Page 148 of The Dragon 1
The moment I opened the lid, my breath hitched.
There, folded with intimate grace, was a silk handkerchief.
And not just any silk.
This wasHabotai, the kind that shimmered like moonlight on moving water. Turquoise—vibrant and royal—the color of oceans that had never known storms.
Embroidered into the center in painstaking detail was a tiger.
Not a cartoon image.
Not some abstract wash of stripes.
This was a real tiger watching a breathtaking and huge dragon—shoulders low, body crouched, eyes alight with intelligence.
Not in fear.
Not even in challenge.
Just awareness.
Like the tiger had found something equal.
Or holy.
The threadwork was exquisite.
Every whisker.
Every stripe.
Every scale on the dragon.
Gold and black shimmered against the turquoise background.
Reo spoke. “That is an incredible piece of art.”
My fingers brushed the silk. It felt like her skin.
Cool.
Smooth.
Sensual in a way that made my lungs tighten.
“Beautiful,” I turned it over with trembling hands.
There, stitched in the bottom corner in the tiniest, cleanest script—was the message:
“For when you must hide your fire but still burn.” — N.
The words swallowed me whole.
My throat closed up.
“For when you must hide your fire but still burn.”
I stared at the embroidery.
