Pact of Dragons

15

For a few seconds she just stared at the enormous rain showerhead behind the sparkling glass before turning away, feeling so out of place and totally disturbed by it; she opted to go further down the stairs. The first thing she did down on the first floor, though, was to open the front door and open it wide. The heat of the day had loosened its grip on the evening, nevertheless the climate here differed considerably from Germany... as was to be expected in an island nation. She closed her eyes for a moment and enjoyed the noises of the tropics, even if the other girls occasionally howled or screeched. Well, it just went to prove that she might be the only one who was this psychopathically calm. Presumably, certain others were in the process of being punished for being hysterical, angry, evil, or unruly towards the dragons... perhaps some had even already been killed in a really nasty way...
She turned away from the door quickly and swallowed hard and fast several times on the thick lump that had risen in her throat. For a time then she only concentrated on the room, which only appeared simple on the surface, but on closer inspection was decorated to rather breathtaking effect with artistically valuable pieces.
Here again, an actual, real kitchen, and the floor on which she had just been walking had apparently been carved from a single piece of the tree's own wood, a smoothly polished surface with annual ring- grain and without a single joint, crack, or hole.
Wow!
What a fascinating pattern the many concentric rings made; it looked really crazy.
Her father, who was an enthusiastic hobby craftsman, would certainly have been extremely interested in this house, that so much could be achieved from a hollowed-out tree trunk, with carved stairs, several floors and nice rooms, obviously decorated for a girl. And in the kitchen, in addition to the semicircular worktop on which a large microwave oven stood, there was also a table with a bench by the window, probably also carved from the tree trunk, and three wooden chairs on the other side, all of which were very clearly made from single pieces of  trunk lumber.
There was a huge fridge opposite the stairs, next to the front door, and there was also a small sink to the right of it.
At eye level there were some shelves with plates, bowls, cutlery storage and an extra compartment for glasses, all carved into the wood like the piece she'd seen on the top floor in the "living room" (such a familiar term seemed hardly fitting for these surreal surroundings).
Finally, with a quiet breath, she took a pure white plate and opened the refrigerator, blinking in amazement at the colorful hodgepodge of a whole roasted chicken; several savory pies with tomatoes and herbs, garlic butter and cheese, mushrooms and ham; three different pasta dishes; a whole chocolate cake; various salads, and at the bottom of the compartment were loose pears, apples, and oranges.
In the door of the mega-refrigerator there were bottles, some of which were really dubious. Curious, she took one of them out and turned it to read the label.
Vodka?!
Seriously?
So was this guy trying to drive her straight into underage drinking? And earlier he had beneficently announced that there were no drugs here with the dragons—yeah, sure, no way! Alcohol was arguably the most dangerous drug of all because it ultimately killed many more people than heroin or cocaine—this much she knew. Shaking her head angrily at so much misunderstanding, she put the bottle back on the shelf and continued her perusal. There were a ton of other bottles with liqueurs, mixed drinks, pure whiskey, fine-looking wine, and schnapps. Ha! If she were to drink a fraction of it, she'd be comatose, sure as hell, she thought as she examined the stock bottle by bottle, frowning.
She had never tried truly hard alcohol before and was afraid of it now. She was all too aware what bad things might happen if she just started drinking casually and then maybe lost control...
That was it! Maybe the alcohol was just meant to get her drunk and completely mindless, so that the guy could just do what he wanted with her. Oh, God!
She actually felt sick at the thought. She quickly put the wine back in its place; the shelf underneath contained the soft drinks. She took a simple lemon soda, an expensive organic brand that her mother only bought on holidays to treat herself and the family, 100 percent fruit and stevia instead of real sugar. She also put a little bit of cold food on her plate: a couple scoops of mushroom noodles and a chicken leg, a bit of tossed salad and a packet of dressing. Then she put all of this on the table, took a deep breath to calm her overstimulated nerves, and sat down in silence. For minutes afterwards she just stared at her plate without eating, utter chaos reigning in her head. If only she could think clearly. Was she crazy to just sit back and relax with food and drink while the other girls were still screaming, howling incomprehensible words out there, all around? Everything seemed so pressing and disturbing to her and at the same time so damned far away, strangely surreal, as inauthentic as a computer game or a film, even as she stroked the fine, smoothly polished grain of the table with her fingertips, or touched the fork and took another deep breath. She still felt very strange about everything, every sensation, as though she wasn't really there herself. Oh, man...!
Her head was throbbing a little again. The tension had just begun to ease, but the sleeplessness weighed on her heavily. How many days had she been without sleep now? Was it three or even four? Her eyes clouded over and she felt dizzy. With deep breaths she tried to sharpen her focus again and feel the wood under her fingers, but, like most of her, they'd gone completely numb again.
Oh, god, it couldn't be true, could it? It was just some stupid dream from which she would soon wake. Why else would she cry, laugh, and fly into a rage in quick succession like she had been doing? But everything she could see, feel, and now even taste—as she lifted the cold, roasted chicken leg to her lips and timidly bit off a piece—was indeed real. She had truly become a tribute, given away by her own government to this gruesome monster-dragon, who instead of torturing her horribly, treated her totally normally, in an affable, almost human way, as if she would now find a place here for a long time—which was somehow even more disturbing. But that couldn't be the case... no. Her mind kept fighting back, trading logic for evidence. It was just too strange. It was absolutely not the case that she belonged to a monster. That was completely out of the question.