Lyra, still reeling from the incident with Kiki, barely noticed the shadows that slowed her down until she heard Aurora’s voice. The gentle call of her name sent a jolt through her, and she skidded to a halt, turning abruptly to face Aurora. Her heart was pounding, her breath coming in shallow gasps, and her eyes were wide with a mix of guilt and panic.
The moment Aurora asked if she was okay, Lyra felt a lump form in her throat. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. All she could think about was the horror of what had just happened – the bookshelf, the lizard, the stunned faces of her teammates. She wanted to curl up and disappear, to erase the memory of the moment her magic had gone wrong.
But the shadows Aurora had used to stop her felt comforting in a strange way, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. And Aurora’s tone, though urgent, wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t cold or judgemental. Lyra swallowed hard, tears threatening to spill again, but she held them back, trying to compose herself enough to respond.
“I… I messed up,” Lyra choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked away, unable to meet Aurora’s gaze as the shame washed over her again. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I didn’t mean for any of it… Kiki… she…” Her voice broke, and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, feeling more helpless than ever. “I tried to help, but I just made it worse. I made it so much worse.”
Lyra’s hands trembled as she spoke, the weight of her mistake crashing down on her. She wasn’t used to losing control, and the fear that had gripped her since the bookshelf fell was overwhelming. She kept thinking about Desdemona’s expression – about the way everyone had looked at her.
“I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” she whispered, the guilt clawing at her. “I just wanted to fix things, but my magic… it didn’t listen. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her voice cracked again, and she shook her head, the tears finally falling.
Lyra’s chest tightened even more as she thought about how much she had lost control. She knew better. She should have known better. Magic wasn’t just fun and light-hearted. It could be dangerous – it was dangerous. She had learnt that the hard way, and the memories of her brother flooded her mind. The fear she’d gone through with him had never fully left her, and it was that fear that had driven her to be cautious, to make sure she was always in control of her magic. But today… today, she hadn’t been careful enough. She had let her emotions and eagerness cloud her judgement, and now, just like with her brother, someone had gotten hurt. Only this time, it was her fault.
“I should’ve known,” she whispered, the weight of her guilt almost unbearable. “I know what happens when magic goes wrong. I knew, and I still…” Her voice trailed off, tears streaming down her face as the painful memories mingled with the guilt of what she had done today. “I’m just like him,” she muttered, more to herself than to Aurora, her voice thick with self-blame. “I can’t control it, either.”
Her shoulders slumped as the full weight of her past mistakes, her fears, and her present failure pressed down on her, suffocating. Lyra’s legs started to feel weak, trembling beneath her. She stumbled slightly, as if the ground itself was slipping away. Unable to keep herself upright, she slowly collapsed to the floor, her knees giving out as her emotions overwhelmed her. She sat on the cold ground, head bowed, tears silently streaming down her face. Her breathing was uneven, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath but couldn’t seem to find enough air. The pressure of everything – her mistake with Kiki, the memories of her brother, her failure to control her magic – was too heavy to carry.
Her voice broke when she finally spoke again, barely above a whisper. “I can’t… I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t trust myself… What if I hurt someone else?” She couldn’t bring herself to meet Aurora’s eyes, the shame too great. Her body felt heavy, as if the very act of sitting up was exhausting. She pulled her knees to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible, retreating into herself to escape the crushing weight of her guilt.