Isabella blinked her wide, teary eyes, struggling to stand still. Her vision was slightly blurry, and her chest ached. She didn't fully understand what white lotus meant, but she could feel the hatred behind it. The room felt too loud, too bright. She rubbed her hands together, as if trying to erase the trembling from her fingers.
"I didn't… I didn't even do anything," she whispered so softly that only those closest heard. Her voice broke at the end, like a tired child who didn't know why she was being punished.
Alan's face tightened. "Exactly. She didn't do anything. You're all acting like she stole something from you—when all she did was walk into the room."
"She's faking it," the girl in red snorted, arms folded. "All that innocent blinking and silence—it's a mask."
Isabella looked down, hurt stabbing her chest. Her throat burned again, not from tears but from that drink. "I didn't even want to drink… I thought it was just water," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
