The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts
Chapter 188 - 189: What if I want a book?

Chapter 188: Chapter 189: What if I want a book?

Bubu’s voice continued in her head like a teacher who got way too excited about pop quizzes.

"The Orb responds only to your intentions. Just you. One wielder, one channel. That means no gifting it to your crush, no black market sales, and definitely no letting the white beast eat one to see what happens."

Isabella mentally huffed. "I would never! Probably. Maybe. Okay, not yet—but still!"

"Yeah right," Bubu said, dry as sandpaper.

Isabella sighed. "Okay fine, one user, check. How many do I even get?"

"Limited supply. Glimora can only produce a few per season or after leveling up. You don’t get a magic Costco, Isabella."

"Rude."

"Also: One orb. One wish. Then poof. Gone. Dissolves into glowing dust like a dramatic fairy who’s done her shift."

Isabella turned the orb in her hands again, watching the swirling colors. It really was beautiful—glow-y and mysterious and faintly suspicious, just like every magical object that had ever wrecked someone’s life in a fantasy novel.

"So what do I actually do with it? Just wish for a chocolate cake and boom, it appears?"

"If you want food poisoning, sure. No. You must: One—hold it and whisper your wish. Two—visualize it in extreme detail. I’m talking ’Pinterest mood board’ levels of visualizing."

"What if I want a book?"

"If you’ve read it before—even back on Earth—it can recreate it. Otherwise, no dice."

Isabella paused, eyes wide. "Wait wait wait. You mean I could make an old textbook? Like that thick fashion textbook I once used as a mirror stand? Or—" her eyes sparkled, "romance novels?"

"Technically yes, though I’m required to remind you: The Orb prioritizes survival, innovation, and emotional connection. Not your re-read of The Duchess’s Midnight Kiss"

Isabella pouted. "But that one had character development."

"And yet."

She sighed dramatically, flopping onto her back while still holding the orb like a stressed student clutching a finals cheat sheet. From his spot nearby, Cyrus watched her from the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching like he was trying not to laugh. She looked like she was meditating with attitude.

He gently placed Glimora beside her, who promptly curled up like a judgmental throw pillow and began licking her unguligrade foot like she hadn’t tried to commit murder some minutes ago.

"So what can I make then?"

"Non-living objects only," Bubu said, sounding like it was reciting from a user manual. "Hammers, thread, soap, knives, flour, looms—"

"Looms?! Who the heck wakes up and says" ’ah yes, my kingdom for a loom’?

"Survival and innovation, not aesthetics," Bubu sniffed. "You can also create books, machines—if you understand how they work—and temporary magical items."

Isabella sat up slowly, blinking. "Like what?"

"Cold stones to chill food. Wind-resistant tents. Light orbs. A compass that works for a day."

"There is no way in hell I am wasting my wishes on those. What about, like... illusions?"

"Basic ones. Think puppets, moving dolls, animal shadows. Nothing that can harm, act independently, or replace therapy."

She exhaled, letting it all sink in. And then the dreaded word hit her brain like a poorly thrown boot.

"Limitations?"

"Buckle up," Bubu said, too cheerfully.

"One-use only. Each orb vanishes after a wish. If you use more than one a day, you’ll get exhaustion. Nosebleeds. Magical backlash. The works."

"So it’s like taking a final exam while hungover. Got it."

"If you’re not specific with your wish, it might get misinterpreted. You want soap, you better describe what kind of soap. Otherwise, you could end up with a lemon-scented brick that smells like despair."

Isabella let her head fall back again, groaning into the void. This is so much pressure. I thought I was getting magic. Not an arts-and-crafts exam.

"And finally," Bubu added, "you must have touched, seen, or deeply understood the object before. You can’t wish for something just because you saw a Pinterest post once and went, ’Ooo, shiny.’"

Isabella stared at the ceiling for a long moment, the orb resting on her stomach.

"So... I still have to go to that stupid mountain for stuff? Like an idiot?"

"Yes."

"I thought this was my getaway!"

Glimora sneezed once beside her like a tiny, white punchline—peep!—and Isabella turned her head just in time to see the tiny mystical fluffball dramatically turn her back, proudly plopping her fluffy butt right in Isabella’s face like some sort of prima donna snowball.

Isabella blinked. "So you actually pushed the orb out of your little butt hole?!"

Glimora let out a tiny scandalized yip and turned around with an offended gasp—like she understood every word and couldn’t believe the slander. Her ears twitched back, nose wrinkling as she glared at Isabella with betrayed puppy eyes.

Isabella couldn’t take it. "Oh come here, you dramatic dumpling—" she scooped up the white beast and attacked her with aggressive kisses, smushing their faces together.

"Who’s my little orb dispenser? You are! Yes, you are!"

Glimora’s limbs went noodle-mode. Instant puddle. Her tail wagged like a fluffy feather duster on turbo mode, tongue lolling out as she gave in to the affection with a little whimper of joy. Her feet kneaded Isabella’s arms, her whole body vibrating like a microwave burrito.

Ding!

[Congratulations! Your Beast Taming stat has leveled up to Level Four!]

Isabella snorted when the shiny letters flickered across her vision. She looked down at the completely boneless Glimora. "Cute!" she giggled, her voice still full of sleepy amusement.

But then—huh?

She paused, blinking, as her awareness slowly drifted over to the corner of the room where she sensed a... presence. A calm, still, breathing kind of presence.

She turned.

Cyrus.

He was sitting cross-legged, back straight, those eerily elegant pink eyes watching her with an unreadable expression—so gentle, so still, so infuriatingly calm she almost thought he was meditating. Or judging her. Or both.

She raised one brow, clearing her throat awkwardly. "...What?"

Cyrus said nothing. Didn’t even flinch. His gaze didn’t waver. Not a single nerve moved in that stupidly symmetrical face.