Opehlia had barely stepped out the room, pushing away the fur curtain before Isabella waved dramatically in her direction.
"Throw it all away, darling! And fetch so fruits! The good ones this ti!"
As the girl scurried off, looking like a kicked puppy, Isabella leaned back against the chilly palace wall. Her fingers sank into the soft fur hide beneath her—one of the few luxuries this stone-age lifestyle allowed—and her lips curved into a smirk that was anything but sweet.
Zara wanted her dead?
Oh, please.
This life? This body? These cheekbones? Over her dead body.
Literally.
She still didn’t know how she died in her past life—so tragic accident? Betrayal? Poisoned latte? She honestly didn’t care anymore. That life was gone.
But this one? This one was just getting good. And she wasn’t about to hand it over to so bitter bone headed-bimbo with toxic girl energy.
Suddenly, a chi echoed in her brain like an unwanted ringtone from hell.
"And then you always complain when I give you those tasks." Bubu said smugly.
Isabella groaned instantly. Her eyes rolled so hard they might’ve cracked the back of her skull.
"Bubu, please, I’m in recovery mode. Look at . I’m limp. I’m tragic. I’m basically a fallen princess right now." She raised her hand dramatically, palm-up, like she was addressing an invisible audience of fans.
The system, as always, had no sympathy.
"A fallen princess who still hasn’t bathed in three days."
Isabella’s eye twitched, she couldn’t believe this system. She was placed in this situation because of it, she could not even stand properly.
And now look at what this system was saying. Nope she will not let it get to her "It’s called natural musk. It’s in this season."
"So is dying, apparently. Want to fetch you so poison berries?"
"Bubu," she said slowly, smiling like she wasn’t imagining tossing the little voice into a volcano. "Aren’t you only supposed to pop up when I need sothing? Or I’m in danger? Y’know—ergencies?"
"Yes. And you, darling, needed a reality check. Which, by the way, is an ergency."
Her mouth dropped open. "For what?!" she shrieked. "Because Zara tried to kill and I didn’t panic? That’s not delusion, that’s called confidence!"
"It’s called denial, sweetie. Want to replay your internal monologue from five seconds ago? It was giving ’this life is just getting good’ and ’over my dead body.’ Sounded like a telenovela villain on her third reincarnation arc."
Isabella pressed her fingers to her temples and let out a dramatic exhale.
Why was her system sassier than an eyeliner?
"Look," she muttered, "just let process in peace. You know... without the death threats or sarcastic comntary."
"Fine. I’ll go. But if you eat anything that slls like betrayal, don’t say I didn’t warn you."
"Noted, your highness," Isabella muttered under her breath.
The chi finally faded, and silence returned.
She flopped back against the wall again, brushing imaginary dust off her fur cloak.
Dying again? Not on the schedule.
Zara?
That little snake had no idea who she was dealing with.
She wasn’t just a survivor anymore.
She was the lead in this story.
And oh baby, the show was just beginning.
Opehlia returned in no ti, basket tucked snugly in her arms and overflowing with a colorful mix of stone-age sweetness—redberries, honey mango, and the rare pink fruit they’d once watched a monkey fight a snake for.
The mont she stepped through the fur curtain, a sudden weight shifted beside Isabella.
She blinked.
Then sighed.
Glimora had risen.
The little white furball’s ears twitched, and those impossibly large, glowy blue eyes locked onto the basket like a predator who had slled victory.
Of course.
Of course she could sleep through thunder, cave fights, and Zara’s daily attitude—but not fruit.
"Unbelievable," Isabella muttered with a smirk. She shot the little beast a side-eye before scooping her up with one arm like she was holding royalty. "You’d let die in my sleep, but the mont soone ntions food—suddenly, you’re wide awake."
Glimora blinked innocently, then licked her cheek.
Isabella rolled her eyes and planted a quick kiss on her snowy nose. "Silly little girl," she teased, shaking her head.
Opehlia giggled and plopped down on the smooth stone beside her, basket now open like a treasure chest.
The three of them ate together—snacking, laughing, chatting about the weather (too humid), the village gossip (soone fell off a tree again), and Shelia’s latest invention (a stone spoon that looked suspiciously like a rock with a dent).
For a brief mont, life felt light again.
No poison. No betrayal. No system sass.
Just friends, fruits, and fluffy companions.
Eventually, Opehlia rose to leave, hugging Isabella tightly before skipping off into the tourch lit palace path, her basket now filled with leftovers and glowing herbs Isabella had secretly tossed in for her stomach cramps. The girl always forgot to eat when she was anxious.
Once she was gone, Isabella turned to Glimora and scratched behind her ears—the good spot. The beast let out a soft trill of satisfaction and rolled halfway onto her back, limbs splayed like royalty sunbathing.
Just then, a soft chi echoed inside Isabella’s head.
[Congratulations! Your Beast Taming Stat has leveled up to Level 2!]
Isabella raised a brow and smiled to herself, a slow, proud smirk blooming on her lips. "Well, look at us," she whispered. "In no ti, you’ll be so strong that... maybe even the gods will think twice before ssing with us."
Glimora nuzzled into her side, tail flicking lazily.
Isabella glanced out through the small carved hole in the stone wall. Night had fallen completely, cloaking the sky in deep indigo. Sowhere in the distance, crickets sang their lullaby, and faint glimrs of firebugs floated past the palace walls like wandering spirits.
The air that drifted in through the stone opening was crisp and wild, carrying the scent of damp earth, crushed leaves, and distant waterfalls. It brushed against her face like the cool breath of the jungle gods—quiet, ancient, and oddly comforting.
She wrapped herself in her fur cloak, lay back on the soft bedding, and pulled Glimora close. The little beast curled instantly, tiny heartbeat pressed to Isabella’s chest.
Tomorrow, she’d face whatever ca—Zara, poison, drama, or system lectures.
But tonight?
Tonight, she would rest like the queen she was becoming.
And with Glimora by her side, she finally closed her eyes.
Peaceful.
Smiling.
Unbothered.
The world could wait.
User Comments
0 comments from readers