82. Dress-Up
“Alright, let’s go!”
At the inn’s door, Lilith lifted a small hand like a waving pennant and let out a bright whoop.
Today, under Nidhogg’s firm insistence, the Little White Dragon finally shed her beloved cloak. She slipped into something fitter for her age, light as wind and quick as laughter.
She’d refused the Black Dragon’s push for a skirt. Instead, she wore a white crop top that flashed a strip of sun-kissed skin, and black hot pants that barely hugged the root of her thighs. The tight fabric traced her slender, milk-pale legs, soft with just a hint of plushness—like ripe fruit that makes fingers itch to pinch.
No stockings today. On her feet were a pair of odd shoes she’d found with Nidhogg along Lamter’s commercial street—canvas sneakers from her other world, street-breeze and rubber-soled. Why they sat in a Lamter shop, out of tune with the local racks, was a mystery that felt like a stray comet landing in a forest.
Luckily, aside from folks with particular hobbies, few stare at strangers’ shoes. Lilith’s whole outfit hit clean and bright; and the Little White Dragon tossed on a gray sun jacket outside, thin as mist, making her look like someone who had stepped across worlds.
She tied her waist-length white hair into a single ponytail. It flicked behind her like a silver ribbon, a playful metronome that beat out a cute, springy tempo.
Lamter’s wet heat clung like a damp curtain, and it made Lilith frown before she moved. So she dressed cool, like a breeze slipping between leaves. There was no bait in the way she bared skin; the few swatches of cloth only sharpened the age-bright purity and vigor she wore like morning light.
“How do I look today?” Lilith clasped her hands behind her back and spun before the Black Dragon. Her face bloomed like a flower, her eyes curving into twin crescents.
“Beautiful. But you really don’t think you’re drawing a lot of eyes?” Nidhogg’s tone was approving with a wry edge. The Little White Dragon suited daring cuts; her figure held its lines like a clean sketch. It was just that she usually wrapped herself like a burlap sack. Now that she’d traded that for something flattering, her shape showed like a dawn skyline.
“What are you talking about? Look at what you’re wearing.” Lilith’s deadpan went flat as still water. She gave the Black Dragon a fish-eyed stare and leveled a dry complaint.
Nidhogg wore black pants, legs tailored tight but ankles open, like shadows trimmed to neat cuffs. She hauled the waistband snug at her waist and cinched an ash-gray shirt with a belt, tucking it clean. The effect? Legs for days, severe lines like drawn ink; standing beside her, Lilith barely came up to her belt.
And Lilith at least balanced black shorts with white hair and a light top. Nidhogg went full midnight from top to toe, an ink stroke made woman. If you didn’t know her, you’d mistake her for a mob boss drifting in from the docks, a chill don’t-touch aura rolling off her like cold iron.
Even Lilith felt a twitch of wariness. As they lingered at the threshold chatting, more than a few passersby turned heads, curiosity pricking like sparks.
“I don’t mean the clothes. I mean your stomach.” Nidhogg tapped the small blue mark on Lilith’s lower belly. The crop top bared it like a coin of sky: a feathered sigil left by resonance with the constellations, glowing against her flat, pale skin.
“This proves I’m a master astrologer.” Pride came first, then the pose. The Little White Dragon arched her slim waist, the motion like a young reed catching wind. Ever since her second meeting with Star Canvas, followed by that fever like a summer storm, the once tiny feather had evolved. A white ring formed at the center of her belly, circled by more azure feathers that followed the soft rise and fall of her skin. They arrayed around the ring like a crown—like the seraph described in the world she once called home.
“Fine. If you like it, keep it.” Nidhogg saw that Lilith’s pride glittered like a polished gem. She let it be. Joy was a fragile bird; you don’t cage it if it’s singing.
“Do you two remember why we’re even going out?” Mio drifted from the room, closing the door with a lazy click. Her expression was all flat lines. “You dressed this loud because you’re afraid no one will notice?”
“Oh, as long as they don’t recognize me, we’re fine. Their standout looks might even pull eyes away from me.” The Archbishop followed behind Mio, smiling with her eyes like a crescent blade kept sheathed. She wore silk common in Lamter now, a fabric flowing like cool water.
Elves from the forest had their own craft for summer’s bite; silkworm threads were partners against heat and salty wind. Lamter folk had learned new weaving, turning out garments worlds apart from old silk—lighter, clever, sea-breeze ready. The Archbishop studied her robe for a long moment and finally laughed: it was silk after all, just dressed in a new century.
“Is everyone in Lamter wearing this now?” She glanced down at herself, then at Nidhogg and Lilith, curiosity flickering like a moth by a lantern.
“What you’ve got is the local mainstream,” Mio said, dry as baked clay. “Theirs is straight outsider gear.”
“We are outsiders,” Lilith shot back, the spark in her voice quick as flint. “And Nidhogg already briefed me. The North Market sits next to the mag-car station, so it deals mostly with inland outsiders. Dressing like this is perfectly fine.”
“Sure, sure.” Mio waved it off, then fished out a mask. She pressed it into the Archbishop’s hand like passing a leaf to the wind. “Wear this. It works like a veil, but folks in Lamter prefer masks now.”
“How odd. Why?” The Archbishop slid it on; her voice came through muffled, funny as a drum tapped with cloth.
“No clue. Maybe some country out there had a big plague, and masks turned into fashion.” Mio shrugged, the gesture light as falling ash.
“Why does that sound so familiar?” Lilith frowned, memory stirring like fish under ice.
“No idea. You’re the one from outside; maybe you heard a rumor.” Mio shook her head, then turned to check the lock, fingers swift and neat. “Forget it. Time’s tight today. Let’s move.”
“Okay.” Lilith nodded. Before stepping off the stoop, she turned toward the inn’s second-floor window. Two little ones leaned over the sill like twin sparrows, eyes bright.
“Stay home and be good, okay.” She called up softly, her voice like a ribbon tossed on the air.
