The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 619: You are… very beautiful. It suits you. Everything suits you. You are perfect

Chapter 619: Chapter 619: You are... very beautiful. It suits you. Everything suits you. You are perfect

"My hands are too big," he said. "These marks are too small. I am made for fighting, not scratching."

His friend, who had managed a better shape by moving slower, snorted.

"Your brain is too small," he replied. "Not your hands."

The older man glared.

"Say that again."

"You heard me."

They would have started wrestling if Isabella had not flicked a small stone at them.

It hit both of their foreheads with perfect accuracy.

"If you two break my school on the first day," she warned, "I will throw you into the snow with no furs."

They sat back down at once.

Hours went by like that.

Ink spilled. Paper tore. Fingers got stained black. Children proudly showed their crooked marks to Isabella, and she corrected their fingers, their wrist angle, their posture.

The sun moved, then began to sink, and the winter light softened.

By then, the children could write several shapes in a row without forgetting the order. A few brave adults could scratch out their own names. Some of the faster ones even began writing small agreements.

Isabella drew simple lines.

"Here," she said, pointing. "This means you will give two baskets of dried meat to this person."

She added another mark.

"This means you will receive three bundles of fur from them in return. If you both write your names here, you cannot pretend to forget later."

Several men immediately thought of certain lazy neighbors and nodded with approval. They liked the idea of proof.

It was a primitive academy, held under smoky light, with rough paper and crooked marks, but in this world it was something god level.

Bubu hummed in her mind.

[Host has created basic Stone Age contracts,] she reported. [All future cheaters in this village are now in danger.]

"Good," Isabella thought. "They deserve it."

When her throat finally began to feel dry, she clapped her hands.

"That is all for today," she said. "Go rest your eyes. Do not show off the paper to your beasts or let them eat it. If I see my first homework inside a lion’s stomach, I will make you copy marks until spring."

Groans and laughter rose.

The children clutched their pieces of paper like treasure and hurried home before anyone could steal them. The adults moved slower, but many of them still clutched their first clumsy contracts like they were rare stones.

Once the academy crowd scattered, Isabella turned to the women who had stayed behind.

"Now, your turn," she said. "We are going to improve the clothes in this village."

Their eyes brightened instantly.

Women always understood this kind of language.

They followed her into a large room that had become their sewing and weaving space. Animal skins, furs, and rough woven cloth hung from pegs.

There were simple bone needles and sinew threads, and some of the preety fibers that Isabella had been experimenting with.

Under her guidance, they had already begun making more fitted skirts and simple tops to keep out the cold. Today, she wanted to take it further.

"Warmth comes first," she reminded them. "But we can also look good. If you feel pretty, you work better. You scold your males better. You survive winter better."

The women nodded. That logic made perfect sense to them.

She sketched a few designs with charcoal on a flat stone, showing how to cut and layer furs so they hugged the body without leaving gaps for cold wind.

She added a belt here, a little shape at the waist there. She showed how shorter fur at the inside and longer fur on the outside could look both beautiful and practical.

"You are pregnant," one older woman pointed out. "Will it work on you?"

Isabella shrugged.

"We will find out," she said. "If it does not fit me, I will bully one of you into wearing it."

They laughed, but their hands moved quickly, cutting and stitching.

Soon, they finished the first version of a new winter dress.

It was made from soft fur, lined inside with thinner leather for wind protection. The waist had a simple tie. The neckline was modest, but the sewing shaped the chest and hips in a way that flattered the figure.

"Try it," Ophelia urged, eyes shining.

Isabella slipped behind a hanging fur curtain and changed.

When she stepped back out, the room fell silent for a moment.

The new dress hugged her body differently than her usual loose winter furs. Her pregnant belly was clearly outlined, round and full. The curve of her hips was emphasized. Her shoulders looked strong, but the overall line made her look softer and more seductive at the same time.

The older women exchanged looks.

They had raised many children. They could see at a glance that this was the kind of outfit that would make males lose their minds.

Isabella looked down at herself.

She had intended to test warmth and movement. She had not expected to look like this.

"So it really makes the figure stand out," she muttered.

Bubu coughed.

[Host’s attractiveness has increased by at least thirty percent,] she commented. [Calculations show that male brain function will drop nearby.]

As if on cue, footsteps sounded outside.

Cyrus had come looking for her to ask about seasoning for the evening soup, and Kian had followed because he wanted to check the new watchtower plans.

Zyran and Osiris never missed a chance to appear where Isabella was, so they came too.

They stepped into the sewing room one after another.

The first thing they saw was Isabella in the new dress.

Cyrus stopped like someone had turned him into a statue.

His face flushed a deep red, even though the air was cold. His pink eyes went wide, and his throat worked as he tried to swallow.

"Isabella," he said slowly, "you are..."

He did not seem to find words.

Isabella placed her hands on her hips.

"Do not even say I am fat," she warned.

Cyrus shook his head so fast, a strand of hair fell into his eyes.

"You are not fat," he blurted. "You are... very beautiful. It suits you. Everything suits you. You are perfect."

His ears were red now too.

Isabella could not help it. She laughed.

"It is winter," she teased. "How are you still turning red like a boiled crab?"