#evebeforethefall

It had been several years after the disappearance of Asriel Belacqua and Marisa Coulter. Many said that they were likely dead, and that was the story that suited them fine. In truth, they lived, though just barely. The fight with Metatron had brought them dangerously close to death, battered and broken through months of recovery. They hid out for a while in the far North, tending to their wounds and coming to terms with the way things were. They fought against the Magisterium still, though now in more subtle, secretive ways. It was better that the world thought they were dead. It meant that they could work without people after them. 

Still, Marisa missed Lyra. She wanted to see her daughter more than anything, and though Asriel warned her that it was a horrendous idea, that she could be caught, even that she could be seen, but Marisa couldn’t bring herself to stay away any longer. Through a long series of connections, connections who didn’t even realize who they were really speaking to, thinking that Marisa and Asriel were just scientists out on the ice in the North, Marisa found out that Lyra was in Oxford, and they even knew where in Oxford she was now. Knowing that, Marisa couldn’t resist. Her heart longed to see her again. She knew it was a huge risk, so she tried combatting it. 

Marisa dyed the fur of her daemon, as the woman with a golden lion tamarin daemon was famous. The woman with a grey monkey daemon was not. The dye would wash out eventually, so Marisa wasn’t too worried about it. As for herself, she wore a dark, hooded cloak. Upon arriving in Oxford, she tried blending in with the crowd that walked into the building. Once successful, she went to the room that was said to be Lyra’s. 

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"aren't you the most disobeying child i have ever come across?" lord asriel sighed with slightly annoyed tone of voice. apparently lyra has never been good at listening orders. or much of anything else that was being told. "we've been through this and it's out of discussion. or shall i go for more sophisticated means to an end?"

I made this edit, Dafne as young Lyra (obviously) and Lily James as a fancast for older Lyra.

It was a difficult question to answer, and her answer was difficult to say. However, Marisa answered to the best of her ability. She tried being honest with Lyra for once. 

“What kind of mother I wanted to be then is very different from what kind of mother I now wish I could’ve been.” she admitted. “I didn’t want to be a mother at first. I was young, just starting out my career, and you were born of an affair that caused a scandal and ruined my reputation. I practically had to build it back from the ground up, something I couldn’t have done with keeping my child born of this affair.”

{ An open starter to all, set six years after the conclusion of the Amber Spyglass. }

The sun beat down against the top of her head, heating up her dirty blonde locks in the height of Midsummer. As Lyra sat against the familiar bench in the Botanic Gardens, she could feel certain weights lift from her shoulders. She knew Will wouldn’t actually sense her and she had no way in knowing if he would actually be there on the same bench in his world but part of her wondered what if he was and that they both were upholding their promise to one another all those years later. Pantalaimon climbed on to her shoulder and the pair stayed there for at least an hour before deciding to head off.

Lyra led the way, weaving through the pathways of the gardens and out on to the High Street. “Let’s go grab something to drink,” she said, abruptly, turning her destination towards the Covered Market further down the street. Her Oxford was bustling with people, all accompanied by dæmons of various forms. On her way down, she passed an elderly woman, with a squirrel-dæmon on her shoulder, whispering something into her ear. “Afternoon!” Lyra announced in a friendly tone, as she passed the woman. The woman glanced up, nodded and said, “Afternoon, Lyra!” and went on her way. No one stuck around for long when it was busy. Letting a sigh escape her lips, Lyra dipped into the Covered Market, soon surrounded by stalls of local and handmade goods, that she always loved to see when it was busy. Something told her it was more interesting amidst the bustle of people coming and going.

In time, she came to a little café on the corner, one that she had been to many times before. The attendant behind the counter gave her a friendly wave and a smile, as she entered, the bell above the door making a loud *ding* as she did so. “Hi Dick,” She replied, equally friendly, “Ginger beer please!” Her friend gave a nod, bringing a bottle of soft drink to her table, as she took a seat. Pan hopped off her shoulder and on to the table, turning to look at her. His expression simply read boredom but she took little to no notice of it. “Thanks,” she muttered, pushing a small amount of gold coins into his hand before he left her alone - well, leaving her and her dæmon alone.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, rather snide, as she scrunched up her nose at her dæmon, “We always go to the bench on Midsummer.” Pan just sighed, “What if he’s given up going on his end, Lyra? You’re never going to know the difference.” Lyra scoffed, as she took a sip of her drink. Pan curled himself up, sitting comfortably against the table in his pine marten form. “It’s been six years, Lyra. You’re both eighteen, what if he’s met someone?” That, Lyra gave a thought and she couldn’t try and hide it from Pan. Despite the separation they had gone through, he was still part of her and knew what she was thinking. “And so what if he has? We thought of that, didn’t we? We’d still go, and I trust him,” she said, stubbornly, “Anyway, I thought you liked Will?”

there   was   little   she   expected   when   coming   into   telling   the   story   ;   one   that   might   offer   the   faintest   chance   of   answering   lyra’s   many   questions,   even   if   much   of   it   would   drift   far   from   what   her   daughter   —   now   a   young   woman   —   might   have   wished   to   hear.   &   there   were   many   things   marisa   herself   had   never   thought   lyra’d   still   have   to   face.   much   that   was   kept   unsaid   still.   still,   lyra’s   words   managed   to   stir   something   within   her   —   surprise,   perhaps.   &   more   than   that   —   guilt,   perhaps.   regret.   &   realisation.   it   was,   in   a   way,   wasn’t   it?

love   had   never   been   a   frequent   visitor   in   her   life.   but   she   loved   lyra   —   oh,   how   fiercely   she   did.   &   her   father.   he   was   the   only   man   she   had   ever   truly   loved,   too,   however   scarcely   she   brought   herself   to   admit   it.   ❝   you’ve   grown   rather   sentimental,   ❞   was   the   first   thing   marisa   said.   ❝   there   are   ghosts   of   all   sorts,   however.   like   some   things   simply   can’t   be   brought   back.   ❞   &   she   knew   lyra   carried   that   truth   within   her   as   well.   that   pain.   the   sorrow   &   grief   intertwined.

@evebeforethefall   said : you said   it   was   a   ghost   story.   It   isn't.   It's   a   love   story.