Disclaimer : Sadly, I do not own any of the HDM characters. I wish I
did, they're all so perfect! *tear tear*
It was the perfect day for a bit of tea, sitting at the counter, just counting the days until he would go see Lyra. Feel her presence.
It had been six years since their long and heroic journey, the little Lyra tagging behind the slightly larger build of Will Parry. He could still feel Kirjava in his mind – although he could not see her. Will remembered the day that Pantalaimon came up to him when he was wounded and seeking help, like his own daemon.
"Will!" A voice yelled from the parlor. It was the voice of a certain Mary Malone, and he could just picture her red hair flopping in the gentle air. He'd been living with the middle-aged woman for several years – six, to be exact. His mother lived with them as well, and Will had made sure that she was going to be okay.
He dashed toward the source of the sound, stopping halfway through the kitchen as he saw Mary. "What?"
Mary was laughing, and indeed, her hair was quite floppy today. Will looked down at his fingers, remembering the time of the Subtle Knife. All of that was over now, and the Specters were probably still hunting in Citegazze.
"They're a-tearing out the garden, Willy," Mary explained, trying to be rational. "They're replacing it with. . . a power plant. You and you- know-who won't be able to. . ."
But Will didn't have time for this. He dashed out the door and flung himself onto the bench. It was the right time of month, wasn't it? Okay, sixteen days off, but it was close enough. Somehow Will could get Lyra to come. Maybe if he concentrated on just her. . . on telling her to come. . . just like he had done with the Subtle Knife. . .
Closing his eyes, Will let go of everything that mattered at the moment : his mother, his dead father, Mary, Kirjava. . . everything. He focused strictly on Lyra. His beloved Lyra. His one and only Lyra Silvertongue. Come. . . Please come to the garden. . .
He felt a pulse. It could have been his own heart, or it could've been his Lyra's. He focused and slowly began to feel light-headed – much as he used to, just with the Knife. He could hear schoolboys playing, and gyptians talking about what supplies they had to buy to go to the Fens. . . It was just his imagination.
Or so he thought. Looking up, everything had changed. Will shook his head, tears nearly shooting out like skyrockets. This wasn't supposed to happen. Somehow he'd opened a window without the Knife. But how?
He was in Lyra's world. He'd just let another Specter in. He was causing evil to erupt, and as he looked back, there was no window left. He hadn't opened a window – he'd simply focused so deeply that he'd come into another world without any windows or anything.
"Hello?" He called, then jumped when he looked down to see Kirjava, settled now by his side.
"What have you done, Will?" Kirjava asked, looking around at her surroundings.
"I don't know."
Will took this opportunity to admire his setting as well. So this was the other Oxford. He'd missed it, hadn't been there in. . . so long. . .
"Will! My dear!" It was her voice. No other voice but Lyra's, and Will's heart jumped as he saw her. She was a vague eighteen years old, and Pantalaimon, a ferret, scampering by her side. Lyra was crying, running in a flood of tears, both of happiness and sadness combined.
"What are you doing here?" She asked, throwing herself upon him. He'd forgotten the scent of her skin, the softness of her hair, her narrow- shaped face. . .
"I don't know." Will stuttered, pressing his lips against Lyra's gently, remembering their first kiss. "I just don't know, my love."
There was no turning back. He was already starting to feel sick, but nothing out of the ordinary.
"You weren't – supposed – to – come here!" Lyra said, patched by kisses. "You'll die, Will, you'll die!"
"I can't go back."
"Yes, dear, yes you can! Go, now!"
Will looked back and tried his hardest to concentrate. But he couldn't remember what he'd done before. He couldn't get Lyra out of his mind. Her sleek dirty blonde hair fluttered slightly in the breeze, and her eyes were radiant in the light.
"I can't."
That was the end of the discussion.
It was the perfect day for a bit of tea, sitting at the counter, just counting the days until he would go see Lyra. Feel her presence.
It had been six years since their long and heroic journey, the little Lyra tagging behind the slightly larger build of Will Parry. He could still feel Kirjava in his mind – although he could not see her. Will remembered the day that Pantalaimon came up to him when he was wounded and seeking help, like his own daemon.
"Will!" A voice yelled from the parlor. It was the voice of a certain Mary Malone, and he could just picture her red hair flopping in the gentle air. He'd been living with the middle-aged woman for several years – six, to be exact. His mother lived with them as well, and Will had made sure that she was going to be okay.
He dashed toward the source of the sound, stopping halfway through the kitchen as he saw Mary. "What?"
Mary was laughing, and indeed, her hair was quite floppy today. Will looked down at his fingers, remembering the time of the Subtle Knife. All of that was over now, and the Specters were probably still hunting in Citegazze.
"They're a-tearing out the garden, Willy," Mary explained, trying to be rational. "They're replacing it with. . . a power plant. You and you- know-who won't be able to. . ."
But Will didn't have time for this. He dashed out the door and flung himself onto the bench. It was the right time of month, wasn't it? Okay, sixteen days off, but it was close enough. Somehow Will could get Lyra to come. Maybe if he concentrated on just her. . . on telling her to come. . . just like he had done with the Subtle Knife. . .
Closing his eyes, Will let go of everything that mattered at the moment : his mother, his dead father, Mary, Kirjava. . . everything. He focused strictly on Lyra. His beloved Lyra. His one and only Lyra Silvertongue. Come. . . Please come to the garden. . .
He felt a pulse. It could have been his own heart, or it could've been his Lyra's. He focused and slowly began to feel light-headed – much as he used to, just with the Knife. He could hear schoolboys playing, and gyptians talking about what supplies they had to buy to go to the Fens. . . It was just his imagination.
Or so he thought. Looking up, everything had changed. Will shook his head, tears nearly shooting out like skyrockets. This wasn't supposed to happen. Somehow he'd opened a window without the Knife. But how?
He was in Lyra's world. He'd just let another Specter in. He was causing evil to erupt, and as he looked back, there was no window left. He hadn't opened a window – he'd simply focused so deeply that he'd come into another world without any windows or anything.
"Hello?" He called, then jumped when he looked down to see Kirjava, settled now by his side.
"What have you done, Will?" Kirjava asked, looking around at her surroundings.
"I don't know."
Will took this opportunity to admire his setting as well. So this was the other Oxford. He'd missed it, hadn't been there in. . . so long. . .
"Will! My dear!" It was her voice. No other voice but Lyra's, and Will's heart jumped as he saw her. She was a vague eighteen years old, and Pantalaimon, a ferret, scampering by her side. Lyra was crying, running in a flood of tears, both of happiness and sadness combined.
"What are you doing here?" She asked, throwing herself upon him. He'd forgotten the scent of her skin, the softness of her hair, her narrow- shaped face. . .
"I don't know." Will stuttered, pressing his lips against Lyra's gently, remembering their first kiss. "I just don't know, my love."
There was no turning back. He was already starting to feel sick, but nothing out of the ordinary.
"You weren't – supposed – to – come here!" Lyra said, patched by kisses. "You'll die, Will, you'll die!"
"I can't go back."
"Yes, dear, yes you can! Go, now!"
Will looked back and tried his hardest to concentrate. But he couldn't remember what he'd done before. He couldn't get Lyra out of his mind. Her sleek dirty blonde hair fluttered slightly in the breeze, and her eyes were radiant in the light.
"I can't."
That was the end of the discussion.