The spoon touched Isabella's tongue.
Warmth spread across her tastebuds.
Then confusion.
Then betrayal.
Then rage.
Her eyes widened so slowly it was almost theatrical.
Osiris froze, still bent in front of her like an obedient servant awaiting praise.
Glimora peeked over the blanket, hopeful.
Isabella swallowed the liquid with the reluctance of a woman who had just realized her mistake in trusting a man.
She blinked once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Then she whispered, voice flat, emotionless, soulless:
"Osiris."
He brightened. "Yes."
"What is this."
"It is soup."
"No. I mean, what is this."
"The food I cooked."
Isabella stared into the bowl at the strange brownish mixture. It was bubbling even though it was no longer on the fire. A leaf inside it was moving. Actually moving. Like it was trying to swim out.
Her voice dropped lower. "Did you poison me."
Osiris' jaw dropped. "What. No."
"Did you kill an animal that was already sick."
"What. No. I hunted it myself."
