CHAPTER 68: CRYPTICALLY DEMANDED

Rita froze. "The protagonist? Seriously?" She leaned forward, eyes widening. "Wait—is it a romantic movie or what? And how many protagonists are there?"

Erisia smiled, stirring her rice absently. "No romance. It’s a psychological mystery film. I’m the only protagonist."

Rita’s mouth dropped open again. "You’re kidding." She pushed her bowl aside, half laughing, half incredulous. "Wow, Erisia—you’re so fucking lucky! I’m so happy for you!"

Erisia couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. "Not yet. Remember, there are still auditions left—two more rounds, actually."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Rita said, waving her chopsticks dismissively. "But you will make it. I can already feel it."

She leaned back in her chair with an exaggerated sigh, then added between bites, "So what happened? Did you do the monologue already?"

"I did," Erisia said, resting her elbows lightly on the table. The faint clink of Rita’s chopsticks against her bowl filled the small silence that followed. "I finished recording it this afternoon and sent it to him. He called earlier to give me feedback."

Rita raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "And?"

Erisia let out a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Let’s just say he’s... very eccentric. He complimented me, corrected me, and compared me to tea—all in the same breath."

Rita paused, mid-chew. "Tea?"

"Apparently, I’m like tea without sugar," Erisia said, deadpan. "Good, clean, strong—but I should ’let it steep longer.’"

Rita burst out laughing, nearly choking on her food. "Oh my God, he actually said that?"

Erisia chuckled. "Exactly."

Rita blinked, then started laughing. "Oh my God, you’re officially dealing with an artist. I can’t believe you’re gonna be directed by a man who thinks emotions are beverages."

Erisia rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin. "You’d be surprised. I think he’s brilliant. A little weird, but brilliant."

Rita laughed again, shaking her head as she went back to eating. "You’re in deep now, babe. Next thing you know, he’ll be asking you to ’breathe in metaphor.’"

After dinner, they both drifted to the living room, each with their phones in hand. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. It was one of those comfortable silences that only came with routine — until Erisia suddenly froze mid-scroll.

"Hey, Rita," she said, lowering her phone a little. "Remember I told you that Seliora wanted me to visit in a few days? Well, she called this afternoon and said I should come to the hospital tomorrow."

Her voice was calm, but a trace of nervousness slipped through.

Rita immediately sat up, eyes wide. "What? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?"

"I forgot. I was—"

"Forget it," Rita cut in, already swinging her legs off the couch. "Have you picked an outfit to wear?"

Erisia blinked, her expression blanking for a moment as realization hit. "Uh... no?"

Rita’s lips curved into a slow, mischievous smile before she sprang to her feet. "Well, that just means I’ll have to help. Come on, come on, come on."

Erisia barely had time to protest before Rita was marching straight toward her room. She pushed the door open and went directly for the wardrobe like a woman on a mission.

"You have no idea how much I’ve been dying to see those clothes from the boutique again," Rita said, pulling the wardrobe open with dramatic flair. "They’re high-quality — too high to wear casually — so there was never an excuse. But now? Visiting Seliora and her son, Kealith Asheborne? Perfect occasion."

She started sorting through hangers, her voice rising with enthusiasm. "Besides, dressing you up is basically the same as seeing it on myself."

Erisia sighed but couldn’t hide her smile. "Somehow, I knew you were going to say that."

Rita grinned, holding up a cream blouse against the light.

Erisia sat on the edge of the bed, arms folded loosely. "It’s for a formal occasion."

"Okay, no formal," Rita said, already tossing the blouse aside. "What about semi-formal?"

Erisia wrinkled her nose. "No. It should be something chic, trendy, and slightly casual."

Rita turned, eyebrows raised. "Chic, trendy, and slightly casual? You’re asking for a paradox, babe. What’s next—’classy but approachable’? ’Rich but not intimidating’?"

"Exactly," Erisia said with a perfectly straight face.

Rita groaned dramatically, muttering something about impossible fashion standards as she dove back into the wardrobe. "You want to look extra good, don’t you? This isn’t about visiting a friend; this is about making someone’s jaw drop."

Erisia’s lips twitched. "Maybe."

That was all the encouragement Rita needed. In seconds, clothes started flying — hangers clicking, fabric swishing, and the soft thuds of shoes hitting the floor. She pulled out one top after another, holding each up to Erisia.

"This one?"

"Too short."

"This?"

"Too stiff."

"Then this?"

"Too bright."

Rita threw her hands up. "You’re killing me!"

"I’m being realistic," Erisia countered calmly. "You’d want me to look put-together, not like I tried too hard."

They spent the next twenty minutes knee-deep in a battlefield of blouses, skirts, jeans, and dresses. Every item sparked a debate — the height of a heel, the shade of a jacket, whether beige was too safe or maroon too bold.

"Chic doesn’t mean boring!" Rita argued, holding up a deep green wrap top.

"And trendy doesn’t mean sparkly!" Erisia shot back, plucking a sequined cardigan from Rita’s hand and tossing it aside.

Rita gasped. "I’m fucking dead tired."

Erisia laughed, shaking her head. "You’ll survive."

At some point, Rita froze mid-rummage, her eyes lighting up like she’d just discovered gold. "Wait—what about this?" She held up an oversized gray sweater and a short gray pleated skirt. "Pair it with your black sheer tights, those knee-high boots you never wear, and the small black shoulder bag. Monochrome magic. Balanced. Effortless. Chic-trendy-casual, as you so cryptically demanded."

Erisia tilted her head, examining the combination. The soft sweater balanced perfectly with the structured skirt, the tights adding a sleek finish. "Hmm... maybe."

Rita arched her brow. "Maybe? Babe, this outfit embodies your paradox."

Erisia smiled faintly, fingers brushing the sweater’s soft fabric. "Alright, alright. I’ll try it."

Rita grinned triumphantly, hands on her hips. "Knew I’d win eventually."

Erisia rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "You didn’t win. We compromised."

"Sure, sure," Rita said, waving a dismissive hand. "Call it whatever makes you feel better."

The two burst into laughter, surrounded by heaps of discarded clothes.