The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

When Isabella stepped outside, the sun had already begun to dip, casting warm orange light over the village. The air smelled faintly of herbs, earth, and faint smoke from scattered cooking fires. Glimora was nestled in her arms, her white fluff glowing like something out of a dream, tail flicking lazily with every bounce of Isabella's confident stride.

And there they were—lined up near the central stone ring, the women.

Stone Age beauties? Surprisingly, yes. And judging by the way they strut in—with bare feet, wild hair, and glowing skin—they knew it. Their beauty wasn't polished or delicate. It was raw, sun-kissed, and full of potential. Like wildflowers growing through cracked stone. Maybe they didn't have glamor or jewels, but the way they held themselves? Confident. Unapologetic. Each step screamed, I belong here. And honestly, Isabella had to respect it.

And they were grinning—bright teeth flashing, cheeks flushed with excitement, hands clasped in front of them like they were about to meet a goddess.

Some had tried flowers in their hair. Others had attempted to fashion makeshift accessories out of vines and beads. But the one thing they all had in common?

They smelled amazing.

"hmm?" Isabella muttered under her breath, lips twitching into a smile as she lifted her chin proudly. "So you all have been using that soap I gave you…"

One woman—short, round, missing a front tooth but absolutely glowing—rushed forward like a giggling fangirl. "Lady Isabella!" she greeted breathlessly, stopping just short of grabbing her hand.

Isabella gave her a gracious nod, adjusting Glimora in her arms as the little creature snuggled deeper into her chest.

"Ladies," Isabella said, voice smooth and strong, a queen addressing her loyal court. "Tell me—how's the soap?"

Another woman piped up immediately, her eyes wide like saucers. "I've never felt so clean in my entire life! My mates said I smelled like I rolled in flower clouds!"

"My skin is no longer rough like rock!" said another, patting her cheek with such passion it echoed.

"I bathed twice yesterday," someone else confessed in awe. "My son asked if I was sick from being too clean!"

Laughter spread among the group like wildfire, loud and genuine, and Isabella found herself grinning. Her chest swelled just a bit—not from pride, no, never that (most definitely pride)... but maybe just a little.

"Well, then," she said, dramatically adjusting her posture as if Glimora were a prized handbag. "If you liked the soap—oh, you're going to love what I'm about to share with you next."

Gasps.

Actual gasps.

Someone clutched their chest. Another reached for a friend's arm, shaking her in anticipation.

Isabella raised one hand like she was about to part the heavens. "Today, I bring you a miracle. A revolution for your scalp. A transformation for your life." She leaned in slightly, her voice low and tempting. "It's called… shampoo."

The entire circle blinked.

"…Shampoo?" one woman repeated, frowning.

"Yes, darling. Sham. Poo."

"But what is sham… poo?" someone whispered.

Isabella smirked, gently petting Glimora who was still curled up like a judgmental orb. "It's like soap—but for your hair. Specifically. Only your hair."

One woman squinted suspiciously. "You mean we can't use it for our feet?"

"Definitely not," Isabella replied, tone flat. "That's not just misuse—it's betrayal."

More giggles.

"But if soap can clean body," a tall woman asked, scratching her scalp, "why can't it just clean hair too?"

"Oh no no no," Isabella said, stepping forward dramatically. "I knew one of you would say that."

The crowd quieted.

Isabella turned slightly, lifting her hand like she was about to deliver a prophecy. "Soap is too harsh for your beautiful hair. It strips it. Makes it dry. Like twigs. You know what happens when your hair turns to twigs?"

They all leaned forward.

"It breaks."

A synchronized gasp.

"And if your hair breaks?" Isabella looked around, eyes wide. "You lose your power. You lose your beauty. You lose your shine. Your man stops sniffing your head in bed. Everything falls apart."

Horrified murmurs.

"But fear not," Isabella said sweetly, lifting a small clay bottle into the air with flourish, "for I, Isabella Devereaux, bring you the answer. Shampoo."

They clapped.

Glimora yawned.

"You pour just a bit on your scalp while bathing," Isabella continued, "lather gently, rinse it off—and do not get it in your eyes, nose, or mouth. Don't come crying to me when you accidentally swallow a lather ball."

"Will it taste good?" someone dared to ask.

Isabella deadpanned. "No."

"I'm so excited," another whispered, clutching her hands. "Will it make my hair smell like that purple thing you gave me last week?"

"Better," Isabella promised. "You'll smell like a goddess that just walked out of a moonlit forest."

More dreamy sighs.

"Luca," she called over her shoulder like the boss she was, "hand them the goods."

Luca, who had been standing like a tree near the entrance—probably still recovering from Glimora's earlier betrayal—perked up at his name.

"Yes, Lady Isabella!" he said, springing into action and grabbing the basket of carefully sealed clay bottles. (Don't ask why she is suddenly being called a Lady)

He moved through the crowd like a nervous deer, handing out each one with care as the women squealed like children getting festival sweets.

"Oh my gods, it even feels fancy!"

"I will only use this on festival days!"

"Do you think it will make my husband stop scratching his beard on my head?"

"It better. Or I'll start bathing alone."

Each woman clutched her bottle like it was a sacred relic, whispering to each other in excitement as if they'd just been accepted into some elite, fragrant cult.

Isabella watched it all unfold with a smug little smirk, arms crossed, Glimora now curled lazily around her neck like a scarf with attitude.

Once Luca handed out the last bottle, he turned back to her, slightly sweaty but proud.

"All done, Lady Isabella."

And then, just as the last bottle changed hands—

Isabella clapped once, loudly.

Everyone looked at her.

She smiled.

"Now," she said, voice sweet and suspicious, "I also have something else for you."