For the first time, there was warmth in my father's eyes.Β
"πΏπ¦ππ,"Β He said "πΌ π€πππ‘ π‘π π‘πππ π‘π π¦ππ’, ππ¦ πππ’πβπ‘ππ."
For eighteen years, he had only ever given me orders.
Tonight, for the first time, his voice trembled when he said my name.
Maybe... maybe what he called love had simply arrived too late.
Maybe, after my mother died, he began to feel pity for me.
Maybe, even if it was too late...
I was wrong.
He handed me his glass.
And I drank.
The first sip left a metallic taste on my tongue.
By the second, the warmth in his eyes had vanished.
Only silence remained.
I couldn't ask,Β "πβπ¦?"Β
My lips were sealed shut.
My fingertips went numb.
Before the darkness took over, the last thing I heard was:Β
"πΌπ ππππ¦ π¦ππ’ βππ ππππ‘ ππ¦ ππππ π€βππ πΌ ππππππ π¦ππ’π πππ‘βππ... πππ¦ππ π¦ππ’ π€ππ’ππ'π£π πππ£ππ βππ π‘π ππππ ππ ππππππ ππππ π‘βππ , πΏπ¦ππ."Β
my knees buckled before I even noticed the floor.
My heartbeat slowed.
And then β nothing.
No pain.
No fear.
Just... stillness.
Darkness came like velvet.
It didn't hurt.
It cradled me.
Soft. Silent. Final.
Until something inside me screamed.
Not a voice β
A pull.
A tear in time.
The darkness twisted.
It cracked open like shattered glass.
And through the breakβ
I fell.
When I opened my eyes,
I was gasping.
Air filled my lungs like I hadn't breathed in years.
My hands reached out β silk.
A soft bed beneath me.
Not the stone floor I remembered.
Not the chill of death.
I sat up.
And froze.
The same room.
Same crimson curtains.
Same cracked window on the rightβ
But the mirror...
It was whole again.
I stood on shaking legs and walked to it.
The girl who stared back at meβ
Wasn't the one who died.
She was ten years younger.
Her eyes weren't cold with betrayal yet.
Her skin hadn't tasted poison.
My hand touched the glass.
"πβππ ππ ππππ."
Β "πβππ ππ πππ€."
Time... rewound me.
I looked at the mirror again.
And for the first time, I saw not just Lyra Mirelβ
But the girl who would make them all pay.
"πβππ π‘πππ, πΉππ‘βππ..."
Β "πΌ π€ππ'π‘ ππ π‘βπ πππ π€βπ ππππ ."
π¬Β Author's NoteΒ (Az0_W.rite):
π What would you do if the person who raised you... tried to bury you too?
Lyra has returned. Not as a daughter.
But as a weapon.
π€ Tell me in the comments β what wouldΒ youΒ do in her place?
"Would you forgive... or would you become the monster they feared?"