The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 507: You’ve got sharp teeth, little one

Chapter 507: Chapter 507: You’ve got sharp teeth, little one

Isabella knelt before the glowing bowl like a woman about to perform the world’s most glamorous, high-stakes hand bath. The mist swirling off the dew curled around her wrists, cool and gentle, almost inviting.

Glimora shuffled beside her, tiny paws tapping the ground anxiously. The little beast leaned close, sniffed the shimmering liquid, then immediately shook her head and pressed her face into Isabella’s arm like, mama don’t fall inside.

Isabella adjusted her posture, rolled her shoulders back, and took a steady breath.

"Alright," she muttered. "Let’s do this."

She extended her hands slowly.

Deliberately.

Dramatically.

Like some heroine performing a ritual in an ancient temple—except the temple was a creepy mountaintop and the ceremony was sponsored by frustration, sarcasm, and unpaid emotional labor.

As her fingers dipped into the dew, she sucked in a sharp breath.

It was cold.

Magically cold.

Like touching liquid moonlight.

Tiny sparks ran up her fingertips, prickling along her palms, weaving through her veins like the softest lightning. The sensation wasn’t painful—just strange. Strange enough that she almost yanked her hands out, but pride rooted her firmly in place.

Behind her, Osiris watched silently.

Arms crossed.

Expression unreadable.

He pretended not to be interested, but the slight tilt of his head betrayed him. His gaze lingered on her hands, her face, the soft tremble of her eyelashes as the dew’s magic crawled up her arms.

He didn’t look away.

Not once.

The wind spirit hovered at Isabella’s shoulder, tapping its foot impatiently in the air.

"I’m going to stay here," it declared, "until you give me my nuts. You promised."

"Oh," Isabella muttered, eyes still on the shimmering bowl, "so now you want to stay?"

"I’ve ALWAYS wanted to stay—"

"You left me to die in a cave."

"That was one time."

"Don’t talk to me."

The wind spirit gasped, clutching its chest. "ABANDONED. By my own master. In this freezing place!"

"You’re not freezing."

"You don’t know my struggles."

"You’re literally made of wind."

The wind spirit huffed and floated dramatically beside her like a pouty cloud.

Glimora reached up and poked its face.

"Pip?"

"Not now," the spirit grumbled.

Glimora poked again.

The spirit flicked her forehead gently. "Not. Now."

Glimora puffed up in outrage and hugged Isabella’s arm harder, glaring at the spirit like she’d been personally insulted by the gods.

Isabella sighed, staring into the dew as the cold slowly warmed around her hands. Trails of glowing mist clung to her skin, wrapping her wrists like soft bracelets.

It’s working, she thought. Thank heaven.

The magic hummed faintly, a soft vibration that traveled from the bowl into her blood. It tingled pleasantly now, no longer shocking, just soothing—like the mountain itself was welcoming her, accepting her purpose.

Osiris stepped closer, crouching down beside her.

"What does it feel like?" he asked.

"Like sticking my hands in a magical snowstorm," Isabella said calmly. "With a chance of emotional breakdown."

Osiris blinked. "That... sounds painful."

"It is."

"Then why do it?"

She shot him a look. "Do you think I have a choice? We’re here for the root, genius."

He frowned slightly at her tone, but didn’t argue. Instead he lowered himself beside her, arms resting on his knees, his presence warm against the cold air.

For one quiet moment, they sat side by side.

Not talking.

Not fighting.

Not threatening to push each other off the mountain.

Just sitting.

Isabella hated that it actually felt peaceful.

Osiris noticed the way her shoulders dipped, just slightly, and his eyes softened in a way she absolutely did NOT appreciate.

She glared at him immediately. "Don’t look at me like that."

"I wasn’t looking at you."

"You WERE."

"I was looking at the bowl."

"You’re a bad liar."

Osiris exhaled sharply through his nose. "You are impossible."

"You’re infuriating."

"Always blaming me."

"Always deserving it."

Osiris glared but said nothing else.

Glimora climbed into Isabella’s lap and plopped down like a soft little guard dog, her wide eyes watching Isabella’s hands carefully, as if making sure nothing tried to eat them.

The wind spirit hovered above the bowl, peering into the shimmering liquid. "Wow... that’s a lot of dew. If you fall in, can I have your belongings?"

"NO," Isabella growled.

"Just checking."

"Go away."

"No."

"Oh my god."

Minutes passed.

Long minutes.

Painfully slow minutes.

The cold seeped deeper.

Magic crawled up her skin.

Isabella clenched her jaw and forced herself to breathe through the sensation. Every now and then her fingers twitched involuntarily. A ripple of light would shoot across the bowl, glowing brighter before fading again.

Osiris noticed every twitch.

Every ripple.

Every breath she hitched.

And with every passing second, his brows furrowed deeper—not from worry, he would never SAY that, but from something close to it.

"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly.

Isabella hesitated.

"Only when it’s cold... and hot... and when it stings," she muttered.

Osiris blinked. "So... always."

"Yes."

"Then pull your hands out."

"I can’t."

"You’ll get frostbite."

"It’s magic. It doesn’t do frostbite."

"You don’t know that."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don’t."

She shot him a look. "Osiris, if you don’t shut up, I will push you into the beast’s skull."

He closed his mouth.

But his ears turned red.

The wind spirit floated down and poked her cheek. "You should ask for a break."

"I’m not stopping."

"You’re stubborn."

"Yes, thank you."

"You’re also dramatic."

"I will drown you in the dew."

The wind spirit gasped and flew behind Osiris for protection. "SHE’S THREATENING ME AGAIN!"

Osiris sighed. "She threatens everyone. It’s fine."

Glimora nodded. "Pip-pip."

Finally—after what felt like an eternity—the sharp cold eased. The sting faded. The magic settled slowly into her bones. Isabella inhaled deeply, closing her eyes as a gentle warmth replaced the earlier discomfort.

It was working.

Really working.

Her hands felt different now—warm, buzzing, almost alive. Like threads of power were weaving through them.

She flexed her fingers slightly. The mist moved with her, like soft ribbons trailing her movements.

"...it’s ready," she whispered.

Osiris leaned forward a bit. "Your hands?"

She nodded. "I think so."

He didn’t say anything else, but the look in his eyes said everything he wouldn’t voice.

Pride.

Relief.

And something else she chose to ignore.

She slowly lifted her hands from the bowl.

The dew clung to her skin like molten starlight, sliding down her arms before dissolving into the air.

Her hands shimmered faintly.

Glimora’s eyes went wide and sparkly. She gently pawed at Isabella’s sleeve, looking amazed. "Pip..."

The wind spirit hovered closer, eyebrows raised. "Ooooh. You’re glowing."

"I’m glowing because of the dew," Isabella snapped.

"I know. But still. Pretty."

Isabella froze.

Then glared.

"Shut up."

Osiris made a soft sound—something between a snort and a laugh—but immediately pretended he hadn’t.

She ignored him.

She stood slowly, shaking out her arms.

The cold wind brushed against her soaked skin, sending a sharp chill through her body. But she didn’t shiver. The magic settled under her skin like warmth stitched into her blood.

She inhaled deeply.

Then turned toward the massive skeleton towering over them.

The beast’s ribs arched like the bones of a fallen god. Its jaw lay cracked open in silence. And spiraling along the spine—

The Ashvine Root.

Thick.

Dark purple.

Silver veins pulsing with ancient energy like a living heartbeat.

Isabella walked toward it.

Glimora followed immediately.

Osiris fell into step behind them, quiet but watchful.

The wind spirit hovered nearby, still determined not to leave without its nuts. "I’m still here, by the way," it said. "In case anyone forgot."

"No one forgot," Isabella muttered.

"I’ll stay until she gives me my nuts," it declared proudly.

"So now you really want to stay?" Isabella said dryly.

"Yes. Like I said I am loyal."

"You’re annoying."

"Thank you."

She sighed.

Osiris murmured, "You attract strange things."

"Say one more word and I’ll bury you."

He smirked.

But didn’t reply.

Finally, they arrived at the base of the colossal spine.

Isabella stood before the Ashvine Root.

Her hands glowed faintly at her sides.

The wind surged lightly across the peak.

Glimora stepped forward, nudging her ankle encouragingly.

Isabella inhaled.

Rolled her shoulders.

Cracked her knuckles.

And narrowed her eyes.

"...time to dig."