Osiris blinked at Isabella like she had just grown three heads.
She was smiling.
Not a normal smile.
Not a nice smile.
A very suspicious, very evil, very mother-of-chaos smile.
He took a small step back.
"Why are you smiling like that," he asked, eyes narrowing. "You look crazy."
She ignored the insult and placed something in his hand.
It was the pathetic, squeaky, ugly pair of scissors she had begrudgingly bought from the system store.
"Here," she said sweetly. "Use this."
Osiris held the scissors between two fingers, staring at it as if it were a worm. "What am I supposed to do with this."
She twirled her finger dramatically at the sea of glowing fabrics. "Cut each and every material you see. Not a single one must be left out."
He froze.
Completely froze.
"Each," he repeated slowly.
"Yes."
"And every one."
"Yes."
"Every single color."
"Yes."
"Every thread."
"Yes."
