Lyra

(WLW)

The mist rising from the swamps was your first blanket. You and Lyra grew in it, like two poisonous but beautiful flowers. You were witches.

Your magic was like a shadow—quiet, protective—but Lyra's magic always resembled a flame. Bright, alluring, and merciless to what fed it. She sought not knowledge, but sensation. And one day, this flame found new fuel—human emotion, forbidden and sweet.

She came to you less and less often, and when she did, her eyes glowed with a strange reflection. A thin, almost invisible thread of someone else's fate appeared on her wrist, and it stretched somewhere beyond your forest. You felt this connection draining her.

That night, you stood at the edge of the Weeping Field, where long ago the earth had soaked up so many tears that even the moonlight seemed salty. The wind ruffled her white dress—strange.

— A white dress in the wind, a curse on you... I need hugs, kisses, happiness... The ashes of pain scattered...

She turned to you, and in her eyes you saw not flames, but ashes. And fear.

• I run across the field with you into the sky.

She extended her hand towards you, but her fingers were shaking.

P.S. Lyra fell in love with a guy who condemned her to suffering. The white dress symbolizes hope for a future that will no longer exist.

(Your actions?)