The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 83: See? You’re already radiating beauty

Ophelia fidgeted, her fingers anxiously twisting the hem of her thin hide dress. She wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling, but it was there—a tiny, gnawing unease sitting at the pit of her stomach.

Her lips pursed, then un-pursed. Her toes curled, then uncurled against the rough fur beneath her. Finally, she did what anyone in her position would do—she stole a glance at Isabella.

Isabella, who had just single-handedly shattered every illusion Ophelia had about her own appearance.

It wasn’t that Isabella had been mean, exactly. No, the words had come out so smooth, so certain, as if she had been listing facts as unshakable as the sun rising.

But now, those words weighed on her.

Was her scalp really... struggling?

Was her skin truly just existing instead of glowing?

And oh heavens, her lips.

A quiet sigh left her as she pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging herself in the dimly lit hut.

She wasn’t pouting—not really—but there was a slight downward tug at her lips, and her brows had drawn together just enough to form a tiny crease.

Glimora, sensing her mood, did the only thing a supportive pet could do.

With her soft, unguligrade foot, she reached out and patted Ophelia’s thigh.

Ophelia blinked at her.

The gesture was meant to be comforting, but coming from Glimora, it somehow made her feel even smaller.

And then, before she could sink further into her pit of self-doubt, Isabella’s voice cut through the silence like a perfectly sharpened blade.

"Alright, what’s wrong?"

Ophelia jumped.

"W-What?!" she stammered, pressing a hand to her chest.

Isabella gave her a look. That look. The one that said, Don’t waste my time. I already know.

"You’re sulking," Isabella stated flatly. "Why?"

Ophelia’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

Sulking? She wasn’t sulking! She was simply... thinking.

Her fingers tightened in the fabric of her dress.

"It’s just..." she started, then hesitated. She squirmed, suddenly feeling incredibly silly for even feeling this way.

But Isabella was staring her down, and Glimora was still patting her, so she had no choice but to continue.

"It’s just that you said a lot of things about my appearance, and now I can’t stop thinking about them..." she admitted quietly, her voice growing smaller with each word.

Isabella blinked. Then, in true Isabella fashion, she sighed.

"Oh, Ophelia," she said, shaking her head as if Ophelia had just completely misunderstood everything.

Ophelia looked up, wide-eyed.

Then, in one smooth motion, Isabella scooted forward, grabbed Ophelia’s face in her hands, and squished her cheeks together.

Ophelia yelped.

"You," Isabella said, dead serious, "are beautiful."

Ophelia’s eyes widened further.

Her lips, now smushed together thanks to Isabella’s firm grip, made a small ’mfh’ sound.

"You’ve always been beautiful," Isabella continued, ignoring Ophelia’s muffled protests. "You just have flaws. And flaws can be fixed."

Ophelia made another noise—this time, she wasn’t sure if it was relief or horror.

Glimora nodded aggressively beside them, as if this was the greatest wisdom she had ever heard.

"But—but—" Ophelia tried to speak, her voice coming out distorted from her squished cheeks.

"No ’buts’!" Isabella huffed, finally releasing her. "Look, you’re like a raw gemstone. Already pretty, but with a little polishing, you’ll be blinding."

Ophelia rubbed her cheeks. "Blinding?"

"Exactly," Isabella said smugly. "People will have to shield their eyes when you walk by."

Glimora patted Ophelia’s arm again, clearly in full agreement.

Ophelia’s lips twitched.

The way Isabella said it—with such confidence, such unwavering certainty—it was impossible not to feel at least a little reassured.

Was she... really that pretty?

Maybe.

But before she could dwell on it, Isabella suddenly grinned.

"Now enough moping," she declared, grabbing Ophelia’s hands. "Come on. Let’s do something fun."

Ophelia blinked. "Like what?"

A wicked glint entered Isabella’s eyes. "I dunno. Maybe we can start training you on how to pose like a goddess."

Ophelia snorted. "Pose like a—"

"First, we work on your stance!" Isabella said, already pulling her up.

And just like that, the mood shifted.

Within minutes, they were playing around, Isabella demonstrating ridiculous poses while Ophelia struggled not to fall over laughing.

Even Glimora got involved, dramatically spinning in place whenever Isabella struck a pose.

"You need to stand like this," Isabella instructed, dramatically flipping her hair. "Chin up, shoulders back. Show them power."

Ophelia tried. She really did.

But the moment she flipped her hair, she ended up hitting herself in the face.

Isabella cackled.

Glimora patted Ophelia’s knee again. (I love Glimora (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠), yeah go follow my insta, cause I know you did not ಠ⁠︵⁠ಠ)

Eventually, after all the laughing, they finally collapsed onto the furs, still giggling.

Their small hut, dimly lit by the glow of Isabella’s orb, felt warm and safe.

Isabella, stretching like a content cat, let out a satisfied sigh. "See? You’re already radiating beauty."

Ophelia, still breathless from laughing, rolled her eyes. "Right, right. I’m blinding, I get it."

"You will be," Isabella murmured sleepily.

Ophelia turned onto her side, watching as Glimora curled up beside them. The tiny creature rested a paw on her arm, like a silent promise of support.

Her worries from earlier still lingered, but they weren’t so heavy anymore.

She closed her eyes, letting the steady sound of Isabella’s breathing lull her into rest.

And just like that, they drifted off to sleep, their tiny world wrapped in quiet comfort.

DUSKSPIRE (The fifth largest beast city)

The man stood among the wounded warriors, his eyes dark with disappointment. The flickering light from the torches carved sharp shadows across his face, making his expression even more terrifying.

The men before him barely dared to breathe. Their shoulders were tense, their bodies rigid with fear. As if the wrong movement, the wrong inhale, would cost them their heads.

And the man before them? He probably would take their heads. He wasn’t the master of this lawless city, but he had been given a task.

And when the master gave an order, there was no such thing as failure. Yet these useless fools couldn’t even capture a single injured snake beastman?

His voice cracked like a whip. "I don’t care if he keeps slaughtering you like livestock. He’s injured, for god’s sake. How hard is it to bring down a wounded beastman?"

Silence. The warriors stood frozen, their lips pressed shut. None dared to meet his gaze.

The man sneered. "Our master needs him for Beast Harvesting. He was the best at it. And now you expect me to go back and tell him you lost him?" His voice rose into a furious snarl. "Should I have your skins flayed as compensation?"

A single fool muttered under his breath, barely audible, "There are other snake beastmen... why die for him?"

The moment the words left his mouth, the air turned to ice.

The man slowly turned his gaze on him. The others instantly recoiled, as if distance alone could save them from what was coming next.

"Take him for Soul Extraction." The words left his lips so casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Two monstrous figures stepped out from the shadows. Giants, their hulking forms wrapped in thick furs, their eyes glinting with something inhuman.

Before the fool could beg, before he could run, they grabbed him.

His knees hit the ground with a painful crack. Fingers clawed at the dirt, legs kicking wildly, trying to find purchase.

A strangled cry ripped from his throat, raw with desperation. "Please—wait! I—I didn’t mean—"

The man barely spared him another glance. Instead, he turned to the others, who now trembled where they stood. His voice dropped, quiet, cold.

"Find him."

Then he turned and walked away, leaving them with nothing but the sound of desperate, fading screams.