20. The Little White Dragon Battles the Risotto

They found a risotto place that wasn’t crowded, its steam curling from bowls like morning mist over a quiet pond.

Nidhogg had wanted to take Lilith to a seafood noodles spot she loved. She searched and searched, but the place had vanished—its sign swallowed like a retreating tide, replaced by a shell-jewelry shop that glittered like beach pebbles.

“How could something that tasty just be gone?” Nidhogg said, her voice low as dusk wind.

Forced by the moment, the Black Dragon girl led the little ones down the street and into a risotto shop with no line. The four girls slipped into a corner table, nesting like sparrows, menus fluttering like leaves in their hands.

“Come here, Litt, let me wipe your mouth.” Lilith sat facing Nidhogg. One glance up, and she caught Nidhogg studying the menu, her inky brows knotted like two fine brushstrokes. Lilith wanted to smooth those knots, then pinch the corners of her lips into a crescent smile.

She knew that would be too much. Their bridge wasn’t built yet. She swallowed the heat and focused on the little one, trying to pull her eyes away from Nidhogg like a fisherman tugging a line from the current.

“I’m done ordering. Abaddon, what do you want?” Nidhogg said just as Lilith pulled out a wet wipe for Litt. Nidhogg looked up and asked the girl at her side.

Why not ask me first?

Jealousy tipped over inside Lilith like a jar of vinegar. She watched Nidhogg slide the menu into Abaddon’s arms and lean close to whisper with the little Demon, the two heads together like twin moons—dark and bright—plotting the tastiest catch.

Lilith turned lemon-white and sour. Her hand pressed too hard. The wet wipe scraped over Litt’s lips like sand over driftwood. Litt whimpered and squirmed, and Lilith jolted, fingers flying open.

“Uh-uh, Mama, bad!” Litt cupped her reddened mouth, cheeks puffed like storm clouds—exactly Lilith’s angry look. The Little White Dragon was a white pufferfish; Litt was the baby puffer.

“Sorry.” Lilith patted the little one’s head, awkward, her thoughts a tangled thicket. She scolded herself in silence. She and Nidhogg had nothing special yet. She wouldn’t confess, and still she fretted—that wasn’t the way of a brave heart.

Lilith, how did you sink so low? Where’s your old fire? If you like her, chase her. Don’t go soft. Say it loud to that flirt—then take her down.

She pumped a tiny fist against her chest, like working a bicycle pump, sending courage hissing into her ribs.

Confidence surged. She raised her eyes—and met the agate-bright gaze of the Black Dragon girl.

“We’ve ordered. Lilith, what do you want?” The black-haired girl smiled, and light swam in Nidhogg’s eyes—sun caught inside two onyx pools.

Lilith froze. Heart first, then throat. She swallowed, and a blush climbed her cheeks like dawn washing over fresh snow.

She snatched the menu Nidhogg offered. She hid her white hair and pale blue horns behind the cardboard sea, letting the rainbow seafood risotto on the cover block Nidhogg’s curious gaze.

One look, and Lilith’s armor scattered like leaves in a gust. How could she be this beautiful?

Yesterday’s memory held a Black Dragon, but today’s radiance burned hotter—bright enough to loosen Lilith’s heartbeat from its leash and send it racing like a wild foal.

Lilith touched her cheek with a small hand. Cool as ice. How red was she now?

On the menu, a scarlet lobster flared like a bonfire. She feared she matched it—red as a baboon’s rump.

Cowardly, she burrowed into her paper dunes. Only when the unnatural pink ebbed did she dare raise her head. She jabbed a random choice with her finger.

“You’re sure about that?” Nidhogg hesitated, concern flickering like a shadow across water. Lilith didn’t look up. She sat there nodding, without the courage to meet Nidhogg’s eyes.

“All right.” Nidhogg got no answer. She handed the menu to the server, then settled in, waiting for bowls to land like boats docking.

Silence fell, thick as fog. Lilith didn’t notice. She prayed the kitchen would be quick. She feared the little deer in her chest would drum so loud that a girl a hundred paces away could hear her secret.

Luckily, the awkward fog didn’t last. This place moved fast. Soon the risotto arrived, steaming like fresh tide. Litt only wanted a glass of clear water.

The plates touched down—and the Little White Dragon sensed trouble. She had ordered extra spicy.

Lilith’s face blanched in a snap, snow under sudden sun. Since the previous world, she couldn’t handle spice. A pinch could stop her cold, let alone a bowl stained red like a battlefield.

She lifted her spoon like a soldier raising a shield. She couldn’t ask for a swap. Nidhogg had checked with her again and again before ordering. Lilith had insisted. Changing now felt rude, like stepping back mid-duel.

So Lilith stared at the scarlet threat, sweat beading like rain on slate. She gritted her teeth and raised the spoon.

It’s just a bowl of risotto. What can you do to me? I’m Lilith, a White Dragon. I can’t handle Nidhogg, but I can handle you.

Screw it—bring it on.