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seven inglourious basterds
🦇💋
THE THING IS — HELL FUCKS WITH YOU.
Isabelle doesn't know what she expected, when she took her evil dad's hand and stood up, but it definitely wasn't this. The thing with hell, she's learnt in her five minutes being there (she's super observant on like, the vibes of places) is that it fucks with you. Five minutes ago Isabelle looked around, at the medieval, chargrilled castle walls, and thought, gross, but the more she's walked through the corridors, lukewarm from the, like, hellfire burning outside of them, she feels herself liking it. And that's what she means. This place draws you in. But Isabelle guesses this is how you can tell that her dad rules this place, because she clocked it. She knows what it's trying to do. No illusion can blind Izzy's eyes... Or at least she thinks?
But it fucks with you. And she keeps on reminding herself this, as her evil dad shows her her room (a medieval-style bedroom, four poster bed and everything) and looks across at her, waiting for her to feel amazed.
"What do you think?" he asks.
"Uh," says Isabelle, her voice going super high-pitched. She can't tell him, can she, that she thinks it's a little boring? What if there are fiery pits and she's being spared because of him? Isabelle's gotta be smart about this.
So she says: "It's all right."
But, it's all right translates to it's underwhelming, because apparently you can't lie to this old bat. Isabelle eyes widen, but then the devil laughs. It echoes through the room, and she swears the four-poster bed shakes a little. Izzy's never watched Game of Thrones (she likes her TV how she likes her life — filled with fashion and in the Upper East Side) but like, is this what it's like? Because it's kinda gross, actually.
