The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 13: The Water Sources 1

Dawn arrived with an obnoxious rooster scream.

Or at least, Isabella assumed it was a rooster. It sounded less like the polite "cock-a-doodle-doo" she vaguely remembered from childhood and more like a dying trumpet being choked to death.

She groaned, rubbing her face as she tried to remember why she was waking up outside, on a rock, like some exiled caveman.

Oh. Right.

This stupid world. The thought was still unsettling to her. She really wasn’t used to this way of life.

She wondered what her friends would have said if they knew. They’d probably laugh at the once perfect Isabella

"Congratulations! You Completed the task of sleeping outside successfully. (+5 points)"

Everything ached. Her back. Her legs. Even her eyebrows felt sore.

She sat up with a groggy stretch, muttering curses about the unfairness of life when she suddenly froze.

Wait.

She felt better.

Her injuries—all of them—were gone.

"What the—?" She yanked up her leg, twisting her ankle left and right, expecting at least a dull pain. Nothing.

Her eyes widened.

"DID I JUST MAGICALLY HEAL OVERNIGHT?!"

[System Notice: Please refrain from screaming so early in the morning.]

"BUBU, SHUT UP! EXPLAIN THIS INSTANT!"

[System Notice: I cannot reveal this information.]

Isabella gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "You mean to tell me I went to sleep looking like I lost a fight with a bear and woke up fresh as a daisy—AND YOU WON’T EXPLAIN HOW?"

[System Notice: That is correct.]

Her eye twitched.

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

[System Notice: I do not feel emotions.]

She squinted suspiciously. "Sure, Bubu. Sure."

The system didn’t respond, and Isabella sighed, deciding not to waste her energy.

She had bigger problems.

Like bathing.

She looked down at her clothes—or what was left of them. The tattered fur draped over her was stiff, smelly, and just so wrong on every level. She didn’t even want to think about where it came from.

She needed fresh clothes.

She needed a bath.

And more than anything—she needed to do it before people saw her.

Because if there was one thing she refused to do, it was be the village’s morning entertainment.

She got up, stretched one last time, and marched off to find a water source.

Finding a water source should have been easy.

But it wasn’t.

It took thirty minutes of wandering around, peeking behind huts, almost stepping on something that hissed at her, and nearly falling into a hole before she finally spotted a river in the distance.

"FINALLY!" she sighed in relief, practically running towards it.

Only to stop dead in her tracks the moment she saw what was happening on the other side.

Her entire soul left her body.

People were bathing in it.

Not just one or two people—a whole damn group.

Some were washing their hair, others were splashing water on each other, and a few were even filling clay pots with it—AS IF THIS WASN’T CONTAMINATION 101.

Isabella felt violently ill.

"Oh. My. God." She clutched her head. "Are they—ARE THEY SERIOUSLY USING THIS WATER?"

Her eyes darted to the surface. It wasn’t crystal clear like the lakes she had seen in fantasy movies. It was murky, suspiciously brown, and had things floating in it that she didn’t even want to identify.

This wasn’t water.

This was liquid regret.

And the worst part?

She had to bathe in it too.

She felt like crying.

Isabella stood frozen, staring at the murky horror that these villagers dared to call water.

She couldn’t accept this.

She refused to accept this.

But she needed confirmation—because surely, surely, these people weren’t cooking with this, right?

Right?!

She swallowed her disgust and approached a group of middle-aged women who were busy scrubbing their clothes in the river.

"Excuse me," Isabella said, forcing a smile. "I just need to confirm... do you all use this water for—" she took a deep breath, "everything?"

The women perked up at her voice, turning to look at her.

One of them, a plump lady with wild, unkempt hair, smiled warmly. "Yes, of course! We use it to cook, clean, drink, and bathe!"

"—And to feed our children," another added helpfully.

"And to wash our babies too!"

"And to rinse the herbs we use for healing!"

It just kept getting worse, and Isabella’s soul shattered into pieces.

This explains so much.

No wonder the men looked crusty. No wonder the children ran around looking like they had never met a bar of soap in their lives. No wonder the first lord refused to interact with people.

Because if this is what they lived with, then hygiene was clearly a distant dream.

She covered her mouth, trying not to scream.

"But dear," the first woman spoke again, tilting her head, "why do you ask?"

Another woman squinted at Isabella. "Wait a moment—you look filthy!"

"So dirty!" another gasped.

"You should bathe!"

Isabella staggered back as the women swarmed her, poking her arms, inspecting her skin, making horrified gasps at how much dust and grime had clung to her.

"Disgusting!"

"Poor thing!"

"Come, dear, let us help you wash—"

"I’D RATHER DIE DIRTY!" Isabella yelled, backing away.

The women gasped like she had just cursed their ancestors.

"What?!"

"But why?!"

"Do you like being filthy?!"

"Do you want to attract the filth demons?!"

Isabella had no idea what a filth demon was, but honestly? If they existed, they were probably living in this damn river.

She held up a hand, sweating. "D-Don’t worry! I, uh, I just prefer... something different!"

"Ahhh, so you are picky," one of them nodded knowingly. "A delicate one."

The other women whispered amongst themselves, nodding in agreement. "That explains her strange ways."

"Fine, fine," the first woman sighed. "If you want another water source, there are a few places you can try."

Isabella perked up immediately. "Really?! Where?!"

They listed a few locations, and Isabella memorized them all before thanking them profusely and running off.

She had hope again.

She was getting that bath.