16: Breakfast
Lilith woke wanting to slap herself, cheeks warm as a dawn blush and her mind fogged with pink mist.
The Little White Dragon remembers dreams like carvings on jade; whatever she dreams, she wakes with the whole reel still playing.
So she remembered last night in too much detail; forgetting those scenes would’ve been a miracle in a snowstorm.
The feelings in the dream were razor-clear; she couldn’t tell if they were true, since she’d never worn a girl’s body before.
She only knew her back almost snapped from arching, like a willow bending under a sudden wind.
Dream-Nidhogg was terrifyingly skilled, hitting every sweet spot like arrows finding the center of a target.
Even now, thinking of that bubble-pink dream, Lilith’s face flushed, a hibiscus catching sunrise.
“What am I even thinking?” Shame swelled first; then she dove under the quilt like a turtle into its shell.
She cocooned herself tight, a white rice dumpling wrapped in sugar, with only a slim tail and two small feet poking out to vent heat like little fans.
Beside her, Litt discovered their quilt had vanished; they crawled up and patted the white lump, palms popping like taps on a balloon.
They liked the bounce, so they kept smacking, giggling like rain on a tin roof.
“What are you two doing?” Nidhogg came out of the bathroom, steam trailing her like morning mist, light makeup soft as peach fuzz.
She found one white dumpling and one gleeful child boxing it like a festival drum.
“Up you get. We’re heading to Lamter’s shopping street today.” She tapped the quilt’s mound like knocking on a clay jar.
“What are we doing there?” Lilith’s voice came muffled, like water under ice, while her hands clutched the quilt like rope.
“Buying you clothes. You’ve only got one dress.” Nidhogg’s tone was matter-of-fact, steady as a path through pines.
“You’re entering your Feather-Dragon phase; we’ll grab looser pieces now, then fresh ones after you finish growing.”
Lilith remembered she was in a growth spurt; back then, she could swap five or six sets in a year like sheds after spring rain.
“And also—did your underwear get too small? There’s no way that bra still fits.” Nidhogg tossed the pebble; Lilith exploded like a startled sparrow.
“How do you even know my size?” Her cheeks flared red like slices of raw beef just cut.
“You can see.” Nidhogg’s gaze landed on Lilith’s chest, steady as a compass needle.
Lilith realized she’d come out post-shower with only a towel on her head and a bath towel on her body; under the quilt was nothing but skin, snow-white and bare.
Her face blanched, then turned bright, ripening into lychee-red under a summer sun.
“Out!”
Nidhogg next saw her downstairs at the table; Lilith had puffed into a pufferfish, cheeks ballooned, not sure if from anger or from food.
She glared like a kitten bristling, yet her chopsticks—no, her hands—still moved, tide and hunger pulling in opposite directions.
Mio had made stacked sandwiches with richer layers, like terraces of bread and meat, and also a few plain ones, simple as village loaves.
After a night’s sleep, Lilith was so hungry her belly hugged her spine like a tight belt.
She swallowed one of each, then washed them down with a cup and a half of milk, white as moonlight in a bowl.
She’d planned to diet, but remembered she was in a crucial growth stretch, bamboo after rain.
Eat more now, grow taller later; the more in, the more height out, like water feeding shoots.
Mio’s food was good, fragrant as a warm kitchen; she ate past restraint, a little river overflowing its banks.
She prayed the energy would climb to the right places—height, height, height—like ivy reaching eaves.
Please don’t misbehave and pool in the wrong places—hips, waist, and that place—like puddles in low ground.
While scolding her body in secret, she slid the half of a stacked sandwich, the leftover after feeding Litt, over to Nidhogg, quiet as a passing cloud.
Nidhogg glanced at her; Lilith didn’t speak, only pointed with her tail tip at the bread and nodded, a crane’s gentle dip.
She knew Nidhogg hadn’t done anything wrong; her over-sensitivity was the storm, not the tree.
She couldn’t pull down her pride to apologize, so she offered food instead, warmth passed hand to hand like tea.
They stared, big eyes to small eyes, silence stretching like fishline; Nidhogg made five Insight checks in her head, dice clacking like pebbles.
Then she chuckled and accepted, smile soft as silk; she’d guessed Lilith wanted help finishing the food.
Even in the Feather-Dragon phase, the Little White Dragon’s appetite hadn’t grown much, a small furnace in winter.
Without enough intake, you won’t grow much; Nidhogg chewed and mused like a cat by the window.
Maybe ask Mio to make more nutritious meals, bowls heavy as autumn.
Seeing Nidhogg take the sandwich, Lilith nodded, satisfaction like a cat smoothing its fur, then turned to the hatchling beside her.
Litt’s teeth looked sharper, little grains of rice turned into points; this time Lilith didn’t bite her own finger open.
She offered her tender index finger, pale as milk jade, and whispered, “Come, try biting yourself.”
She had to teach the little one to forage; fear of future neglect fluttered like a sparrow in her chest.
“Okay.” Litt answered in a milky voice, sweet as steamed buns.
They opened their mouth and bit down; two small holes bloomed in her finger like twin pinpricks of cherry.
Litt drank Lilith’s magic-rich blood like a little Vampire, a moonlit sip with starlight inside.
They learned fast; Lilith had expected coughing, but adaptation flowed like water finding a channel.
They even started to suck on their own, rhythm steady as waves.
Lilith quickly pulled her finger free, afraid the little one might not stop and overfill like a pot left boiling.
As her finger parted from Litt’s lips, silver threads stretched, glimmering like dew between webs.
A flash hit her—last night she’d seen fingers shining wet just like that, a scene leaning over a cliff.
Slap. Lilith hit her own cheek, crisp as a hand fan snapping shut.
Everyone froze, motion stopped like a film strip cut; all eyes swung to her in a wave.
“Eat. Don’t look at me.” She reeled her hand back, sat like nothing had happened, face calm as still water over stones.
Inside, she cursed her own fall, words sharp as frost.
Lilith, Lilith, you can’t keep this up. It was only a dream, a shadow under lantern light.
Don’t let a dream steer you; Nidhogg’s your good friend, a mountain beside a lake.
You must not think anything beyond that, not a step past the line in sand.
She repeated it again, mantra slow as beads.
It was a bad dream. It will never become real, like mist that burns away at sunrise.
It was just a bad dream… right?
