Tenth Year of rule of Farsamir, Earth, Detroit.

A spoonful of dorro’s fat, sizzled inside an old cast iron skillet, spreading an encouraging aroma throughout the perfect kitchen. Humming her favorite song, a perfect young woman, tossed a perfect fistful of perfectly chopped chives into the sizzling fat then, like the perfect wife she was, the woman added a pinch of salt and just the perfect amount of black pepper to an emu’s egg and stirred. The stirring she also done to perfection.

With the egg sufficiently stirred, and the chives fried to a perfect state, the perfect wife dunked the mixture onto the skillet and adjusted the electric flame, yet again, to the perfect temperature.

There could be no other way but perfection.

“A hyup!”

With a perfect flip of her feminine wrist, the soon to be perfect omelet became airborne and after a momentary spin, flopped back into the skillet, exposing a perfect golden skin.

“Morning.”

A handsome man in leather suit entered the perfect kitchen and kissed the woman’s cheek.

“Mmm, what are you making? Smells godly in here.”

“Emu’s omelets. With chives.”

Enjoying the sent of the man’s cologne, the perfect wife flipped the omelet with another perfect ‘a-hyup!’, confirming the other side also cooked to a golden perfection. Just as it should, the woman smiled to herself. Ignoring the man’s hands traveling over her nude rump, she dunked the perfect omelet onto a perfect plate set on a perfect kitchen table and leaned against the man. It would be a lie to say she did not enjoy his touch. That was the perfect reason to wear this short apron and nothing else on her perfect body.

“You little monster. After all we did last night, you still don’t have enough?”

“Rawr.”

She made a perfect cute pose and looked up at her lover, pretending to claw the air with her free hand. It earned her a smile and a kiss on her forehead. Not the perfect reward she hoped for.

“Not right now love. I have lots of work ahead of me today at the Ford Motor Dungeon. There’s a whole production line of Model-Ts to slay. Can’t go there half dead, can I?”

The woman harrumphed, inflating her cheeks.

“But you’re always gone for so long. Can’t you… not even a quickie?”

Making big and of course perfect watery eyes, she leaned even more against her man. At this angle, her apron did little to hide her perfect assets.

“No.”

The man fought with his mind and won. Although, not by a long shot. Or so his second brain said, bulging out below his waist.

“A quickie with you means I’ll be sore and low on stamina for the rest of the day. That won’t fly with the rest of the team. Also, the food is getting cold.”

The woman grumbled but relented to the logic and let her husband eat. She opened the dishlicker and tossed the skillet in where a giant red tongue wrapped around it and began to slurp it clean. Closing the lid, she pondered how did people managed to train those mimics to just clean the dishes and not eat them.

A honk sounded outside.

“Ah, shoot. They’re here.”

The omelet vanished and the man almost vanished as well when a sweet voice stopped him in the open door.

“Honey, aren’t you forgetting something? Hmm?”

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The woman, now without her perfect apron and without anything else covering her perfect body, stood braced against the table. The man groaned, then run up to her and planted a deep kiss on her lips until the honking returned.

“I really, really must go now. Love you.”

And he was gone and along with him gone was the perfect morning.

“Fuck.”

The woman sighed and kicked her discarded apron.

“Alone again. Yippie…”

Annoyed, she slouched onto a chair and sprawled over the kitten table, her formidable assets spilling sideways. So close. She was so close. Sigh.

Was it so bad she wanted to monopolize her man? Keep snogging him in their bedroom? Or any room. Or anywhere. Even their neighbor’s backyard was fine as long as they would be together.

“Ugh…”

She pressed her palms against her temple and tried to rub away her headache. For some reason, her head hurt every time she got too emotional. Every time she reflected on…

She screamed, grappling at her own head while pain exploded within her scalp.

“Don’t think, just breathe. Don’t think…”

Large crimson droplets streaked out of her left nostril and pelted the white stone of their table. It hasn’t been this bad in a long while. It had been literal years since she got her last nosebleed.

Deep breaths. Clear your mind. Don’t think. Whatever it was, probably wasn’t worth the trouble. Just keep breathing and think of nothing. Focus on breathing.

As she focused on her breathing and breathing only, the pain ebbed away. Although, not before their beautiful white marble table became red.

“Shit. I’ll better clean this off.”

The woman got up yet instead of going to get a sponge from the sink, her body just dropped. The last thing she felt while her world sunk in darkness was her own head bouncing against the floor.

Her body awoke her to a draft running over her bare skin and a migraine thumping inside her skull. She could still move so perhaps nothing major broke when she collapsed but that wasn’t important. She needed to get up and clean up otherwise her lover might worry. He’d be furious if he sees he like that. All bloody on the floor.

“It won’t fly, won’t it?”

She groaned, pulling herself up off the floor.

“Certainly, it won’t.”

A male voice answered her, followed by the sounds of a coffee maker grinding beans.

Jolted by the sudden fear and pumped with adrenaline, the woman jumped up and took a stance behind a counter she was holding. Then for a better measure, she gripped a kitchen knife from a holder and put it between herself and the source of the alien voice.

Right in front of her, a broad-shouldered man in a plain suit, busied himself making coffee.

“Who the hell are you?! How did you get in? Get out before I’ll call the guards!”

Without turning around, the stranger raised his hand over his shoulder and jabbed a thumb at her kitchen door or a sorry, splintered remains of it.

“I let myself in.”

He spoke as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Also, it’s ‘Get out before I’ll call the cops’ and not ‘the guards’. Wrong world. Besides, a piece of advice, if you ever face a home invader, don’t go screaming at him ‘Get out before I’ll call the cops’. You either shoot him and then call the cops, hide and call the cops, or call the cops and then shoot him.”

As the coffee maker chimed, the man took his cup and turned to face her. His familiar face bordered between a street thug and a handsome… a wave of sudden pain made her press her palm against her left eye, but it also made her extend the knife even further towards the odd man. He gazed into her face then glanced at the exposed blade.

“Cute.”

Was his only reaction. Then he went on to sip his coffee only to promptly spit it out.

“Another missed reference, that is no coffee taste but pure turpentine. Well, no fault of your own. I imagine you had to fill in the blanks with something.”

“Who are you?! What do you want with me?!”

“Who I am is… of no consequence. Let us say I am no more but a king of fools that came to fill in for a fool that… became quite indisposed. As for what do I want, hmm. Nothing really. It is beyond the time of my wants. I am here merely as a messenger. Erneaterrncira Starborn. Blood of Sergorn Black. Hatched of Rialta Starborn. Last of Dragons. A lady of foul language and soft heart. Possessor of the most beautiful eyes, or so the dolt says. How long do you plan to hide behind that kitchen toy in this silly dream of yours? Would you not prefer to hold your daughter in your own arms instead of playing pretend with a figment of your own mind?”

“What are you…”

At once as the man’s voice still rang in her ears, the dam in her mind broke, spilling memories of her past life. Of the death of her loved ones. Of the fight with her daughter. Of the kind dolt that risked his own life for her selfish wish.

“How?”

The man shrugged his arms.

“Gods? Daemons? Fate? Not my area of expertise.”

“I remember… there was… the lantern… that thing… I tried… was I sealed?”

“For quite a while. You still are. Trapped within an endless dream. Either way. My job is done. I delivered the message.”

Putting his cup away, he walked over to the entrance and paused there, giving the shaken dragon one more look.

“By the way,”

He spoke.

“If you want to intimidate someone, use a real knife and not a toy. This is a real knife.”

He reached behind his back, under his jacket and pulled out an arm length of the vilest serrated blade that was ever in existence. The dark steel seethed murder and dripped of death of countless victims that lost their life through that knife.

Erta’s whole being shivered as the stranger stabbed the empty space and cut a hole, slicing a portal open in the empty air.

“Remain and sleep forever or follow and see what is to come.”