Isabella saw her coming—mmh hmm. That fire in Isolde's eyes, the way her hands were curled into fists, and the storm in her steps? Yeah, she saw all of that.
But did she move?
Nah uh.
She didn't even flinch.
Instead, with a soft exhale like this was just another Tuesday, Isabella calmly adjusted her grip on Glimora, lifting her baby beast with one arm and shifting ever so slightly to the side. Not out of fear, of course, but just enough for dramatic flair.
You see, Isabella had recently noticed something about her beloved Glimora. A certain... quirk.
A very smelly quirk.
Glimora farted when nervous.
And not just any fart. No, no. These were aggressive, hellfire-tier, what-did-you-feed-this-creature farts. And ever since that one time Glimora had let loose after hearing thunder (apart from the first time she purposely did it to Isabella)—and Isabella had nearly choked on her own breath—they had only gotten worse.
So when Isolde lunged at her, fangs bared and fury burning—
