“I never planned for any of you to actually live the life I put down in my sketchbook,” I said. “I’d have done it differently if I had known. I’m so sorry.”

“No more of that,” Ashwini said. “You came here to help us, Kiki. There’s nothing to be sorry for. Lej,” she went on, “I think you can help me with breakfast today. Maybe it’ll keep you quiet for more than thirty seconds.”

As soon as Ashwini and Lej fired up the stove, I was swallowed up by a tsunami of questions.

“Are you going to kill Mahishasura with a sword or a spear?”

“Do you usually wear your pajamas in the daytime?”

“Who’s going to rule Mysore once you’ve got rid of Mahishasura? Can it be me?”

“Couldn’t you have given us cool outlaw names? Lej calls me ‘Suki the Bitey Mongoose’ and I don’t think that sounds very impressive.”

By the time Ashwini announced that breakfast was ready, I was exhausted. And very grateful for the silence that fell immediately over the kitchen as everyone crammed their mouths full.

Ashwini triumphantly plopped a plate down in front of me. “And lo,” she said, “a perfect South Indian dosa!”

It had been so long since I’d had a proper dosa that my entire body perked up at the smell. I took a cautious bite. The crisp brown edges crunched in my mouth before the soft white buttered middle melted in.

My eyes widened. “This is amazing!”

Ashwini beamed. “Come over here and you can make the next one. I’ll show you how.”

I spent the next half hour at the stove, trying to copy her. The familiar rhythm of cooking was soothing, as I measured ingredients and listened to the sizzle of batter exactly like I did when Mum made pancakes at home, and for a few minutes, my brain was quiet and Mahishasura seemed very far away.

When I yawned for the third time, Ashwini cut the dosa lesson short. She showed me to a bathroom, where I felt enormous gratitude, once again, for my decision to include running water and toilets that flush in my made-up world. I peeled off my rainbow pajamas, rinsed dirt off of my bruised, sore feet, and soaked in a hot bath for a few minutes. Suki had offered me a T-shirt and shorts, so I put them on once I was clean and went back out to find Ashwini.

She led me back up to the top floor, to the closed door across the corridor from Pip’s room. “Whose room is this?” I asked curiously.

She looked amused. “Yours, of course.”

“I have a room here?”

“The house must have known you’d be coming,” she said, and pushed the door open.

It was a pretty room, with pale yellow walls and a soft, carpeted floor and a big window that looked out over the city’s skyline. The room didn’t have much of the hectic chaos and personality of the others’ rooms, but it had the kind of furniture I’d always dreamed about: a huge fluffy four-poster bed; white shelves with plants, books, and canvases; a sliding ladder for the shelves; a polished desk with a comfy chair; and several trays and boxes of art supplies.