A red furred cat dances its way through the field of lavender, all cares of the world lost in this moment of freedom.

Lyzantis’ eyes glazed over as her mind whirred with the implications of the moon witch’s prophecy, so much so that she didn’t hear the end of the foretelling. She was too busy imagining a life spent doing as she wanted. How glorious it was to imagine. How terrifying.

“Lyza!!! I can’t reach the crumb cabinet!” Came a cry from the other room, wrenching Lyza back into reality. She was perched on the edge of her bed in a slate grey chamber, the striations of the wall running straight upwards. Every several seconds, the floor would rumble as Rethau’Gir, the dragon and walking city in which she resided, took another step.

All Lyza desired was to close her eyes and go back to the world of the cat dancing freely through the lavender, but she knew that every moment she made her husband Everett wait was another minute of yelling she would have to endure. With a sigh, Lyza rose, her 2-and-a-half-foot frame nearly scraping the ceiling as she sauntered toward the kitchen. There she found Everett, a foot tall elf in a blue shirt, with a red cap pulled so tight around his head as to wrap around his bulbous nose. The traditional clothes made Lyza roll her eyes in disdain. Surely the man could have taken on a new fashion style in the past thousand years.

“What do you need, dearest?” She said, her voice taking on a sickly-sweet tone.

“You know what I need, wench! You keep putting the Beef crumbs where I can’t reach them. How am I supposed to grow small and strong if I can eat any beef?!” Her tiny husband shrieked, leaping into the air as he tossed his hands about expressively. Lyza rubbed her temples in a vain attempt to stave off the encroaching headache, but she never flinched. The one, single, solitary, absolutely lonely advantage to being married to the same person for 1400 years is that you eventually learn the limits of their wrath.

Whilst Everett was obnoxious and cruel, he had long ago learned to not attempt physical violence on Lyza. The dark ages had been a very satisfying time for Lyza.

“Stop standing there and put your overgrown legs to use, you oaf!”

“Yes dear.” Lyza said with a sigh. What else was she to do? Everett would have already moved to a new apartment were it not for her size, even though their current apartment was too small for her already. The only way a marriage survives is through compromise after all. That’s also the only way Lyza had any hope of finding any peace and quiet.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Another rumble rattled the crystal cabinets, but Lyza simply waited a moment and then reached up to grasp the large jar of dried beef chunks that Everett insisted on having in the house. The top shelf was the only spot where dragon lice wouldn’t get at them. As Lyza began to slide it into her hands, another, larger and offbeat, quake rumbled through the floor. Lyza gasped in surprise as the jar slipped from her fingers to land on the floor with a splat.

“Careful young one, you can’t go waltzing about this here parts like it’s your fancy-dancy midwestern city. These are civilized parts where every motion has consequences and I’d hate to see you squish anybody with those classy shoes of you.” Chattered a monotone voice from out on the street. Old Sylas.

Lyza strutted to the door, opening it enough to behold to whom the young oaf was chattering. A tendon in her neck creaked as she craned her neck to look up at the towering elf looming above her. He was leaning against one of the dragon scales that made up the city buildings, his massive foot inches from Lyza’s door. A sojourner. Worse than tourists. They were always angsty and angry about their lives being “ruined.” Lyza would take a thousand marriages to Everett over being that senseless ever again. Taking her own children on sojourn had been particularly nightmarish.

Not wanting to interact with the youth and risk getting his teenage angst all over her, she quietly shut the door and turned back to Everett… Who was gone. He wasn’t in the room. Lyza cocked her head. Had God finally heard her prayers. In an example of perfectly horrid timing, this thought coincided with the exact moment that Lyza saw Everetts tiny limbs splayed out underneath the glass jar of dried beef.

Rushing forward, Lyza yanked the glass off her husband, her hand instinctively moving to check his pulse and pump his lungs, but there was no point. The elf was as flat as a pancake.

Tears prickled at the corners of Lyza’s eyes. For all her complaints about Everett, he had been… constant? Consistent. Now that Lyza was forced to think about things she would miss about the old elf, nothing came to mind. That couldn’t be right, could it? After 1400 years together, their sudden separation should have been more devastating. Instead, Lyza simply felt numb.

Out of that numb void, one fact was omnipresent in her mind. Everett’s parents will never let me live this down. If Everett were annoying, then his parents would be nightmarish. If they found out that their “darling” boy had died in the same room as Lyza, they would instantly blame her, and make her life a living hell. They were in the cellular cities of Rethau’Gir’s head, the classiest of all living arrangements, which was far enough from Lyza’s mid spine apartment that they wouldn’t catch wind of this all immediately, but Lyza had to act fast. She wiped her tears and grabbed one of the homing flies she kept for emergencies. She was going to need help.

As the fly took off through the tight city streets lined with dragon scales, Lyza felt her heart lighten, and she could practically smell the Lavender.