamed internally.

NO. SHUT UP. BRAIN OFF. BRAIN MUST BE OFF.

She tried breathing techniques.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Nothing.

She tried to "visualize her inner sea of energy."

Her brain instead visualized punching Osiris in the throat.

She tried to listen for her qi flow.

Her brain instead listened to the phantom echo of Cyrus’ laugh.

She tried to clear her mind.

Her mind said:

"Do you think Cyrus would think you look majestic right now?"

"Or would he say something sweet and soft like—"

"KISS ME—"

She slapped her own cheeks. "STOPPPP!"

Glimora flinched.

Isabella inhaled again and tried to adopt a serene expression.

She looked like she was constipated.

She frowned harder, squeezing her eyes shut.

Nothing.

She adjusted her posture.

Nothing.

She placed her palms on her knees.

Nothing.

She tried picturing her "dantian."

Instead she pictured Cyrus hugging her from behind and whispering "I’m proud of you."

She gagged dramatically. "EW. Get out of my brain."

She shook her head like she was trying to fling thoughts out of her skull.

She inhaled again.

Again nothing.

Minutes passed.

Pure silence.

Glimora stared.

Isabella’s left eye twitched so hard it looked like Morse code.

She opened one eye suspiciously, peeking around as if the qi might be hiding behind a pillow.

Nothing.

She huffed. "Okay, maybe I need to chant."

She straightened her spine.

Placed her hands together.

Muttered softly:

"...enlightenment... power... qi... mystical... energy... sparkles... destiny—"

Glimora tilted her head.

Isabella scowled. "WHAT? I don’t KNOW what they say!"

She inhaled deeply.

"Okay. Focus. I am a powerful cultivator. I am strong. I am wise. I am—"

She suddenly sneezed.

Loudly.

Her concentration shattered like glass.

She screamed into her hands.

"WHY IS THIS NOT WORKING?!"

She threw her arms up, nearly smacking Glimora in the face.

"I have cleansed meridians! I am sitting! I am breathing! I am THINKING POSITIVELY! Well—trying! Why is nothing happening?!"

She flopped backward onto her bedding in theatrical despair.

Glimora cautiously tiptoed closer and poked her forehead.

Isabella groaned, staring at the tent ceiling like it had personally wronged her.

Then, very slowly... she lifted one hand.

"Bubu," she muttered angrily, "why is it not working?"

A soft chime echoed.

A holographic screen flickered into existence above her face, glowing with soft blue light.

Bubu the system materialized with a sparkle.

Blinking.

Staring down at her like a disappointed mother who has been watching her child make poor decisions for twenty minutes straight.

Judgment stare.

Blink.

Blink.

Silence.