The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 648: A Witch’s House

The room was dim even during the day.

The window had been covered with thick cloth to block out the light. Bowls of medicine sat on a low table, some half-empty, some untouched.

The smell inside was horrible, bitter herbs mixed with old blood, spoiled ointments, and something else underneath it all. Something foul and rotten that no incense could fully hide.

That smell belonged to Zara now.

A few months ago, she had still been proud.

She had still been beautiful.

She had still believed that Kian would eventually turn back and choose her, because what female in the world could compare to her once she put her mind to it?

Now she sat hunched on a low bed, fingers clutching the fur blanket so tightly the knuckles showed white through sickly skin.

Her face was hidden under a veil, but the veil could not hide everything.

The skin beneath it had not healed properly after the backlash from the black magic. Some parts had warped, some darkened, some sunken in. Her neck had faint lines crawling down it like something black had once traveled through her veins and left a memory behind.

The rest of her body was no better.

Her insides ached all the time. Sometimes the pain came like knives. Sometimes it came like fire. Sometimes it came like a slow, heavy pressure that made her curl up and grit her teeth until tears soaked her pillow.

And her womb...

That part was ruined.

She knew it.

The healers knew it.

Her uncle knew it, though he avoided looking at her too long now.

A female in the Beast World who could not bear children, who had lost her beauty, and who carried the stench of dark power around her, was like a broken clay pot. Not entirely useless, but never truly wanted again.

That truth had nearly driven Zara mad.

When the news spread that day, she had been sitting in silence, half-listening to the servant outside whispering with another maid.

They thought she could not hear.

That was foolish.

Pain had made her many things, but it had not made her deaf.

"The Lion Tribe did not collapse after all."

"I heard their village is even stronger now."

"They say the female there is like a goddess. She is pregnant too. The whole place follows her."

"And that village chief, the lion king, protects her openly..."

The servant’s voice went lower, but Zara had already heard enough.

For a moment, the whole room felt like it tilted.

Then she laughed.

The sound was soft at first.

Then it turned ugly.

Then it turned painful, because laughing hurt her chest and stomach now, but she could not stop.

Why?

Why did she get to hide in darkness while Isabella got light, praise, protection, and fame?

Why did she become this while that woman became more and more radiant?

Why did Kian reject her, then go on breathing under the same sky as another female?

Zara’s laugh broke apart. Her fingers dug into the blanket harder.

The curse inside her, the one the demon had left behind to keep her alive, stirred faintly. Hatred fed it. The more she thought of Isabella, the more alive that darkness became.

She remembered everything.

The black magic. The desperate rituals. The way she had tried to force fate to bend.

And the punishment that followed.

The backlash had nearly killed her. Her organs had been damaged. Her blood had turned unstable. Her womb had withered under the curse like a flower thrown into fire.

She would never carry children.

Never.

That truth had torn the last soft part out of her.

Her uncle, terrified of losing her entirely and perhaps more terrified of losing family face, had done everything he could. He pulled strings, bribed people, threatened healers, and when ordinary methods failed, he had gone lower.

Much lower.

He had found something in the dark.

Not a proper healer.

Not a priest.

A demon, The one who had given her access to dark magic.

But that thing had not restored Zara. It had only kept her from dying.

At a price.

A shortened lifespan.

A cursed body.

A hatred-fed sickness that would gnaw at her every time she obsessed over what she had lost.

In short, she had been kept alive, but not returned.

She had become something in between.

When the servant outside finally went silent, Zara slowly lowered the veil from her face and looked into the bronze mirror on the side table.

The sight that looked back at her made her stomach twist, even though she had seen it a hundred times already.

She had become too ugly in the way that made people glance once and then glance away because they did not want to think about what had happened to create a face like that.

Her lips trembled.

Then her eyes hardened.

That night, she left and she did not tell her uncle. She did not even leave a message.

She took what little strength she had, wrapped herself in a dark cloak, and slipped out under the cover of cold wind and darkness.

Her uncle had taken care of her all this time, yes.

But care was not enough.

Care did not give her back her face.

Care did not give her back Kian.

Care did not make Isabella disappear.

Zara walked slowly at first, every step sending a dull ache through her body. The night air bit her skin, and the curse inside her shifted restlessly, but she kept going. Her thoughts held only one image.

Kian.

His face. His eyes. The way he had once looked past her. The way he looked at Isabella now, according to rumor.

She wanted that look.

She wanted it so badly it had eaten everything else inside her.

By the time dawn hinted at the edge of the sky, Zara had already wandered far from the city roads. Trees rose around her, black and silent, and the path turned narrow and lonely.

Then she saw it.

A small house standing alone in the woods.

It looked wrong immediately.

The roof had bundles of dried herbs hanging beneath it. Strange bones and little carved charms swayed at the doorway. The windows were dark, but something about the place felt watchful. The kind of place ordinary people would pass quickly without looking too long.

A witch’s house.

Zara stopped.

Then slowly, through cracked lips, she smiled.