As the sun set, casting orange light through her window, Pandora arranged her skirts on the bed. She didn't fancy waking up rumpled. Her hair was loose, lying over her shoulders and a gold comb sat on top in place of a tiara. Her head would hurt horribly if she slept lying on something for any length of time.
“I'm just going to sleep,” she told the dragon, trying to convince herself. “Tabitha will be back soon.”
“I will,” the witch promised, crushing the ingredients in her mortar with a stone pestle. She was breathing carefully, exhaling over the bowl and only inhaling after turning her head. “As soon as I possibly can.”
Only Pandora would find reassurance in such a terrifying face. Her magical prowess wasn't the only thing that kept curious men and children from her doorstep. Pandora, however, saw the mother who had raised her for the last ten years, longer than her real mother had.
“Back up, Magnificent. You don't want to inhale this.” Tabitha pushed the dragon back. She took a careful inhalation and poured the dust into her hand. Then she blew it into Pandora's face.
Her eyes itched, and she longed to sneeze, but the sensation lasted only a fraction of a second, replaced by complete black. All she could do now, was wait.
