…for her?
Staring at the small bite mark on the red cotton candy, Isis remained in a daze. Her right hand, almost inexplicably, reached out and took it. By the time she fully registered what was happening, the cotton candy was already in front of her.
She hadn’t actually wanted to accept it. Yet, as Beacai extended it, a peculiar thought arose within Isis: refusing the cotton candy would surely sadden Beacai. Her hand then instinctively clasped the stick beneath it.
‘Why should Beacai’s sadness concern her?’ she mused. ‘She was a wicked deity, not some innocent, kind child.’
Isis thought this, yet whenever she saw Beacai’s expectant expression, she couldn’t help but envision adorable children.
After much hesitation, she couldn’t bring herself to discard the cotton candy. Instead, she lifted it and took a small bite.
The cotton candy’s softness and its melt-in-your-mouth quality surprised Isis. A wave of sweetness then surged from her lips, filling her entire mouth, and a faint glimmer passed through her golden eyes.
“Is it sweet?” Beacai asked, clutching her own cotton candy, her voice filled with eager anticipation.
‘It’s certainly sweet, but to admit it in front of a wicked deity…’
Isis was unwilling to do so.
Turning her gaze away from Beacai, she replied, “The taste is… not bad.”
She hadn’t directly answered the question, nor had she denied its sweetness. Isis felt this response was acceptable, but Beacai, in contrast, was overjoyed.
“As long as Mama likes it!”
Isis felt an inexplicable surge of pleasure at these words. Immediately afterward, she clutched her chest, a sense of absurdity washing over her.
‘When did she start feeling pleasure from a wicked deity’s happiness?’ she wondered. ‘And why did she act that way just now? Shouldn’t she have simply thrown away the cotton candy and rejected Beacai?’
‘Why did she feel that accepting it was acceptable? She should despise Beacai!’
‘…Damn it. It must be the wicked aura Beacai left deep within her soul, luring her step by step into the abyss.’
Taking another bite of the cotton candy, Isis savored the way the sugary floss melted in her mouth. “These are only for children,” she declared. “I don’t like them.”
‘She was the Mother Goddess of countless elves, having lived for an untold age since her birth. How could she possibly enjoy something like cotton candy?’
‘She had an image to uphold. Standing before the elves she called her children, not with a scepter symbolizing compassion and divinity, but with colorful cotton candy – what kind of appearance would that be?’
‘It would only shatter her dignity!’
“Who says cotton candy is only for children?” Beacai countered, shaking the treat in her hand. “If you categorize everything like that, life will be awfully tiring.”
As a wicked deity, she lived with unrestrained freedom. Unlike Isis, she had no rules to adhere to; whatever she desired, she pursued, utterly disregarding how her worshipers perceived her.
In fact, the more eccentric her behavior, the more fervently her followers seemed to worship her. Thus, eating cotton candy in front of them was, to her, an utterly trivial matter.
****
The operetta was scheduled for the evening, but along both sides of the merchant street, posters for the performance already hung in abundance. Every few steps, Isis encountered details about the performers.
She hadn’t heard of the Crimson Moon Troupe before, but according to the posters, they were a renowned theatrical group that toured major empires and divine territories. Their audacity was remarkable, even venturing into the domains of wicked deities to perform.
Today, they were to perform the age-old tale of a hero rescuing a maiden. Despite its antiquity, the troupe’s fame ensured that tickets for the opera house quickly sold out.
Near the opera house’s ticket booth on the merchant street, she observed many disheartened pedestrians who had failed to secure tickets. Their visible disappointment, ironically, sparked a degree of anticipation for the troupe’s performance within her.
It was moments like these that made her yearn for the privileges of her former divine status. Mortals had to scramble for tickets to watch a performance, but she, with a single word, could command any troupe to perform tirelessly for her.
Of course, she had never exercised such a prerogative herself. Beacai, the wicked deity, was quite likely to have done so. However, desiring a normal mother-daughter life now, Isis had simply used her identity to purchase two tickets in advance.
Lost in these thoughts, her hand was suddenly taken by Beacai. Turning her head, Isis saw Beacai, whose face had moments ago been alight with joy, now with narrowed eyes and a deeply sullen expression.
Isis’s heart skipped a beat. She initially thought Beacai possessed mind-reading abilities, discerning her inner thoughts and growing displeased after realizing Isis had been silently criticizing her. Yet, in the end, Beacai merely let out a cold huff and spoke:
“Mama,” Beacai growled, “people are staring at you everywhere. If I weren’t afraid of ruining our shopping mood, I’d truly gouge out their eyes, so they could never glimpse you again.”
A thick aura of displeasure and possessiveness swirled around Beacai. Isis subtly glanced at those who were peeking at her, a twitch playing at the corner of her lips.
She knew why they were staring: simply because she was a rare elf in this city, adorned in splendid clothing, and possessed a beautiful face. It was as if they were observing a magnificent, rare species.
To be fair, if other rare races appeared on the street, Isis herself would be unable to resist a second glance. Thus, she felt little aversion towards those who were peeking.
To dissuade Beacai from her thoughts of gouging out eyes, Isis took hold of a corner of her skirt with one hand and waved it twice in front of her. “It’s all because of this dress,” she complained.
“When going out shopping, I should wear something simpler. Otherwise, I become the center of attention everywhere I go.”
‘It’s not convenient for escaping, either.’
Beacai looked down at her dress, blinked, and after a moment’s thought, took Isis’s hand without a word and ran towards a clothing store on the merchant street.
“Then let’s go to the clothing store! They have many clothes that would suit you!”
This time, Isis didn’t refuse Beacai. Instead, she readily accompanied her to the clothing store, prepared to change into a less conspicuous outfit.
Upon reaching the clothing store, Beacai pushed open the main door. A sales assistant, who had been waiting nearby, bowed with a smile. “Welcome! How may I assist you?”
Pushing Isis forward, Beacai addressed the assistant. “I’d like to buy some outfits for Mama. Do you have any recommendations?”
The moment the sales assistant saw Isis, her eyes lit up. She propped her chin on her hands, exclaiming in surprise:
“This elf lady is your mother? She’s so incredibly young! Standing together, you’d surely be mistaken for sisters!”
Isis’s youthful appearance genuinely stunned her; she simply couldn’t discern a mother-daughter relationship.
Isis, for her part, always appreciated compliments on her youth. The sales assistant’s words might have delighted a true mother and daughter, but in this particular situation…
She subtly glanced back at Beacai, observing that her recently brightened expression had, as expected, turned sullen once more.
‘To make Beacai happy, she had to insist they were mother and daughter.’
Still, she couldn’t blame the sales assistant. After all, who could possibly imagine the complexities of their relationship?
To prevent the sales assistant’s eyes from being gouged out, Isis took her by the wrist, gently leading her towards the clothing section while smiling faintly.
“You certainly have a way with words, Miss Sales Assistant,” she chuckled. “Elves generally have very long lifespans, so it’s naturally difficult to tell that we’re mother and daughter. Perhaps you could show me the clothes first?”