The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

"Now that is a very good question," Isabella purred, lips curling as she leaned lazily against the stone wall, arms folding with feline grace. Her eyes sparkled with something sharp, something cold, something that should have made Opehlia shiver. "Where are they being punished, Opehlia?"

She clicked her tongue against her teeth, a sound that echoed faintly like bone on stone. Her gaze cut sideways like a blade.

Glimora, picking up the shift in her mama’s tone, tensed at Isabella’s feet. Her tiny nose twitched like she’d sniffed out tension in the air—then she gave the softest sneeze. The noise broke the silence for a second, but it only made Isabella’s gaze narrow further.

Opehlia blinked and let out a nervous laugh. "Oh please, Isabella. Can we not do this now. It’s such a nice day. The sky is blue, your dress matches your mood—furious but fashionable. Maybe we can just—"

"Where," Isabella repeated, her voice lilting now, dangerously sweet, "are they being punished?"

Opehlia fidgeted. "No," she said quickly, voice rising a bit too fast. "I won’t tell."

Isabella tilted her head. "You won’t tell?" She smiled wider, lips parting just enough to show her teeth. "You’re adorable. I wasn’t asking if you wanted to."

Opehlia gave a nervous giggle and clasped her hands together like a scolded child trying to stay brave. "It’s just that... I think it’s best if we all let this go. You know. Like fallen leaves into the river. Light and unbothered."

"Unbothered?" Isabella echoed, blinking slowly. "That man hit you. In public. Like a sack of grain with legs."

"Yes, but—"

"In front of others. And you think I should just... what? Pat his head and say, ’Better luck next time, darling’?"

"Well..." Opehlia’s hands twisted tighter. "That does sound very civilized."