60. By Her Side

Noise tugged Lilith out of sleep, like a ripple crossing still water.

For a Little White Dragon with low blood pressure after waking, rising felt like climbing a dune against the wind.

Even a short nap pinned her in the quilt, a warm sea that refused to let her go.

She shifted on instinct, reaching for the empty space beside her, like grasping moonlight under a thin veil.

Her arms didn’t meet the White Dragon she expected, and clarity struck like a bell in frost.

Where was Nidhogg? Where had that great Black Dragon wandered off to?

She bounced up from the bed, but dizziness crashed over her like a dark wave.

The blood lagged behind the motion, and her vision went black, a shutter dropped over stars.

“Ugh…” She cupped her buzzing head and called into the dim, a note of worry tremoring. “Nidhogg?”

“Awake?” The Black Dragon’s answer came fast, steady as stone.

When the darkness peeled back, she saw him with a mop, the floor gleaming like a frozen lake.

Nidhogg had scrubbed her tiny room clean, dust chased away like morning fog.

Only the stack of papers on her desk sat untouched, like a quiet hill among trimmed fields.

The place looked brand new, just like the day Lilith first moved in, a fresh brushstroke on white silk.

“You cleaned all this?” She sat at the bed’s edge, fingers skimming the fabric of a thin nightdress, smooth as water.

Her porcelain-fine legs hung from the mattress, pale as milk under moonlight.

Her small feet sank into oversized slippers; with a light hop, she touched down, soft as a feather.

“Yeah. You were sleeping sweetly, like a cat in sun, so I didn’t wake you,” Nidhogg said, leaning on the mop like a spear.

“I cleaned your room; I don’t know how you lived in this mess—like a pigsty tossed by a storm.”

“If you turn it into that again, I’ll make you clean for a month,” he added, stern as thunder.

“No way!” Lilith shook her head like a rattle-drum, cheeks puffed like ripe peaches.

“If you clean so well, why should I clean at all?” Her big sapphire eyes flashed, a river of light pleading.

“If I don’t push you, you’ll sink into laziness like mud,” Nidhogg sighed, helpless as a long-suffering mountain.

“You love high-calorie treats; if you don’t move, you’ll round out like a dumpling.” He pointed at her waist, teasing as a flick of willow.

She checked her little belly, palm gliding over skin smooth as snow.

It didn’t look obvious at all; she pinched hard and found no extra softness, only spring-steel under silk.

“I’m not fat. Why point at my waist?” she asked, confusion fluttering like a moth.

“I know you’re not,” Nidhogg said, worry dark as rain gathering.

“You’ve even lost some weight lately, and it aches my heart like a bruise.”

“I mean you sit too long. Stand and walk more, or your waist will complain like an old hinge.”

“Don’t worry. My waist is fine.” Lilith arched proudly, confidence bright as sun on ice.

“See? Not even a little—ouch.”

A poke landed at her waist, and she deflated like a pricked balloon, strength leaking like air.

She clutched her tailbone, glare sharp as a needle, aimed at Nidhogg. “Why are you poking my waist?”

“So you feel how flimsy it is,” he said, fingers tapping at soft flesh like a drumbeat.

Lilith curled up, wriggling like a fish that didn’t want the hook.

“Quit it!” She swatted his hand, temper puffing like steam from a kettle.

She stood, sturdy as a little pine, refusing to chase this topic into thorns.

She never won when it came to her body; the Black Dragon knew her weak spots like a map of glass.

He pressed every fragile place, and she got pinned like a butterfly.

Better to change the subject, before the dragon side woke and he pounced like a storm.

Her slippers went pat-pat across the floor as she walked to the desk, sound soft as rain on leaves.

She lifted a small alarm clock; the hands pointed to ten, a clean slice of night ahead.

“I want to spend a while at the Astrology Tower. Will you come with me?” she asked, voice calm as a lantern’s glow.

She grabbed an unfinished star chart, then tied a quill and ink to the parchment, neat as a sailor’s knot.

She set everything down, pulled on her blue-and-white cloak, waves and clouds stitched into a sky.

“It’s already ten. How long?” Nidhogg frowned at the time, caution settling like dusk.

To her, this hour meant sleep; to an Astrologer, it was the first drumbeat of the night.

“For Astrologers, ten is only the start,” Lilith said, fingers sketching a crescent in the air.

“I won’t stay long tonight. You came by in the day and broke my rhythm; I didn’t finish sorting the last chart.”

“I just want to record the constellation we didn’t complete. It won’t take long,” she promised, voice steady as a metronome.

“Give me a time,” Nidhogg said, thinking like a clock ticking.

“If it’s not too late, I’ll go. If it’s late, I’ll sleep and catch you in the dawn.”

“Two or three hours. Quick,” Lilith answered, light as a falling petal.

“Then I’ll go with you,” Nidhogg decided, setting the mop back like stowing a spear in its rack.

He crossed to the wardrobe and pulled out a pretty dress, soft as morning clouds.

“But you need to change,” he said, definite as stone.

“Why?” Lilith blinked, innocent as a fawn. “I’m just drawing half a star chart.”

“That outfit can’t go outside. Change, now.” His tone clipped like a snap of ice.

“No way I’m letting you roam in a nightdress,” he added, stuffing the dress into her arms, decisive as a general.

“Okay.” Lilith nodded, and slipped into clothes one by one, petals layering into a bloom.