The sleepiness I had felt seemed to waver for a moment, but I was unsure when it would strike again. I looked over at Kryssia and Val again, and my mind acted up... again. Kryssia suddenly appeared small and transparent, a deathly pale over her skin, and her eyes seemed to be lifeless and hollow. A blink and I was back to seeing her in her regular look. The sleepiness hitting me with renewed vigour reminded me about why I was here.

I climbed into my lush and lavish bed and fell into a dreamless slumber.

When next I awoke, it was Tuesday. I pondered the events of Sunday as I pulled on my stockings and skirt. I smiled a little bit to myself at the memory of Fianna’s amazing smile lit by the lantern. It made me take pause in buttoning my blouse, my mind wandering to the idea of staring into that perfect face for hours made my fingers a little clumsy. I finally managed to get myself sorted out and dressed in a matter of minutes. I had just finished running a brush through my somewhat unruly hair when I heard a soft knock on the door.

I went to open it, and I saw Kryssia looking through a sheaf of papers. She glanced up at me and then at the papers, and then back at me.

“So... do you want the good news or the bad news?” she asked, her face a little tense.

I asked her to pick a starting point and tell me what was going on.

“Well, to start, you look fantastic in these dress sketches that I found in this manila envelope in front of your door.” She said, showing the envelope and waving the sheets of paper. “On the other hand, I had thought this was a death threat and opened it. But at least your stalker has prepared a series of amazing dresses to put you in when she kills you.”

I ended up putting my face in the palm of my hand, the sheer lunacy of her statement made me feel somewhat dumber. She passed me the papers and envelope for me to review.

“I personally feel number eleven would bring your assets to the forefront, plus it would go amazingly well with your eyes.” Kryssia said as we began to head toward the cafe.

I shuffled through the designs as we walked, Krys acting as a buffer between myself and oncoming girls. Some were lacy, some were racy, and a few made me look tasty. Then I found the one Krys was talking about.

The dress in question started with a green and black corset, tied in the back down by the tailbone instead of up by the shoulders. Then the artist added in a flowing silk skirt that had a slit up to the left thigh, the right had a black sheer material that hid the leg a bit. This was then accented by a black and green shoulder-less jacket with three-quarter sleeves. Adorning my head in this image was a pillbox hat, also in shades of green and black. An image on the back was a cutaway for what to wear under the dress. It had me wearing a black lace garter belt, green and black stockings with a fairy motif, a pair of green panties, and shoes that looked like they belonged in a film about Alice in Wonderland. All in all, I was stunned. The artist had rendered in near perfection my proportions, drawn not one but twenty dresses, and each one made me look... gorgeous. I felt so self-conscious about it that I didn’t have the ability to process how good I looked.

Krys and I stopped in the cafe, and I had the weirdest craving for biscuits and gravy. Maybe it was because I was in a middle class household with a single dad, but something about the simple meal always made me feel safe and at home. It then donned on me that in the UK and abroad, a biscuit is a cookie and not a biscuit. This brought all wheels to a stop on the Lauren Express.

“Hey Krys, quick question, what do you call a savoury quickly made bread product that you can apply a meat based sauce to?” I asked, trying to sound less like a clueless American and more like an inquiring mind.

“Well, I know I’ve had savoury scones... but really I just pop over to the American side of the cafe and order biscuits.” she said thoughtfully. She then pointed to the small, dingy section of the cafe that looked so different from the rest of the beautiful aesthetic of the cafe and attached dining room that I questioned how I missed it on first glance.

I dashed over to the space as quickly as I could, dodging students in my American comfort food frenzy. When I got to the counter, I was greeted by what I could swear was a southern debutante who had gained just enough weight to look healthily tubby. She smiled sweetly and in the oh-so-familiar drawl American kids hear dramatized in television, she asked how my day was.

“Ma’am, I’m doing rather well, but you could make my day better. I need a heaping plate of biscuits and sausage cream gravy, and I need it stat.” I said, becoming more animated as I spoke.

She giggled a bit, told me how nice it was to have a real girl from the states here who could appreciate some southern hospitality, and busied herself with crafting a masterpiece of simple food. While she prepared everything, we shot the breeze a little. Her name was Hannah Johnson and she had been working at a small town truck stop as part of the cooking staff when she had been approached by a few young ladies who had tried her food when their vehicle broke down, and they offered her a six figure salary and a ticket to Avalon Girl’s Academy to work.

When my breakfast was ready, Hannah threw a few links of sausage and some thick cut bacon on the side. I paid for my biscuits, Hannah refused to charge me for the extra bits she had thrown in, and Krys and I went to sit down to eat before heading to class.

I began scarfing the food into my mouth in a fashion I can only imagine was difficult to watch for any onlookers. When I finished and looked up, Krys was gazing at me in a mixture of shock and awe. Her fork clattering from her hand onto the table, the sheer terror of what she had seen must have left her nearly catatonic. So I decided to see if I could get a reaction and moved my fork towards her dish. It looked like a donut with some kind of cream and fruit mixture on top of it.

Faster than I could blink, my fork was pinned under hers. The look of horror was gone, her face now a mask of displeasure.

“Nobody takes my papanasi. Not you, not Val, not even my family.” She hissed.

The rest of the day went by in a flash until we hit the mythology class. Today’s topic was Sumerian mythology and the Lizardmen race. I had some difficulty understanding everything, but Shuri had a lot of answers for my questions. She told me she had been raised close to the ancient Sumerian city of Uruk where she claimed there was a lot of information about this race of beings.

Just before the end of class, we were shown some images of lizardfolk. Shuri began to giggle a bit, which made me look over at her. When I looked, I saw her face distort a bit and look reptilian, her skin looked like it had scales, her hands had elongated talons, and her teeth looked stunningly like a shark or a predatory reptile. Then I blinked and she was back to her regular self.

“Are you doing alright there Laurie?” Shuri asked, her face a mask of concern. My face must have given away that I had seen something weird, so I shook it off and told her that I stared at the picture too long and it just looked like she had become the very image of a lizard person.

We went and got some food at the cafe, tonight’s choice was even more American comfort food. I made my way over to the counter, and Hannah wasn’t there. Instead there was a slim and slender woman who had the appearance of a housewife from the 1950’s, right down to the spotted dress and the apron. I couldn’t help but feel an almost overwhelming sense of nurturing from her.

“Excuse me, could I get a young man sized plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes?” I asked somewhat tentatively.

When this woman spoke, it was more familiar to me. She spoke like she was from the lower end of Washington or the more northern end of Oregon. I found out her name was Amelia Smith, and she had been working at a small diner in Bellingham. She had lived most her life in Portland though, which explained to me why she sounded like the women I knew.

It took a bit longer, but she produced a personal sized meatloaf and a mountain of mashed potatoes, served with carrots and green beans. I paid, sat down with Shuri and Krys, and prepared myself to combat the wondrous meal before me. Krys grabbed Shuri’s arm and told her to look away if she was of a weak stomach. Val walked over moments later and saw my face covered in potato and meat drippings. Needless to say, not my best moment. Val looked at me, slightly repulsed, but shrugged it off and started talking to Krys about coordinating their outfits for the dance. I finished my meal, Shuri laughing about how bestial I looked chowing down on my wrongly prepared shepherd’s pie, and Val walked off after stealing the dessert Krys had tried to sneak when I wasn’t looking.

The three of us parted company after dinner and I went back to my room.

Powering on my computer, I saw an email sitting in my inbox from Fianna. Apparently she had dropped off the envelope this afternoon during her midday break. She asked what outfit I liked the best, and asked I stop in tomorrow before my classes start so she could get accurate measurements and she would have my dress ready for a fitting by late Wednesday evening. This timetable seemed crazy to me, getting a dress done in less than a day. But I told her I wanted dress number 11 and that I would be free to stop by around noon, giving her the benefit of the doubt. Then I went about finishing my assignments and popped along to bed.

I was in a very dry area, sand and scrub all around me. There, off in the distance I saw a very familiar figure, Shuri was here. I ran, sand cascading behind me, dust and other particles hitting the goggles and head wrap I was wearing. I got within mere feet of Shuri, and then I felt something was wrong. I saw again the scales on her skin, her posture somewhat hunched forward, her fingers again ending in talons, and her head looked serpentine.

She turned to face me, her eyes showing a reptilian hunger, and her lips peeled back to reveal those sharp, predatory teeth I saw earlier. I heard her hiss my name, she asked me to come closer, the feeling of primal fear wrapped itself about my gut, but I reached my hand toward her. Then she struck, her movements so fast, so alien, and so ancient, like a dinosaur. My arm ripped from the socket, blood gushing everywhere, and I fell to the ground in shock.

I saw her step closer and heard her breathe sharply, the scent of my blood inciting her to more violence. She ripped chunks of my flesh from my body, 
and then she bent down. Her face above mine, my blood dribbling down her snout, and she whispered her thanks and went in to devour my face.

My alarm went off, rousing me from my nightmare. Time to start the day.