The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 163: Luca…

"Okay," Isabella said, crouching down beside the low sunstone slab where their ingredients were laid out in neat little piles, each glowing faintly in the afternoon light. Ophelia immediately followed, her knees thudding softly against the packed earth floor as she leaned in close.

Isabella extended a steady hand, her finger hovering just above a tiny leaf-carved dish. Nestled inside it were two crystalline droplets, pale blue with iridescent swirls that shimmered like the sky after rain.

"For the liquid soap, we’ll need two drops of Essence of Skydew Lotus—rare flower," she said, her voice taking on that calm, teacherly rhythm she slipped into when things mattered. She paused, and a grin bloomed on her face as she turned to Ophelia, eyes glinting. "This one boosts skin vitality, baby."

Ophelia beamed right back, cheeks puffed with delight as she traced Isabella’s finger to the delicate vial. The scent of the lotus was barely there, like mist after dawn. It felt sacred. Watching Isabella’s eyes light up, the way her fingers hovered reverently near the dropper, Ophelia realized something.

Isabella was always the happiest when she made things like this—when her world could be measured in petals, drops, and strange, glowing powders that somehow made people feel better.

"Alright," Isabella continued, voice steady as she dipped her fingers into a small stone bowl. "Next—one tablespoon of Molten Ash Resin."

The thick amber sap shimmered in the sunlight, its surface catching flickers of firelight from the hearth.

"It’s drawn from the Emberbark trees," Isabella explained, carefully spooning it out. The resin stretched like warm honey. "This stuff can scrub the dirt off a beast’s hide—cleansing, purifying, real stubborn. But gentle too, if you treat it right."

She flicked the spoon into the mixing trough with a little flourish.

Ophelia gasped softly, entranced. "It smells spicy."

"Because it is," Isabella grinned. "Spicy-clean."

She reached for another carved vessel—this one shaped like a curled leaf, its edges dusted with something faintly glowing.

"Now... three tablespoons of Crushed Glowroot Gel."

Ophelia leaned closer as Isabella scooped the pale, jelly-like substance into her palm. The gel gave off a cool, soft shimmer, like dewlight trapped in crystal.

"Mild exfoliant, great lather agent. This will make the soap foam up like a dream," Isabella said, dropping it into the mix, where it slithered in with a wet glop.

Ophelia’s eyes widened. "It’s so squishy."

"Don’t poke it," Isabella warned, but she was smiling again. "Alright. Five tablespoons of Moonwater."

She reached for the bone-white flask sealed with a braid of silvergrass. The water inside was faintly bluish, as if reflecting a sky no one could see.

"This was collected under the last full moon," Isabella said almost reverently. "No talking during collection, no artificial light, and definitely no peeing nearby."

Ophelia blinked. "Why would I pee on moonwater?"

"You’d be surprised how many things I’ve had to say that sentence to," Isabella muttered, pouring the water carefully. It hissed softly when it touched the resin.

"Now... a pinch of Salt from the Star Cavern," she said, grabbing a tiny stone shard shaped like a turtle shell. Inside, fine white crystals sparkled like crushed bones of stars. She tossed in half a teaspoon with practiced grace.

"Natural antiseptic. Keeps the skin from turning weird colors," she added.

Ophelia nodded sagely, like she understood what weird-colored skin meant.

Isabella paused over the last bowl—a tiny thimble made from hollowed rosewood bark.

"One drop of Breath of Sylph Mist," she murmured, voice suddenly quiet.

She pulled the lid off, and even Ophelia’s expression softened. The scent that escaped was faint—light, floral, and gone before it even landed.

"It’s optional," Isabella said, almost to herself. "But..."

She tipped the bark thimble, letting a single drop fall into the mix. The air immediately lightened, like the room had just taken a breath.

But then—

Isabella suddenly froze. Her hand still hovered over the mix. Her eyes narrowed like something invisible had tapped her on the shoulder.

A strange silence followed.

Ophelia tilted her head. "Isabella?"

Isabella didn’t answer right away. Her fingers twitched once—then stilled.

"Luca..." Isabella whispered, voice barely a breath, her eyes going wide with something between mischief and scandal. Her whole body stiffened as she slowly turned to Ophelia, like she’d just unearthed the juiciest secret in all the tribes.

Ophelia blinked, confused but immediately interested. "Luca what?" she asked, scooting closer on her knees, her fingers gripping the edge of the stone slab they were crouched beside. Her eyes searched Isabella’s face, eager, playful, already hooked.

Isabella leaned in like a gossiping squirrel and cupped her mouth. "Luca likes Shelia," she hissed, so softly that the wind could’ve carried it away before it reached Ophelia’s ears.

"Um... I can’t—what did you say?" Ophelia leaned even closer, eyes narrowing as she tried to catch the words.

"Luca likes Shelia, Ophelia," Isabella repeated, just a notch louder, lips twitching with a wicked little grin, but still keeping her voice low enough to stay under Luca’s radar.

Ophelia’s mouth dropped open. "Oh." Her lips formed a perfect O as she blinked like she’d just been slapped with a vine leaf.

"Yes!" Isabella’s grin widened into something utterly ridiculous, like a child who’d just stolen honeybread. She jabbed her finger toward Luca without actually pointing. "That’s why he’s been sulking around and couldn’t stop asking about her all day."

She laughed under her breath, delighted by her own discovery, cheeks puffed, nose scrunched, practically glowing with secondhand excitement.

It was random, wildly off-topic, and completely out of place in the middle of soap-making—but somehow, it mattered. It nestled deep into Isabella’s brain like an itch she’d finally scratched.

And the more she thought about it, the funnier—and cuter—it got.

Ophelia blinked at her, confused. "Wait, our Luca? Grumpy-face Luca?"

Isabella nodded, eyes gleaming with mischief. "The very one. He’s been chopping gourds like they owe him money."

Ophelia let out a giggle, hand flying to her mouth. "I knew he was acting weird! He nearly salted the firewood earlier!"