19. The True Heart
The rest of the journey settled into quiet, a still pond under a pale sky. Only Litt chirped notes now and then, till Abaddon palmed his small head and hushed him.
Nidhogg turned into a merciless camera, cold and steady like iron in frost. She stepped into a shop, slid a fine outfit onto Little White Dragon, then fired a volley of shots.
Shots done, she carried the clothes to the counter and paid, movements crisp as blades. Then she caught Lilith by the wrist and swept her to the next store like a current.
Lilith let herself be carried, light as driftwood. Little White Dragon went blank, outfit after outfit clicked onto her like gears turning.
A doll on invisible strings, she stood while the lens trapped her present shape. Then, still hazy, she was ferried through another doorway for the next picture.
She had no strength left to sort her thoughts; her reason stalled like a clock in fog. Her head turned to warm mash, and wit felt like a far-off shore.
Shake her a little and you could almost hear one line echoing, the one Nidhogg had breathed at her ear: “I’m very pretty.” Lilith repeated it, dazed and soft.
She had no words for this mood. Her mind melted like soft tofu in broth. Only the nearest feelings bobbed in her chest, warm and close.
She liked that praise from Nidhogg, like sunlight warming a winter wall. Yet a faint voice whispered it shouldn’t be like this.
Since her rebirth, Lilith had heard plenty of compliments. Honestly, even she felt this body carried a kind-hearted beauty; call her ugly and she’d worry for your eyes.
But she’d never been this happy. At Nidhogg’s praise, her heart leapt like a startled bird. That drumbeat was new to her.
Before today, Little White Dragon never imagined a simple compliment could shatter her footing. All day she replayed that line, plain yet tipped with teasing spice.
She knew her face was flushed, rosy as sunset. Heat pooled under her skin; her head swam as if fever had climbed the high peak.
Nidhogg’s silhouette seemed magnified in her sight. Whatever she did, her thoughts curved back to Nidhogg, like swallows to the eaves.
Nidhogg walked with her, hand in hand, guiding her across a river of people. Nidhogg brought her new clothes, fresh as spring leaves.
Nidhogg handled the stubborn parts, fingertips neat as needles. Nidhogg framed her in pictures, the shutter fluttering like sparrows.
Nidhogg breathed at her ear, “You’re beautiful.” She said Lilith looked good.
She praised her.
Lilith felt she might lift off, a kite tugging its string. She’d never known the word “beautiful” could taste this sweet.
If she could, she wanted to lie on Nidhogg’s shoulder, be held by the Black Dragon, and listen to love words all afternoon.
Wait—love words?
Her thoughts snagged like silk on a thorn. She finally named that warmth spilling from her chest.
Like.
She liked Nidhogg—liked her in the way of love.
Why?
Little White Dragon baffled herself, spinning like a top. She couldn’t understand how this thought took root.
Granted, she had to admit Nidhogg belonged to the top tier of beauty in this world. Tall and stunning, the Black Dragon girl’s face was one she’d once have hugged to sleep.
Her temperament was fine too—cool outside, warm within. At first she looked like an iceberg; once close, Lilith found a sly fox who teased her daily.
And Nidhogg had spent no short time with the little dragon. In the Dragon Territory, they lived together for months. Compared to her sister Typhon, she’d been with the Black Dragon longer.
Even when Lilith fell from the skies above Morris, Nidhogg caught her. Lilith remembered waking to Nidhogg’s face and feeling safe, like reaching harbor after storm.
So she just… fell in love?
This sudden love made her dizzy, thoughts spinning like leaves in a whirl.
In Lilith’s mind, love should be ceremonial and holy. It should sprout on a grand road, grow, be proven in a fierce battle, then bloom once the dust had settled.
Not awaken from a strange dream and a few sweet lines.
Yet she couldn’t deny it. The feeling in her heart for Nidhogg was love. Little White Dragon was sure.
She was tangled, a skein of yarn in the wind.
“Lilith, what’s wrong?”
Only when Nidhogg’s voice brushed her ear did Lilith realize she’d been standing still for a long time. Nidhogg saw her daze and spoke, gentle as dusk rain.
“Your face is so red. Are you out of sunscreen?” Nidhogg noticed the blush under Lilith’s hat. Worried, she leaned close and tapped Lilith’s cheek with a slender finger.
“Like…”
Nidhogg’s exquisite face drew nearer, breathtaking beauty hitting point-blank. Lilith’s eyes filled with Nidhogg, and she murmured, blank and soft.
“What? Do you like me, or do you like me touching your face like this?” Nidhogg asked with a smile, pointing at herself.
Both, Lilith wanted to say—both. But her timid courage seized her tongue and locked the door, blocking half-formed words.
“…I like the face-touching.” Lilith drooped her head and mumbled.
“Do you? Then I’ll have to touch it more later.”
Nidhogg took it as coyness. She laced fingers with the Little White Dragon’s delicate hand, caught Abaddon who was holding Litt, and parted the crowd like waves.
“It’s almost noon. Eat first?” the Black Dragon asked, glancing back, voice warm as tea.
Lilith stared at that sunlit face, bright as polished jade. For a heartbeat she wanted to pounce and bite.
She did nothing. She only nodded and breathed out one word.
“Okay.”
Coward.
