Thirty-Eight: Any Evil Ends!

Lilith still couldn’t set her worry down; as she stepped into the South Market, her heart fluttered like a caged sparrow, afraid hands would grab her little demon and little shard.

If she’d known, she wouldn’t have listened to Nidhogg and brought them here to play; shopping here felt like walking a river lined with knives.

She cursed Lamter twice in her mind, then slipped inside, shoulders taut like a drawn bow.

Beside her, Nidhogg almost lost his composure; the Little White Dragon kept peeking like a mouse fresh from its burrow, clutching seeds and scanning for hawks.

She looked so catchable, like one snap away from a predator’s jaws, that Nidhogg tugged her closer, as if tucking a fledgling under his wing.

Don’t worry too much, he said, voice warm as sun on stone. Travelers here are like lanterns in fog; spot a troublemaker, and they haul them to the lord’s manor. He rubbed her head, smoothing her hair like ruffled fur. Easy now. Breathe and shop. It’s not that dangerous.

Mm, Lilith answered, the sound small as a clouded bell. Worry would do nothing now, so she let the river take her and tried to savor the trip.

Nidhogg, Nidhogg! What’s that? She tugged his sleeve, eyes lighting like twin moons at a pretty shell she’d never seen.

They’d drifted into a jewelry shop, where glass gleamed like morning frost and trays lay still as ponds.

Looks like a new design, Nidhogg said, lifting the placard like a fallen leaf and reading. A newly found sea-shell, great finish, and—it says—an extra surprise.

What surprise? Curiosity shot up like spring bamboo. In her single-thread mind, the crime worry fell away like shed bark. Let me see!

She squeezed her head beside his hand, rose on tiptoe like a reed in wind, craning for a better look.

Here. The card doesn’t say what the surprise is; maybe you only find out after buying, he said, placing shell and card in her palm. Her soft hands fumbled like slippery fish; the trinket nearly slipped. Quick as a whip, she planted her tail to the floor like a prop and caught both, one in each hand.

But if they don’t say what the surprise is, who’ll buy it? Tastes differ like tea leaves in water, she said, eyes narrowing like the edge of a fan.

That’s probably why it’s still lying here, Nidhogg replied, pointing to the neighbors like stars around a moon. See? Same new material, and those cost a chunk more.

Mm… Her interest kindled like a spark in dry grass. She might weigh ninety pounds, but eighty of those were pure contrariness.

Nidhogg, I want this one. She lifted the crescent, a milky shell like a fallen moon; it matched her white hair like frost on snow. It wouldn’t drown in her pale skin, nor outshine her own glow. The more she looked, the more it tugged; she decided to be the first to crack the shell.

Sure, Nidhogg said, lifting the tag like a leaf and glancing. Not expensive. For dragons with their own little hoards, it’s pocket pebbles; only a newly fledged little dragon might feel it.

But your outfit doesn’t match this necklace, he added, an eyebrow rising like a drawn line. Crop top and hot pants—pure summer flame; this moon is a quiet lake.

Isn’t that because you picked it! She shot him a glare, sparks flicking like flint. She dodged his hand, scampered to the counter like a squirrel, and paid. Over her shoulder came a soft, bristling murmur: Tomorrow I’ll wear a little dress that suits it.

Nidhogg watched her go, pride rising like warm smoke. Half a year ago, the Little White Dragon acted like dressing up would kill her; now she preened herself like a songbird.

She didn’t forget the two little ones. She bought them hairpins—two halves that made a tiny moon when together, silver as dew. Litt took it with a mild nod, calm as a pond; Abaddon beamed like sunrise, even dropping her usual verbal tic, and hugged Lilith while spinning in happy circles.

Yet as Nidhogg waited for his share, heart open like a palm, Lilith turned with the others and left the shop, not sparing him a single extra glance.

The Black Dragon sighed and stepped back into the street, a long shadow on bright stone. The White Dragon was especially cocky today; at home, she’d need a lesson, she thought, like chalk tapping a board.

Up front, Lilith didn’t know. Cradling the moon necklace, she kissed and rubbed it like a kitten with a ribbon, then tucked it into her satchel with reluctant fingers.

They kept on. The heat in Lamter pressed down like a brazier. She ran cool as spring water, but if Litt overheated, that would be bad. So she bought four ice creams—one each—and this time, she didn’t forget Nidhogg’s.

As she opened her satchel, a stranger’s hand brushed her fingers, light as a moth’s wing. The touch was deft enough that most would miss it. Unlucky thief—she was Lilith.

Her absurd sensitivity wasn’t just for Nidhogg’s teasing; a mere pickpocket wanted to take her things? Daydreaming in sunlight.

The thief palmed the goods and turned away, surface smooth like a duck on a pond. But Lilith wasn’t about to let her go.

She flicked her chocolate ice cream up, and—whoosh—a pink flash sliced the air. The Ancient Ark kissed the thief’s throat and pinned them to the ground like a stake through cloth.

Their fist still clutched Lilith’s new trinket, proof and loot in one grip, nailed like a bug under glass.

Her tail caught the ice cream, steady as a hooked fish. She curled it over, took a lazy lick, then looked down from above at the thief.

Hmph? Trying to run!