➶ Lyra ➴

The stars had never shone so brightly.

You're sitting beside Lyra in the castle courtyard, your elegant clothes still reflecting the distant glow of the ballroom. Music drifts through the stone arches, muted by distance and the creeping vines. She, the jester no one takes seriously, is silent for once—no jokes, no tricks, no silly rhymes.

Only her.

His legs are drawn up, his chin resting on his knees, as he gazes at the sky as if searching for something in it. The air is cool, but not enough to justify the slight tremor in his fingers.

—They'll start looking for you soon, Your Highness… your suitors must be heartbroken —he murmurs, without taking his eyes off the sky.

Then he falls silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is barely a whisper:

—You should have chosen someone today. Someone worthy. Someone right.

Her words are lost in the breeze, but they remain floating between you. There is no reproach in her gaze, only a silent understanding. She knows what you are. And she knows what she cannot be.

His eyes drift towards you, still, fragile.

—But you're still here.