Lilith dove headfirst onto the soft bed, like a sparrow plunging into fresh snow.

Relief washed through her like warm tidewater, and she burrowed into a white ocean of quilt and pillows like a seal into drifted foam.

She pressed her face to the pillow and drew a deep breath, like inhaling spring air after a long winter.

She hugged the pillow and rolled twice across the mattress, like a small wave tumbling over sand, then flipped onto her back and stared at the dark-brown ceiling like old bark.

Her thoughts circled like hungry swallows, and one urgent banner unfurled in her mind—food.

Right, her compressed biscuits could carry her for a few days, like stale driftwood keeping one afloat.

But half a month without a whiff of meat had turned her into a starved cat; even minced scraps would make her pounce like a fox on a hen.

Ask her to keep gnawing biscuits for days, and it felt like asking the moon not to rise.

Only when Annie nudged her did she realize her blind spot, like fog lifting from a marsh at dawn.

Morris was the capital of Spuiset, and Spuiset’s main folk were Vampires, like night flowers that bloomed under a red moon.

Morris was a rare city of pure Vampires, like an obsidian hive cut from dusk itself.

In other words, the only food here was one thing—blood, bright as pomegranate juice.

But Lilith was now a pure-blood White Dragon by awakening, the real deal, like frost given a heartbeat.

Even with her small appetite, blood only quenched thirst like rain on dust; it couldn’t fill a dragon’s belly.

It made sense there was no grain, like fields locked under permafrost, yet Annie could fish out so many drinks from the inn’s cellar like treasures from a cool cave.

Lilith could swear she even saw wine, the homemade dark-purple kind like crushed twilight in a bottle.

Where did they get ingredients, when Spuiset had long been a land where nothing green grew, like a garden under eclipse?

The riddle gnawed at her like a mouse behind the walls, yet the priority was finding a way to feed herself.

Counting even the unlovable biscuits a Little White Dragon could barely stomach, she had three days left, like three candles guttering in wind.

Fail to find food in three days, and she’d become the most disgraceful one-day dragon in history, like a legend snuffed at the matchstick.

What kind of dragon starves to death in a nation’s capital, like a fish drowning in a lake?

If the other dragons, those fakes playing dragon-god elsewhere, freeloading till they got fat as ginger tabbies, heard this, she’d be infamous like smoke clinging to clothes.

No way—she had to find a way to fill her stomach, like a traveler seeking a spring in a stone desert.

The Little White Dragon shot upright from the bed like a startled hare, hugging her soft pillow like a cloud.

She clenched her tiny fist and breathed out courage, like blowing on embers to coax a flame.

Then Lilith flopped backward and sank into the quilts again, like a leaf falling onto moss, eyes shut for sleep.

She’d come all this way, like a boat in midstream, and there wasn’t another bridge to cross for now.

So be it—sleep first, like letting silt settle before you see the riverbed.

—

“Mmm…” The sound slipped out like a bubble rising through still water.

Lilith wriggled out of her warm nest like a chick from down, then sat on the edge of the bed and stared blankly out the window like a doe at first light.

Hero Street held a few pedestrians now, like lone lanterns along a quiet lane, and the hush loosened a little.

She couldn’t find a clock, like a sky with no sun, but if people were out, it was likely work time again.

Lilith got off the bed and washed up in the bathroom, splashing water like silver fish, then went downstairs and, as expected, met Annie with an open bottle of wine.

“Uh… should I say good morning or good night?” Her voice stumbled like a fawn on wet stones.

She’d wanted to greet Annie, but the Vampire etiquette question scrambled her brain like sparrows scattering at a shout.

“Pfft, either’s fine,” Annie said, laughter cupped behind her hand like a fluttering fan. “We don’t really care about that.”

“Oh. Then, g-good morning.” The words burned like sunrise on snow, and Lilith wished a crack would open underfoot like a swallow hole.

The Little White Dragon let her hair fall like a curtain to hide a face red as a late peach, forgetting her pointed ears were bare as flags in wind.

Annie saw that cute, burrowing shyness like a hedgehog rolling up, and she stilled her laughter like cooling tea.

She rubbed Lilith’s head gently, fingers like warm breeze in spring grass, and soothed her with a smile.

“It’s fine; you’ve never learned Vampire customs,” she said, voice soft as dusk. “Not knowing is normal, or I’d think you were a folklore scholar blown in by the wind.”

“Mm…” The sound trembled like a dew drop hanging from a leaf.

“All right, all right, why’re you crying?” Annie said, wiping away the beaded wet at Lilith’s eye like brushing frost from a window.

She pinched Lilith’s soft cheeks like kneading fresh dough, and the Little White Dragon grabbed her hands and wriggled free like a fish slipping a net.

“I’m not a pet, don’t squish my face!” she huffed, stomping like a sparrow pecking snow. “Do it again and I’ll bite you!”

“Okay, okay, I won’t touch you,” Annie said, smiling like a cat in sun, though her hand sneaked one last pat on Lilith’s fluffy head like ruffling a dandelion before she clasped it behind her back.

She took a sip of red from the glass like tasting a small sunset, as if parting with a precious toy.

Lilith stared at Annie with flat dead-fish eyes, as blank as slate, and noticed the glass in her hand like a ruby lantern.

“Do Vampires really drink red wine first thing in the morning?” she asked, curiosity poking like a twig.

“Nope, this isn’t wine,” Annie said, head tilting like a bird’s. She glanced at her glass and then explained, calm as a pond. “It’s blood. This is my lunch.”

“Lunch?” The word dropped like a pebble into a well.

“Yep. I didn’t expect Miss Lilith to sleep more than ten hours,” she said, amusement flickering like candlelight. “I tried to wake you this morning and got nothing.”

“Don’t say it anymore!” Lilith squeaked, shame rushing up like a blush tide, and Annie let the teasing fade like mist in sun.

“So, our dear Little White Dragon,” Annie asked, tone turning businesslike like ink drawing a straight line, “aren’t you heading to the Elders’ Hall?”

“If you delay, they’ll be on midday rest, like shutters closing at noon, and today’s the last workday.”

“In other words, miss it now and the door opens again in three days, like a ferry that only crosses twice a week.”

“What?” Lilith yelped, shock crackling like a dropped plate. “You people even have a two-day weekend?”

“After all, the Elders’ Hall has little real power,” Annie said, words steady as stacked ledgers. “Princess Laeisha truly runs Morris.”

“The hall might have ways to source food for outsiders, like a side gate in a high wall,” she added. “If not, you’ll need to go straight to Her Highness.”

“I-I got it,” Lilith said, nodding like a bobbing reed.

She pulled up her hood like drawing a cloud over her head and bolted for the door like a gust chased by leaves.

Not long after, Lilith slunk back in, like a raincloud that forgot where to pour.

The Little White Dragon looked at Annie with a wronged face, eyes glossy like wet glaze, and mumbled like a mouthful of cotton.

“I don’t know the way…”