14: Let me see if your puberty is normal

Lilith sat alone at the bathroom mirror, calm as still water.

Nidhogg had been right: the inn looked like a cracked shell outside, but inside the bathroom felt like a tidy nest. There was even a basket for clothes, and the Little White Dragon tossed in her long dress and socks like fallen petals.

Her blue‑white cloak already hung on the room’s stand, a quiet flag by the door. Now the Little White Dragon wore only a snow‑white bra and matching white panties, pale as frost.

Lilith dug a small wooden stool from the cabinet under the sink. She stood on that little pier, studying herself in the half‑length mirror, a river reflecting the moon.

Four years had passed since her reincarnation. Her heart was steady as a lake; even bare, she wouldn’t let her thoughts wander.

She checked herself today because something felt off, like a breeze ruffling reeds.

The Little White Dragon pinched her soft belly; white, pliant flesh rose under her fingers like dough. She remembered she hadn’t taken in much energy lately—after her pace in Morris, not getting skinny would be a miracle—yet the little belly still bloomed.

How was her belly still popping out, like a stubborn puff of cloud?

“Uuu, why did I get so fat?” She saw her slim arms turning plump, like willow twigs filling with spring sap. Her slender thighs gathered softness too; when she pinched, a layer rose like a gentle tide, matching her belly.

And here.

Blushing, she pressed a fingertip to the softness behind her bra. That swell felt fuller, like a fledgling lifting its chest. A bra that fit days ago now bit at her ribs; maybe she should buy a new one in Lamter, like changing to a larger shell.

“Should I start controlling my diet?” she murmured, worry pooling like rain. She cared about her shape; as a boy she kept trim, and as a girl she didn’t want to turn round and puffy like a steamed bun.

“Decision made. Tomorrow I’ll cut dinner carbs in half,” she told herself, folding her appetite like a fan. The Little White Dragon, practiced from past diets, sketched a plan as neatly as a map.

“Mm. Let’s do that.” With a nod bright as a lantern, she peeled off the last two pieces of cloth and tossed them into the basket, two fluttering leaves.

She turned the faucet; hot water began to fill the tub, steam rising like morning mist. Dragging the stool to the shower, she readied herself to tend her white hair, a silk stream.

The elder sisters in her old team had taught her how to care for it. She washed, worked in conditioner, and wrapped her long hair up, brisk as a sparrow tying a straw knot. Hands on hips, the Little White Dragon stood satisfied, a tiny general after drill.

“Eh?” Standing, she felt something wrong, a color out of place at her waist, like a pale reed among snow.

Lilith touched the spot. It felt like a slender feather, light as breath.

She tugged. Pain stabbed into the soft waist, sharp as a needle under silk. The Little White Dragon yelped, and realized the feather had grown out of her own skin, a sprout from her trunk.

From her. Grown out…

“Nidhogg!” she cried, panic flaring like sparks. She forgot her state, flung the bathroom door open with a bang, a drumbeat in the quiet room.

“What happened?” The Black Dragon girl came at once, book forgotten, steps quick as a cat. She saw Lilith—naked save for the towel on her head, a peach under frost—blushed, and turned her gaze aside. “Why so rushed? Put on clothes before you come out.”

“Uuu! Nidhogg, there’s a feather on my waist. What do I do—am I dying?” Lilith’s eyes welled like spring wells. She lifted the white feather with her fingers; without that little motion, Nidhogg wouldn’t have spotted it at all on Lilith’s pale skin, feather and snow alike.

“A feather… ah, it’s fine.” Nidhogg rubbed Lilith’s head, touch warm as velvet. “Don’t worry. You’re entering your Feather‑Dragon phase. It’s normal growth.”

“Feather‑Dragon phase?” The Little White Dragon tilted her head, a bird listening to rain.

“Mm. It’s a common dragon growth cycle. The length varies, dragon to dragon. Some last months, some a dozen days. During it, a soft layer of feathers will spread over your whole body—don’t worry. When the phase ends, they shed away like autumn leaves.” The Black Dragon girl gently pinched the white feather at Lilith’s waist. “But this one is different. It’s your first feather. It stays with you forever, like a keepsake star.”

“Sounds like a mole.” The Little White Dragon squirmed; Nidhogg’s touch tickled like grass on the ankle.

“Close.” Nidhogg nodded. “Feathers usually start at the ends of the limbs. For you to start at the waist is rare, like a spring bubbling from a hill instead of a brook.”

“Does the place matter?” Lilith worried, thoughts curling like smoke. Her waist was already sensitive; if this feather added a debuff, one touch and she’d melt like wax.

“Not much. The skin there gets more sensitive,” Nidhogg said, lifting her left hand. A long black feather slipped from her sleeve like midnight. “Your senses sharpen too—that’s handy on hands and feet for movement. On the waist, it’s fine as well.”

“What’s good about getting more sensitive,” Lilith sighed, mood sinking like dusk. She’d have to guard her waist more, in case some sneak thief came for it.

“Forget it, I’m going back to shower.” She turned to retreat, then realized she was bare as a pearl in Nidhogg’s sight. Her face flushed like a ripe peach; she covered her chest and snapped, “Forget what you saw!”

“Got it,” Nidhogg answered, helpless as a sigh. She wanted to tease the shy Little White Dragon, but the girl shrank into her shell like a turtle and stopped responding. So Nidhogg turned back and sat on the bed, quiet as night.

Back in the bathroom, the Little White Dragon dropped into the hot bath, water embracing her like a warm cloud. She slid her face under the surface; bubbles rose glug‑glug, small moons breaking. In her heart she drew circles in the sand, cursing that touchy Black Dragon who loved taking little liberties.

What’s so nice about this chubby, round body, like a dumpling?

She pinched her belly, gloom heavy as rain. Then her fingers paused, a bird catching wind.

Wait. She’s in the Feather‑Dragon phase. Isn’t that… a kind of puberty?

Understanding flicked on like a lantern. She’d learned that girls’ body fat rises in puberty—a soft layer wraps the body, like cotton on branches.

And there was that itchy tiger tooth back in Morris, a sign nibbling at her.

She was starting to develop.