Time didn’t give the Little White Dragon much room to regret; Nidhogg and Mio moved in the kitchen like seasoned hands, and before doubt could settle, the Black Dragon scooped her from bed to a chair.
Heat pricked her cheeks as she sat there in just pajamas, like mist caught by moonlight, and she protested sharply—but fear tugged that one wrong word would pin her back to the bed, so she swallowed it.
Dinner ran lighter than usual, a spread like a small garden and a river of steam, yet a few vegetable dishes she once loved now tasted off, like chewed leaves gone to ash.
“It’s normal—strictly speaking, you’re a carnivore now.” Nidhogg’s voice was cool water over hot stones as Lilith carried her questions over, “Dragons were split into five branches at birth, and White Dragons drift outside them, shaping themselves by how they grow.”
“You grew up under the Dragon God, but learned mostly with Silver and Black Dragons; your body’s leaning that way, like a compass nudged by two poles. Both are meat-eaters, so greens won’t sing to you now.”
Unease rose first, like a cloud snagged on a ridge; Lilith forced herself to accept the ‘normal physiology’ line, pushed her former favorites away like boats from a pier, and bit into the meat set before Nidhogg.
“Mmm—okay, that’s a lot better.” She chewed the tender, juicy braise with a funeral face; fair to say, it was delicious, but she hated her likes being flipped like a page, which chipped at who she was. “But I still want vegetables.”
“If it tastes good, eat. Don’t overthink it; people change like seasons, no need to be rigid.” Nidhogg’s voice was a steady hearth as she slid several dishes toward her. “Try these. I knew your palate would shift—see which one hits.”
Lilith obeyed, fork flashing like a quick fin as she speared hearty chunks from the sea of fish and meat; delight popped in her eyes like twin lanterns, and her slender tail swayed behind her like grass in a breeze.
“This one’s great, I love this sour bite!” She stabbed another piece and popped it in, eyes bright on Nidhogg. “What is it? I want more.”
“Lemon-braised meat. In Lamter, they make it for pregnant women.”
The words fell like a bucket of cold water on her crown; the little dragon’s flame went out with a hiss, and she set down her fork, lips jutting like a sulky cherry. “Then I’m not eating it. I’m laying an egg, not pregnant. I’m not eating maternity food.”
“It’s just that elves crave sour when pregnant. You’ve always liked sour; I’m checking if that tune still plays. Nothing to do with the egg in your belly.” Nidhogg’s hand smoothed her hair like stroking downy feathers. “We won’t make it again if you don’t want it. So… do you like this taste?”
“…Yeah.” Shyness crept in first, a blush like dawn on snow. Then she nodded. “I really want sour things now.”
“Got it. I’ll tell Mio.” Nidhogg kept rubbing circles on her back, a calm tide settling a fidgety hatchling.
“No need for your lordship to make an extra trip. I heard you already.” Across from them, the elf wore an expression like biting a raw lemon, worse than Lilith forcing down greens; she set her utensils down and frowned. “Seriously, do you two have to cling in public?”
“What?” Nidhogg’s hand paused mid-stroke, and Lilith froze mid-nuzzle; together, they turned to Mio like sunflowers to a sudden shout.
“If you went to all that trouble to carry her down, you might as well feed her in the room. Then no one interrupts your cuddles, and I’m not force-fed your PDA, blinding like a 300-Lam bulb.”
“It’s fine. Even if we coo down here, no one will interrupt. As a friend, I trust your manners, Miss Mio.” Nidhogg let the eye-roll drift past like a leaf on water and turned back to the little white dragon.
But Lilith’s courage wilted; shyness came first, a fluttering bird in her chest. She’d only just shifted out of bedroom headspace and finally remembered other people sat around her, so the boldness fizzled.
Another tug followed—responsibility, like a small hand on her sleeve. Abaddon could manage herself now, fine; but Litt hadn’t seen her since she went to prepare for the Coining Festival, and the absence itched.
“Wait.” Lilith threw up a hand to block Nidhogg’s face from leaning in again; panic pricked like cold rain as she scanned the room, found no little demon or little shard, and asked, “Where are Litt and Abaddon?”
“They came down earlier, ate, and went back to play.” Nidhogg’s tone warmed like lamplight. “Abaddon’s steady with a sharp feel for things, but she’s flamboyant. She needs a little fan to praise her. Litt gets along great; she even said she wanted to keep hearing Abaddon tell stories of Lord Satan.”
Relief spread through her like tea heat; still, guilt nipped. She couldn’t keep being a hands-off mom; Litt called her ‘mom’ every day, even if there was no blood tie…
No—wasn’t it the other way around? Shouldn’t she call Litt ‘grandma’?
Forget it; the little dragon couldn’t untangle that knot.
“How about we take the kids out tomorrow?” she suggested, a spark of excitement like a lantern in fog. Last time Nidhogg took her shopping, she’d had her head full of Black Dragon and missed Lamter’s charms; now the chance stood open.
“Is your leg okay?” Nidhogg’s hand slid over her soft thigh like a teasing breeze.
“Knock it off!” Lilith shot her a glare sharp as a claw and slapped the hand away.
