Her uncle didn’t budge. "No buts, Zara. That is final," he said, his tone firm like hamred stone. He straightened, towering above her with a sternness that ca not from anger but from fear—fear for the girl trembling on the bed, whose veins now pulsed with sothing unnatural.
His jaw clenched as he looked down at her. "You’ve danced too close to the dark already. One more step, and you won’t co back as you."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the soft creak of the hide curtain shifting with the wind. Zara bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, eyes darting away as her throat tightened around unsaid words. Her uncle sat down beside her once more, this ti quieter, rubbing a hand over his tired face as the firelight flickered shadows across the room.
"You’re staying," he added, his voice low but resolute. "Even if I must stake you to the ground like a runaway beast."
...
Isabella stirred in her sleep with a soft groan, then suddenly flinched. Her nose felt smothered, her mouth sealed shut by sothing warm, soft, and suspiciously fluffy. She panicked, squirming under the pressure. Her hands flailed up, blindly batting at her face like she was swatting a bee in slow motion.
"Pfft—mmph!" she spluttered, slapping herself in the process as her fingers slid uselessly off the thing that refused to budge. "I’m—mmph—I’m gonna die like this?!"
Just when she was about to accept her fate as a tragic bedti casualty, the weight was finally lifted—ripped off with a wet plop. She gasped for air dramatically like soone surfacing from a deep lake, her limbs splayed across the bed like she’d survived a natural disaster.
Her blurry eyes darted around the room until they landed on Cyrus, standing nearby with a sleepy but slightly alard expression, clutching a very angry Glimora in his arms like a misbehaving toddler mid-tantrum.
The fluffy creature was furiously wiggling and snapping her tiny teeth at him, determined to get back to her very important mission of smothering her beloved owner in her sleep.
Isabella shot upright, pointing an accusatory finger. "Was she—was she trying to end ?!"
Glimora froze mid-growl. Her ears twitched at Isabella’s voice, and she slowly turned her head like a guilty child caught red-handed. Their eyes t—blue locking on blue. Glimora blinked. Then, with all the grace of a true nace, she casually turned back and resud trying to eat Cyrus’ chin.
Isabella clutched her blanket like a betrayed heroine. "Oh my gods. My own familiar just tried to assassinate in my sleep. What did I ever do to you? Did Bubu possess you?!"
A chanical ding broke the tension. Bubu’s screen lit up midair like an offended floating spirit.
"What does this have to do with ?" the system asked in a flat, deadpan tone.
Isabella gave the screen the flattest, longest side-eye ever delivered by a woman wearing bedhead and emotional trauma. "Everything suspicious in my life leads back to you sohow. You’re basically cursed glitter."
"I resent that," Bubu replied.
"Take a number," Isabella muttered.
Cyrus, still holding Glimora like a bag of angry fluff, bent down carefully and nudged his head toward the bed. "I think she left sothing for you."
"Left sothing?" Isabella echoed suspiciously.
She turned and imdiately froze. There, lined up with eerie perfection right where her head had been resting, was a neat row of glowing objects. Pearly, slightly oversized, and shimring faintly under the moonlight, they looked like magical chicken eggs laid by a celestial bird with OCD.
She leaned closer, squinting. "Did she also arrange them herself? Are these... offerings? A murder tribute?!"
With cautious fingers, she picked one up. It was warm and smooth to the touch, nearly the size of a coconut. Inside, soft colors swirled—milky whites, dreamy pinks, and faint sparkles of silver that moved like trapped mist with every shift. It glowed faintly, the light pulsing like a slow heartbeat. Isabella’s mouth dropped open slightly.
"What are these?" she asked, half-wonder, half-fear, as she turned it slowly in her hands.
"They’re Wishing Orbs," Bubu said proudly, floating just a bit higher in the air as if puffing its invisible chest. "You unlocked the ability through your Beast Taming stat. Congratulations. Glimora basically just pooped magic."
"Oh my gods." Isabella cradled the orb like it was a holy relic and also possibly a sentient grenade.
She tucked her head down imdiately, letting her hair curtain her face as she hunched over the orb, whispering to Bubu through clenched teeth. "That’s amazing. Don’t tell Cyrus. I look like I’m about to cry. Or explode. Or both."
From his side of the room, Cyrus pretended not to notice, even as he struggled to keep Glimora from chewing on his shoulder like a chew toy.
Isabella hunched over the glowing orb like it was a stolen treasure and she was trying to whisper sweet nothings into it. But really, her thoughts were pure chaos.
"Okay, Bubu", she said in her head, "details. I know how you work. There are definitely rules. There are always rules. You probably already wrote a 12-volu rulebook and laminated it. What’s the catch?" Isabella’s brows raised as she asked expectantly.
The system screen blinked into existence beside her with an unnecessarily smug flicker, as if it had been waiting for this mont its whole artificial life.
"Oh-ho-ho," Bubu said, sounding way too pleased for a sentient floating screen. "I’m so glad you asked."
Cyrus, who had taken a seat nearby, looked over at her with quiet curiosity. Isabella was just sitting there with her hair draped forward like Cousin It, gripping the orb and making a series of subtle facial expressions—furrowed brows, mouth twitching, nose scrunching—as if she were either casting a spell or in the middle of a silent argunt with herself.
He tilted his head slightly. He didn’t say anything, but his entire aura radiated Should I be concerned? Or is this just her Tuesday face?
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