"What?" Bubu said, flipping mid-air in her usual floaty, smug way. "That’s literally a magical ability and you should be proud of her."
Isabella stared at the hovering nace.
"Proud?" she echoed, voice flat, lips tight.
"Absolutely," Bubu said, arms stretched like she just delivered an Oscar-worthy monologue. "That’s a rare skill, mind you. Not many beasts fart fire."
As if on cue, Glimora peeked up at Isabella, her big wet eyes wide and round like she was waiting for her fate. One wrong word and this baby was going to launch into full-blown sob mode.
And that? That Isabella could not handle again.
So she shot Bubu a look. A very clear, pointed look. One that said: "You better shut your floating trap before I stuff it with one of those roasted mushrooms."
Then, quickly, she turned to Glimora, shifting her tone into sothing soft and dramatic like a mother in a soap opera.
"My darling Glimora," Isabella began, sweeping the baby beast up with both hands and spinning her lightly. "I am proud of your... explosive new ability."
Glimora blinked, the remaining tear on her snout trembling.
"You’re special," Isabella continued, over-the-top now, a hand to her heart. "You’re gifted. You are—" she paused dramatically, "the first little cinnamon roll in history who can light up the room... with a toot."
Glimora gave a small squeaky hiccup and nuzzled into Isabella’s neck.
"But if you ever do that on my face..." Isabella started, narrowing her eyes.
Glimora paused. She pulled back to stare at her, ears twitching.
And Isabella bit back her words. Those glassy eyes were back again.
"...I’ll still love you," she muttered under her breath, sighing into the beast’s fur. "Maybe not imdiately, but eventually."
Glimora chirped happily, kicking her stubby legs and licking her cheek.
Bubu was still upside down, now tossing imaginary flower petals from nowhere. "Wow, that was such a moving speech. Shall I summon a choir?"
Isabella didn’t even dignify her with a response. Instead, she plopped down on the nearest log, still cuddling Glimora like a warm pillow.
"Okay, since I’m apparently raising a farting dragon, explain," she said finally. "What type of skill is that even? How does that—why does that exist?"
Bubu clapped her hands like she had been dying to be asked.
"It’s called Pyrogastro Combustia," Bubu said with a flourish.
"...Co again?"
"Pyrogastro Combustia. The Firebelch Pathway," Bubu repeated, now twirling like a dance instructor. "It’s an extrely rare and unpolished mutation found only in a few Beast bloodlines. It triggers when there’s excess energy in their beast core. That energy? Well, it has to escape sohow."
"So you’re telling ," Isabella said slowly, "my sweet innocent cuddly baby was leaking magical energy through her butt?"
"In short, yes."
Isabella just blinked at her.
"Think of it like... magical indigestion," Bubu offered.
"Oh my gods," Isabella muttered. "What have I signed up for."
Bubu kept going, fingers now drawing symbols in the air like a teacher on a chalkboard. "As Glimora grows stronger, the combustion becos more refined. It could evolve into directed fla attacks, defensive expulsions—"
"Defensive what?"
"Like... if she’s cornered, she might just boom in a small explosion."
"Like a bomb."
"Yup."
"From her ass."
"Yup."
Isabella looked down at Glimora. Glimora looked back, tail wagging. She looked so proud of herself.
"Oh, this is insane," Isabella said, dragging a hand down her face.
"Oh, wait, wait," Bubu said, "There’s more!"
"Oh no."
"If she reaches the Stage of Combustion Bloom," Bubu said with a dreamy sigh, "her flas won’t just knock people back. They’ll vaporize her enemies. Pfft! Just like that."
"Wait, kill?" Isabella squawked, clutching Glimora closer. "She could kill soone with a fart?!"
Bubu nodded gleefully. "Oh yes. It’s incredibly efficient. Portable weapon. No one ever expects it. Boom. Gone."
Glimora squeaked again, clearly excited now.
Isabella pulled her back and stared at her. "No, baby. You don’t get to kill people with your butt. That’s not proper etiquette."
"But it’s so effective," Bubu said, mock pouting.
"Will it affect everyone around?" Isabella asked, genuine panic in her voice now.
Bubu waved her off. "No, no. Only targets she consciously wants to harm. The fire recognizes intent."
"Oh. So only the enemies she wants to roast will be roasted."
"Exactly."
"Good," Isabella muttered, rubbing Glimora’s ears in slow, gentle strokes, her thumb brushing over the soft fur with lingering affection. "Because if I suddenly explode mid-hug, I swear I’ll co back and haunt you for the rest of your miserable floaty existence."
Glimora giggled and let out a happy hiccup, a small flicker of heat escaping her mouth. Isabella yelped and shoved her face away gently.
"No more spicy burps!"
But her voice cracked slightly toward the end—half teasing, half serious—because even though she joked, the thought of Glimora losing control and hurting soone by accident tugged at her chest with a quiet ache.
Glimora blinked up at her, then giggled—an innocent, squeaky sound that made Isabella’s heart squeeze. A warm little hiccup followed the giggle, and with it ca a flicker of heat that whooshed against Isabella’s cheek.
She yelped, startled, and imdiately turned her face away with a squeaky, panicked laugh, using one hand to shield herself and the other to gently push Glimora’s snout to the side.
"Hey! No flathrower kisses, I an it!" she scolded, but her voice was laced with laughter, eyes wide and breathless, cheeks flushed from the sudden blast. Her heart thudded a little faster—not from fear, but from the sheer absurdity of this magical, ridiculous, beautiful creature curled in her arms.
Glancing down, she found Glimora looking sheepish now, tongue poking out just slightly, ears drooping like she was worried she’d ssed up again.
Isabella’s expression softened imdiately. She sighed, brushing a stray curl away from Glimora’s little forehead.
"You’re too cute for my sanity," she whispered, pressing her lips to the beast’s head in a quick, affectionate kiss.
"I an, you might want to start feeding her energy-calming fruits," Bubu suggested.
"Like what?"
"Cooling lotus, frostberry roots, maybe chilled radish paste. You know, standard anti-combustion snacks."
"Where exactly am I supposed to find these ingredients?" Isabella snapped. "There’s not a grocery store down the road, Bubu."
"Oh don’t be dramatic. You’re a heroine. You’ll figure it out."
"I will figure out how to silence you."
Bubu bead, not threatened in the slightest.
Isabella groaned and leaned back against the wall, one arm still around Glimora, who was now lightly dozing with smoke purring from her snout.
Just then, from the corner of her eye, she caught movent.
She turned her head toward the curtain, narrowing her eyes.
Oh for the love of—
That man.
That sa man who had been blasted with Glimora’s firey fart monts ago was still. Standing. There.
Peeking around the edge of the curtain like he was trying not to breathe.
"Gosh," Isabella muttered under her breath, "this man is still here?"
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