Lyre waits for me to calm down, awkwardly patting at my back the entire time.
When the embarrassing sobs finally subside, she disappears into the connected bathroom, only to re-appear with a damp towel. She shoves it at me. "Here. Wipe your face."
I take the towel, pressing its cool dampness against my swollen eyes. It relieves the burn, but does nothing for the crushing weight of guilt settling into my chest. I drag the cloth across my face, trying to wipe away the shame along with the tear tracks.
When I lower the towel, Lyre stands watching me, her slitted eyes narrowed. Without warning, she rakes both hands through her rainbow hair, back and forth in wild, vigorous strokes, leaving her disheveled.
She heaves a sigh so dramatic it could deflate a balloon. If she was one. "You know death is not the same for people like them, right?"
I blink, the towel still clutched in my hands. "What?"
