S I L V E R T O N G U E.

|| @marshfire |

           She see’s it, though she pretends not to. That glance towards the door. For all her efforts, it seems it may be near impossible to restrain Lyra in the way that she wants. If they’re to have this conversation –if they’re to discuss the workings of their relationship, whatever this was now— then Lyra would have to be open, and Mrs. Coulter would have to be honest. But Lyra had been injured by her, and to curtail that damage, Mrs. Coulter had to lie and lie and lie. A never ending cycle. My fault, was the first thought she had. An error. It will take some time to correct. She acknowledged that there was the possibility that they may never bridge the gap between them. She accepted it. And that was half the battle here.

           She does not move too close, as though approaching a skittish cat. Her own daughter, scared of her, curled into a vicious little ball on the corner of the lounge. The sight is abhorrent. Mrs. Coulter takes a seat nearby, far enough to not encroach upon Lyra’s space –close enough to catch her. “I know, I know it’s difficult to understand. But you’re not just anyone, Lyra. And intercision wasn’t a perfect procedure yet. If it was, why, it would have already been taking place in hospitals around the country.” To admit that those tests were to satisfy her own fathomless need for answers was impossible. But she can, at least, admit to the mistakes that she has made in searching for those answers. “A mistake on my part, but where Lord Asriel is concerned… he would have taken any child to bring his plans to fruition.” Damning, and she knew it. “Those experiments, in the end, could only have wasted more life than they would have saved. But they gave us a better understanding of what it is we are dealing with. Dust is volatile, sinful, it fills us with nasty thoughts and all sorts of unhappy feelings. But, it is, in a sense, essential to a child’s life. There’s something more to it. It is unfortunate that there is no easy way of studying it.”

HOW   LYRA   WISHED   SHE              could   return   to   a   way   of   easily   trusting   the   malevolent   figure   she   could   never   quite   bring    HERSELF    to   call   mother.     she   notes   mrs.   coulter’s   gentle   step  ,     careful   positioning  ,     and   twists   her   lips   slightly.     pantalaimon   was    SOFT    in   her   arms.     alive.     vital.     a   constant   reminder   of   all   they   had   come   so   close   to   losing   at   the    BLONDE’S    hand.     she   would   always   carry   that   blame  ,     despite   rescuing   lyra   just   in   the   nick   of   time.     she   was   the   spider   in   the    CENTRE    of   the   web.     they   were   trapped   now  ;     caught   in   the   lies   she   could   not   escape.