NOVPUB
Chapter 21: Chapter 21: Putting Skull Collector In Her Place
The hide curtain was pushed open with an unnecessary amount of flair, and in strutted the last person Isabella wanted to see—Miss Skull Collector herself.
Zara.
She pranced in like she owned the place, her voice high-pitched and bubbly as she sang a tune that nobody asked for. The bones in her hair rattled with each step, and Isabella had to fight the urge to ask if she was part skeleton at this point.
Shelia and Ophelia both stiffened beside her, exchanging looks that screamed "Oh, here we go again." It was clear they were used to this behavior.
Zara barely spared anyone a glance—too busy basking in her self-importance. That was until something white caught her attention from the corner of her eye.
Her steps slowed.
Then she stopped completely.
And then—like a scene straight out of a bad horror movie—she walked backward, her expression twisting with suspicion. Her gaze landed on Isabella, taking in her appearance with narrowed eyes.
"Who might you be?" she asked, voice laced with jealousy and guarded hostility.
Shelia and Ophelia immediately perked up, eyes glittering with interest. Oh, they were ready for whatever was about to go down. If Isabella could knock Zara down a peg or ten, they’d gladly sit back and enjoy the show.
To be fair, Zara had it coming. Even though she wasn’t from the village, nor was she related to Kian in any way, the mighty lion lord had taken her in because of some promise he made to someone. And ever since then?
She had acted like an absolute menace.
Not a regular menace. Oh no. She was the type that made even the most patient people want to pour boiling hot water on her just to shut her up for a second.
She was that unbearable.
And now, she was standing there, looking at Isabella like she was some new threat that had just arrived.
But Isabella? Isabella was offended.
"Oh, please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me, Skull Collector," Isabella said, her tone dripping with disbelief and mock hurt.
Zara’s face darkened.
A vein visibly twitched on her forehead.
But her irritation wasn’t just because of Isabella’s words. No. It was because the moment she really looked at Isabella, she finally realized—oh no.
This was the same dirty, smelly, pathetic-looking worm she had insulted yesterday.
No. No. No.
Her mind struggled to connect the dots.
What kind of sorcery was this?!
And just to make things worse?
Ophelia and Shelia giggled.
Not loudly. Not in an obvious way. But quietly, annoyingly, just enough for Zara to hear and snap her glare toward them.
She hated being laughed at.
But her fury quickly returned to Isabella, the root of her suffering.
She looked perfect. Her hair, her skin, her eyes—it was insulting.
Zara’s lips parted, but Isabella beat her to it.
"What? Cat got your tongue?" Isabella teased, her voice mocking, playful, and just the right amount of smug.
She tilted her head, resting a finger on her chin as if she were deep in thought.
"Or should I say... bones got your tongue?"
The room fell silent.
Zara’s nostrils flared.
Ophelia choked on her own giggle.
"Because honestly," Isabella continued, gesturing toward Zara’s bone-infested hairstyle, "I wouldn’t be shocked if you had bones in your mouth at this point. Maybe that’s why you can’t talk properly anymore."
Ophelia snorted. Shelia looked like she was fighting for her life to hold back laughter.
Zara, on the other hand?
She looked like she was about to combust.
"You—!" she sputtered, then inhaled sharply, regaining some of her composure. "You must have done this on purpose!"
Isabella raised a brow.
"Excuse me?"
"You made yourself ugly on purpose yesterday," Zara accused, jabbing a finger at her. "You wanted Kian to take pity on you!"
Isabella blinked. Then she smiled—a slow, wicked smile that spelled trouble.
"Ohhh, so that’s your theory?" she said sweetly. "I chose to look like a swamp creature just so Kian would feel sorry for me?"
Zara crossed her arms, refusing to back down. "That’s the only explanation! There’s no way—"
"Zara," Isabella interrupted, sighing dramatically. "Let me teach you something."
She took a slow, deliberate step forward, invading Zara’s space.
"This," Isabella gestured to her glowing skin, flawless hair, and overwhelming perfection, "is not witchcraft."
She smiled, tilting her head.
"This is called good hygiene."
She took another step.
"Skincare."
Another step.
"A decent bath."
Zara took an instinctive step back.
"And basic self-care."
Zara’s eye twitched.
"You lack all of the above," Isabella finished sweetly. "That’s why you look like that."
Ophelia gasped softly, pressing a hand to her mouth.
Shelia let out a small ’oof’, barely holding back her amusement.
Zara, however, was shaking with rage.
Her eyes darted between Isabella’s unfair beauty and her own reflection in a nearby polished surface.
She felt insulted.
No. Worse than that. She felt humiliated.
And when Zara got humiliated? She got nasty.
"You—!" she hissed, face twisting in frustration. "You think you’re so special just because you have a nice face?! You think that means anything?!"
She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Looks won’t get you far in this place. You’re just another lowly outsider! No matter how pretty you think you are, you’re still beneath me!"
Ophelia and Shelia’s smiles disappeared instantly.
"Zara, that’s—" Ophelia started, but Zara wasn’t done.
"You’re just some random girl who got lucky! No power, no status, nothing! And you really think Kian will ever—"
Isabella smirked. "—ever prefer me over you? Oh, sweetheart, he already did." Her words touched a placed they shouldn’t have in Zara.
But then Zara sneered, eyes gleaming with cruelty.
"Face it. You don’t belong here. You never will. No matter how pretty you think you are, you’re still an outsider. A nobody."
Ophelia and Shelia stiffened.
Zara smirked, relishing the moment—
Until the air in the room shifted.
"Zara."
The voice boomed.
It wasn’t loud.
But it shook the walls.
It rang out like a command. A warning. A reminder of who was in charge.
And just like that—everyone went silent.
Zara froze.
Ophelia and Shelia went rigid.
Even Isabella’s smug grin wavered—just for a second.
Because that voice?
That deep, commanding, undeniably dangerous voice?
It belonged to Kian.
And yet... he was nowhere to be seen.
