Fifty-Three: A Simple Rest.

Lilith followed Elsa to her dorm, a quiet stream shadowing a moonlit shore.

The elf looked crushed, like a blossom beaten flat by rain; on the way she skipped the scenery, and at the door her face stayed funeral-gray.

Worry tightened first like a small knot in Lilith’s chest; then the Little White Dragon asked, “Miss Elsa, are you okay?” Was copying the Starlight Codex really that brutal? “Sorry, I should’ve spoken up for you in front of Mr. Joseph, or you wouldn’t have to copy the whole Starlight Codex.”

“No, it’s not on you, Miss Lilith,” Elsa muttered, her voice sagging like a flag in windless air. “It’s my cursed teacher. Doesn’t he get how long it takes to copy that brick? Please, he even wants me to copy his ‘revised’ edition—do you know how thick it is? One thousand five hundred pages, more than a millstone stacked on a millstone! It covers 782 points, an ultimate handbook for wide-eyed apprentices and grizzled warlocks alike, a whole forest of facts. He’s got me on my fifth copy this month—uh, maybe the sixth—like running in circles on a grinding wheel.”

“Sorry, Miss Elsa,” Lilith said, shrinking a little like a kitten tucking its tail. The moment she mentioned the Starlight Codex, the elf jumped like a cat with its tail stepped on, sparks in her eyes. Social grace isn’t her strong suit, so the Little White Dragon fumbled for comfort like hands searching in soft snow. “My condolences. Still, copying it so many times isn’t all bad; the lines must be etched in deep, like grooves worn into jade.”

“I hope so,” Elsa said dryly, words falling like dust from a shelf. She shook her head, led Lilith into an empty dorm, then waved her off like a leaf floating from a branch. “I’ll head out first. Rest here for a while, and when night falls, I’ll come take you to the Star Canvas observatory.”

“Alright. Thank you so much.” Lilith nodded, and she waved back, sending the warm-hearted elf off like a lantern drifting down a river.

Left alone, Lilith drifted into a pleasant daze, like a cat melting into sun-warm stone; then she took stock of the small nest she’d be roosting in for a while.

The room was tiny, a shoebox held by twilight palms; it barely fit a single bed, a big desk, and two tall wooden wardrobes like twin trees.

Lilith opened the wardrobes, their hinges sighing like old reeds; one held a cluster of hangers for clothes, and the other cradled a few timeworn books, likely shed by the last tenant like autumn leaves.

She tucked her spare clothes into the closet like folding clouds; then the Little White Dragon hung her cloak over the chair by the desk, a dark feather resting on a perch.

With the heavy outer layer shed like a husk, she decided to change; afternoon light still pooled like honey, and nightfall lay a long walk away.

She pulled out a nightdress Nidhogg had packed for her, a strip of moon-silk on her palms; to be honest, Lilith found it a little short, a crescent trimmed too thin.

But without that predatory Black Dragon around, her shoulders felt light as dandelion fluff; in this silk, the Little White Dragon felt no burden, not fearing Nidhogg’s sudden heat like a wildfire catching dry grass.

Aside from showing a little too much, the dress was fine, a ribbon whispering over skin like a breeze over water.

“Oh, there’s even a bathtub!” The Little White Dragon began exploring the small dorm, a sparrow pecking at every ledge, and found a bathroom that took a full third of the space like a white-tiled cove.

It was dry-wet separated like two shores divided by a bridge, and inside sat a big bathtub, a porcelain moon cupped in stone.

“I’ve decided. I’m an honorary Lamter now—elves live exactly the way my bones want to live!” The Little White Dragon scampered to the tub, joy bubbling like a spring; with time to spare, Lilith chose a long bath first, warm and slow as a summer pond.

She figured she’d be stuck on the Star Canvas observatory all night like a moth at a lamp; if she didn’t wash now, the chance would slip away like dew at noon.

Enough talk—time to move, like an arrow leaving the string!

Lilith fetched the slippers from under the sink, her small feet swallowed by big soles, flip-flopping across the room like two fish slapping water.

In a few steps she found her little bag, a pebble tucked by the door, and fished out her travel toiletries, neat as shells lined on sand.

She knew she was born with a face blessed by moonlight, yet pride hummed first like a plucked string; Nidhogg’s influence had made the Little White Dragon a meticulous girl, and even on the road she tended to herself like a gardener tending a rare orchid.

“Heh-heh, which bath salt today?” Lilith circled her skincare jars around the sink like a ring of tiny planets; the Little White Dragon took out a box of salts and froze, a compass spinning in fog.

As always, choice pinned her like a butterfly; so she shut her eyes and grabbed one at random, tossing it into the filling bath like a pebble into a lake.

She listened to the bath salt dissolve with a happy gurgle-gurgle, bubbles rising like pearls; only then did Lilith crack one eye open, a cautious slit of moon.

“Sea salt, huh.” The Little White Dragon sagged a little like a drooping petal, but it was still fine, a tide she could float on.

She let the hot water keep running, steam blooming like mist over pines; the bathroom had a little stool, a faithful stump, and she dragged it over to sit by the tub.

She lifted the shower head, and water hissed whoosh like rain on bamboo; she started cleaning her long white hair, a waterfall spilling over a stone ledge.

“Only at times like this do I feel the burden of keeping it long,” Lilith grumbled, fingers combing like careful comb-teeth through silk; she soaked it and worked in shampoo, slow as snow settling.

Long white hair takes an age, a winding river through reeds; she couldn’t rush it, or she’d harm her tresses like nicking a blade’s edge.

“Next time I’m making that scoundrel Nidhogg wash it,” Lilith puffed, heat in her cheeks like embers; “she loves petting my head, so she can help manage it—she’s the one who oils it up!”

She opened the shower again and rinsed, the suds sliding away like clouds; then she lathered once more, a second snowfall over moonlight threads.

Foam clung to her long hair and dotted the tiles like drifting petals; Lilith felt like a princess in a fairy tale, ringed by colored bubbles like tiny lanterns.

“Mmm.” Her girlish heart fluttered like a moth touching flame; suddenly, this long-hair battle felt less like a chore and more like play.

After the conditioner, Lilith wrapped her hair in a towel, a soft turban like a warm nest; then she slid into the balmy tub, sinking like a pebble into spring water.

“Pure bliss.” She let out a long breath, fog curling like silk; she sprawled with a goofy grin, lounging like an old grandpa floating on a summer river.