Yennifer awoke face down in a puddle of her own vomit. The smell overtook her immediately. With bitter breaths, she began to gasp before rolling away from her sick. It took her several more harsh breaths before she could open her eyes. She spat the remnants of vomit from her mouth and looked around.

This was not where she collapsed at. No. She knew this clearing.

Wearily, Yennifer looked across from her —and sure enough there was the same verdant green dragon with teeth the size of her forearms. Or at least Yennifer assumed it was the same dragon. And so, for the second time, Yennifer did what she considered to be the sensible thing.

She gurgled a choked cry and darted out of the clearing. This time, her scream was much more muted —and fueled with the knowledge that the dragon must have found her and wanted to eat her. So any attempts at parlay —if she could even parlay with a dragon— were obviously doomed to fail. Obviously.

Once again, this did not stop the dragon from noticing her and lazily raising its head to watch the woman run, in a zig zag, this time not towards a cliff at all. Thus, the dragon did not contemplate warning the woman, but rather simply thought about how oddly she had appeared in his clearing and rudely began screaming. She had disturbed his nap! The dragon did not think this for the second time and recognition did not spark in its mind. This, the dragon laid his head back down and closed his eyes. He happily waited until the sounds of the woman running faded into the distance.

Yennifer, however, was once again not happily doing anything. She ran as far as she could before her legs gave out and she rolled forward face first into the ground. Barely catching herself, her arms flailed before her face slammed into the dirt. It was at that moment, as Yennifer rolled onto her back and looked up at the midday sky, she had an extreme sense of deja vu.

“How long was I passed out for?” She said in horror, “A whole day?”

Aside from the new muscle pain, she also noticed her throat wasn’t sore from when she ran screaming from the dragon the first time.

Odd. Usually it’s worse the second day. Yennifer furrowed her brow and chose, much like when she noticed her hair had turned cotton candy pink, to not think about it ever again. That seemed the most sensible thing —it’s not like pondering it would help her escape the oversized lizard and climb down this plateau.

Shaking her head, Yennifer glanced at the rock right next to her hand and scowled.

Ways to die in a fantasy world:

4. Falling onto a rock head first (avoided!)

That wouldn’t do. She’d survived a dragon! And nearly running off a cliff! She’d even survived those weird black out berries!

Yennifer stood up and looked around at the lush forest and dense underbrush, wondering which was she should explore next. She had been too concerned with crossing the dragons territory the first time she woke, she had only stuck close to the cliff’s edge. Now, she could do a proper run through of the forest and see if maybe magic stairs —or just a downward slope— would appear on the far half.

Patting down her trousers —ignoring the fact that when she was last getting dressed she was wearing a dress— Yennifer righted her body.

“Straighten your shirt, Yenn,” she muttered to herself, in a remarkably terrible English accent, “Nothing’ll eat you if you look too posh to be eaten.”

At the end, she gave a snort. Amusing herself was one of Yennifer’s many skills, along with nihilism in the face of positivity, positivity in the face of nihilism, and irritating her elder sister, Anya. Unrelated, Anya had studied for quite a while in London and came back with a strict sense of style and a grating accent. Yennifer, meanwhile, had a very American accent and was 89% sure three years at Oxford wouldn’t change that. Yennifer would be right.

“Shite!”

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Yennifer, too busy laughing at her sisters expense when she should be watching where she was going, tripped on a tree root and nearly fell. Again.

Such was another one of Yennifers special skills.

“Ow-ow-owwww,” she hissed, as she looked at the palms of her hands —now coated in splinters and tree resin that looked like blood.

Pausing, Yennifer brought her hands and face closer together. Squinting her eyes, she realized that it was blood. Irritated at the tree and herself —and quite honestly very, very overwhelmed by the whole dragon thing still— Yennifer took a breath and closed her eyes.

“Yenn,” this time she was not using a fabricated accent, “Do not kick the tree. The tree doesn’t understand. It doesn’t know you’re on the brink of a mental breakdown. It didn’t mean to trip you.”

“Yes I did.”

Freezing in place, Yennifer did not turn towards the gravelly voice. Because that would mean something had spoken to her.

Something alive and admitting to wanting to hurt her.

“Come on, Yennifer,” came the voice from down low, near her thighs and ass, “Take another step.”

Oh, talking to herself had been a mistake.

You aren’t supposed to let the weird creature know your name, Yenn! You buffoon! She screeched in her head.

Yennifer knew, without a doubt, she was screwed. So, she looked behind her. May as well know what new hell awaited her, so she could add it to her list.

Ways to die in a fantasy world:

5. Eaten one limb at a time by a tree with very, very large teeth

That revelation led Yennifer to screaming. A lot. More than for the dragon, because at least the dragon hadn’t talked. Hadn’t purposefully tripped her and then said her name. Scrambling back from the eldritch being disguised as a horrifying upgrade to the Wizard of Oz’s apple trees, Yennifer turned on her heel and bolted.

In her life, Yenn had never run this much. Not in two days. Not in two months. In fact, if pressed, Yennifer would have to admit she hadn't run quite so much in two years.

Unfortunately, Yennifer was running from a tree. And she was in a forest. Said forest was filled with trees much like the one she was running from. Thus, she only made it about ten full steps before a root caught her ankle and dragged her down.

“Yennifer-Yennifer-Yennifer,” the trees chanted, as if summoning her.

Tears pricked at Yennifer’s eyes and she attempted to rip her leg free. She dug her hands in the dirt, grabbing rocks and twigs and roots in an attempt to fight back against the dragging. The latter of which was a mistake, as it immediately wrapped itself around her wrist and split into two. The second half of the root began crawling up her arm, no matter how Yennifer thrashed.

Using her free hand, she tried prying the root from her wrist. Her nail split from the force she used attempting to free herself, but it wasn’t until she heard a CRACK coming from her wrist that she knew true pain. No longer was she screaming. Tears streamed down her face but she didn’t make a sound. While Yennifer was trying to free herself, the third root had made it to her neck and wrapped around it twice over.

It was already so tight Yennifer’s face was turning red from lack of oxygen. Still, the root tightened, using little of its true power but still more than enough for a mundane girl.

Had Yennifer been in her right mind, or simply still able to breath she might have quipped ‘this sucks’ or ‘sentient trees are the least liked of all greenery’. Which would not be incorrect, as they do tend to murder quite often.

But Yennifer, desperately fighting for her life despite her general disregard for her own safety, found herself thinking, “I want to live. Meaningless or not —I want to live.”

Unfortunately, she died.

Again.

Fortunately, she awoke. In a clearing. Under the bright blue sky.

Sitting across from a dragon.

Again.

Yennifer did not scream.