The silence stretched.
Uncomfortable. Heavy. Stupid.
Osiris still refused to look at her. Isabella stared at him like she was trying to set him on fire with pure rage. Glimora continued her very disrespectful loud munching, completely unaware of the emotional battlefield forming above her fluffy head.
Isabella inhaled sharply. "So. Who is ugly."
Osiris shifted.
Not toward her. No. That would make sense. Instead he shifted one inch to the left, as if that microscopic movent would distract her. It did not.
"I said," she pushed through clenched teeth, "who is ugly."
Osiris lifted his chin. "The air here is very dry."
Isabella blinked. "What."
"The air. Very dry. My phoenix skin is suffering."
She stared at him with disbelief. "Are you. Are you serious."
"Yes. The humidity is extrely low. This is a problem. A tragic one."
"Osiris."
"And the rock texture here is strange. Very bumpy. Not smooth. Not good for sleeping."
"Osiris."
He nodded thoughtfully like he was a scholar giving a lecture. "The temperature has also changed. It is hotter. Definitely hotter. Very uncomfortable."
Isabella threw a fruit at his head.
He dodged with his usual annoying grace.
Glimora gasped at the flying snack, then imdiately dove to retrieve it, stuffing it into her cheeks like a starved squirrel.
"Why," Isabella growled, "are you talking about the weather."
Osiris sat taller. "Because the weather is important."
"It is not important."
"It is extrely important."
"Osiris."
"Yes."
"Who is ugly."
He cleared his throat. "As I was saying. The temperature. The bumpy stones. My delicate phoenix skin. These are all critical matters."
She glared daggers. "You are critical in the head."
Osiris ignored that. Completely. With unnecessary expertise.
He flicked an imaginary speck of dust off his knee. "Also. I believe these dried fruits are low quality."
Isabella’s jaw dropped. "Excuse ."
"They look cheap."
"Cheap."
"Yes."
"These fruits saved you from starving."
"I am grateful."
"You are not grateful."
"I am grateful in my spirit."
"No you are not."
Osiris nodded firmly. "I am."
She sighed so hard the entire cavern shifted slightly. "Osiris. I swear on my unborn children. If you do not answer . I will scream."
"That is dangerous. Screaming attracts demons."
"Osiris."
"Yes."
"Who. Is. Ugly."
He exhaled like she was exhausting him instead of the other way around. "There are many ugly things in life. Many."
"That is not what I asked."
"For example. The creatures outside. They are ugly."
"Osiris."
"The fungi on that rock. Very ugly."
"Osiris."
"Your shoes."
"My what."
"Your shoes are ugly."
Isabella stared down.
Her shoes were beautiful.
How dare he.
"How dare you," she demanded.
"They are ugly," he insisted calmly. "One is dirtier than the other. They do not match."
"Because I have been walking for hours," she snapped. "I did not exactly pack a fashion wardrobe before starting this miserable journey."
Osiris shrugged. "Still ugly."
Isabella pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am two seconds from slapping you."
"You cannot slap . I am injured."
"You insulted my shoes."
"I insult everything. I am consistent."
Isabella threw another fruit at him.
He caught this one mid air.
He did not eat it.
He inspected it like a suspicious artifact.
"This fruit is too small," he said.
She almost got up and fought him.
"Osiris," she said very slowly, "if you do not say the words I want to hear. I swear I will leave you in this cave and let the creatures eat you."
"They cannot eat . I taste bad."
"Good. I hope you taste terrible."
"I do taste terrible."
She closed her eyes. "Osiris."
"Yes."
"Who. Is. Ugly."
He rolled the fruit in his palm. He tilted his head. He humd thoughtfully like he was deciding the aning of life.
"Do you want fruit or not," she snapped.
He paused.
His pride flinched.
"I want fruit," he finally admitted in a tiny voice.
"Then answer the question."
He cleared his throat. Loudly. Dramatically. Like he was preparing a speech for an entire kingdom.
"Before I answer," he said, lifting a finger, "I must explain sothing about phoenix pride."
"No you do not."
"Yes I do. It is part of our culture. Our soul. Our history. Our majestic nature."
Glimora groaned around a mouthful of fruit.
Isabella pressed her palms together. She whispered sothing to the gods. Possibly a plea for strength. Possibly a curse.
"Osiris," she muttered, "why are you giving a cultural presentation right now."
"Because. You must understand. Phoenixes do not simply say things."
"You literally called ugly thirty minutes ago."
"That was different."
"How."
"It was heat of the mont."
"It was stupidity of the mont."
Osiris frowned. "Do not insult my stupidity."
"Osiris."
"Yes."
"Who is ugly."
He ignored her again. Smoothly. Boldly. Like he had trained for this.
He lifted the fruit she gave him and squinted at it. "This fruit is uneven."
"Osiris."
"It has a dent."
"Osiris."
"It is too dry."
"Osiris."
"It looks like a sad raisin."
She snatched it back from his hand and shoved a new one into his palm. "Eat it. And talk."
He looked offended. Deeply. Like she had insulted his ancestors.
"I will not be rushed," he said.
"You will be punched."
He finally bit the fruit.
Isabella relaxed a tiny bit.
Big mistake.
He started talking again.
"When phoenixes are hungry," he said with pure arrogance, "our intelligence decreases by at least ten percent."
"Yours decreases by fifty percent."
"Incorrect. It decreases by ten percent. Which is scientifically proven by the ancient scrolls."
"You cannot read ancient scrolls."
"Yes I can."
"No you cannot."
"Yes I can."
She narrowed her eyes. "What do they say."
He opened his mouth.
Paused.
Closed his mouth.
"They say," he began confidently, "many things."
She stared at him.
He stared back.
She raised her brow slowly.
He caved instantly.
"They say nothing. I cannot read them."
She sighed again. "Osiris."
"Yes."
"Who is ugly."
He scratched his head. "Many things are ugly."
"Which one."
"The demon outside. The wall moss. The rock texture. Your shoes."
"Osiris."
"Yes."
"The correct answer."
He exhaled like this was the hardest mont of his entire immortal life.
"It is difficult."
"No it is not."
"It is."
"You called ugly."
"I was emotional."
"You were stupid."
"I was both."
She pointed at the fruit in his hand. "If you want more. You know the answer."
His entire soul twitched.
Phoenix pride. Phoenix ego. Phoenix stubbornness.
He swallowed painfully.
Isabella waited with a murderous stare.
Glimora paused her chewing and stared too, but adorably.
Osiris looked between the two of them.
Back to the wall.
Back to the floor.
Back to the fruit.
Back to Isabella’s glare.
He inhaled deeply.
Very deeply.
So deeply it sounded like a death ritual.
Then in a voice so low it almost vanished:
"I am the ugly one."
Isabella blinked.
Osiris stared at the ground like the world had ended.
She blinked again.
He clenched his jaw, refusing to look up, refusing to breathe too loudly, refusing to exist too proudly after what he had just confessed.
She opened her mouth.
He winced.
User Comments
0 comments from readers