A Promise Broken

His Dark Materials are merely my favourite books. I own nothing more than a copy of the books, the ownership goes to Philip Pullman and his extraordinary imagination.

"And if we – later – on –" she was whispering shakily – "if we meet someone that we like and if we marry them, then we must be good to them, and not make comparisons all the time and wish we were married to each other instead…" Lyra Belacqua-Silvertongue – The Amber Spyglass, Chapter 38, The Botanic Garden

I married at the age of twenty-five. By that time, I had decided to follow in the footsteps of my father and become an explorer. Though my profession was all but dead, seeing as it appeared everything worthy of discovery had been discovered, I carried on.

The woman I married was called Amie. Amie Wilkinson.

Her hair was a dark, lustrous brown, and her eyes were an equally dark, chocolate brown. Her eyes were surrounded by thick lashes, constantly rimmed with a line of black that made her seductive look appear all the more beautiful. She was forever tying her hair up in elegant knots, or curling it, or doing something with it. She always wore makeup, except on a Sunday, when we would spend the day around the house – starting with breakfast in bed, and ending with a candlelit dinner, in the dining room during winter, and in the garden during summer.

Her skin was naturally tanned, and she always made sure she looked perfect whenever possible. Even when lounging about, she tried to look her very best. One time she even insisted on makeup when she was ill, because she didn't want to look 'horrid'.

Her lips were full, and seemed to pout in a natural way. Her smile was tentative, and she rarely frowned. She was what could be described as full bodied. She was curvy, and sexy, and boy did she know it. She always wore the clothes that she knew would suit her figure best. Her dresses were either floor length ball gowns, or very short party dresses. Her jeans were always very tight, curved to her body exactly. She knew she was gorgeous, and could sometimes be vain.

She always agreed with me. In her eyes, I could do no wrong. She looked up to me; admired me; loved me. I loved her too, but she always felt the need to make sure. She was so insecure. She hated the thought of doing something wrong, so she always followed the rules. The prospect of being in the wrong, of being told off...it terrified her.

She was dependant. She needed me to look after her; to protect her; to keep her safe. She never hesitated to ask for help, and always thanked me when I did help her. Her job was a simple assistant at a boutique. She could have done more, but she was too scared of the outside world to try. I encouraged her, and slowly she managed to rise in the ranks. She could have been a manager, but she hated telling other people what to do. She wasn't a leader at all.

Her cooking was the best in the world. Often she could whip up something exquisite out of virtually empty cupboards. She would insist on cooking, and would always make sure she had made the most splendid meal possible whenever I returned home from an extended trip.

I always offered to allow her to accompany me on an expedition, but she never accepted. She wasn't adventurous in that field. We would go for walks in the woods near our house, but that was it. She didn't like climbing, and running, and hiking at all.

And why did I love her?

Because she was everything Lyra was not. And she was the only person I could look at without thinking of some connection to the blonde girl with blue eyes; pale skin; slim frame; argumentative nature; rebel complex; independent frame of mind; bossy personality; lack of cooking skills; adventurous temperament…

I'm sorry Lyra. I never meant to break my promise. But I can never stop comparing; I can never stop wishing.

I can never stop loving you.