A soft, caramel colour. That was what met Lyra's eyes as she opened them. Blinking a couple of times, her surroundings came into focus. She was lying in a bed. A large, comfortable bed that looked like it belonged to a Queen, two large golden silk pillows had been supporting her head, and the golden silk covered mattress had given her aching muscles a well deserved rest. The caramel colour glistened from a bedside lamp on the stand next to the bed.

Then Pan scooted out from behind the other two golden silk pillows, and as she cradled him she began to cry.

'Pan.' She silently sobbed into his fur, clinging to him.

The touch of a soft, warm, manicured hand on her forearm stopped Lyra in her tracks. Lyra's eyes followed the hand to the person it belonged to, and she began to scramble across the bed in fear, clutching at the warm blankets as if they would defend her.

'Lyra.' Mrs. Coulter had been crying, Lyra could tell, as more tears ran down the woman's cheeks.

'Darling, no one's going to hurt you.' Mrs. Coulter paused to wipe a tear away with her finger, and then continued.

'No one is ever, ever going to hurt you.' As she appeared to plead Lyra's safety, a feeling of distrust twisted in Lyra's stomach. Mrs. Coulter had tears glistening on her cheeks. Her eyes were glazed with them. But Lyra didn't believe her.. She'd already been hurt. Pan had nearly been torn away from her forever, and here was this woman promising that no one else would harm her. Lyra didn't believe this, not for a second.

'But they did it to Billy… And those other kids.' Lyra insisted, trying to vigorously point out that her friends had been tortured; their daemons disintegrated into nothingness, their bodies incinerated.

'They cut their daemons away. Why? Why are they doing that?!' The tears seemed to dry up at once. Mrs. Coulter's face hardened. She reached across the bed and placed a comforting, reassuring hand on Lyra's knee.

'I know that this is difficult to understand but it's for their own good.' Her face relaxed instantly as she attempted to comfort her. 'Can you listen to me?' Lyra didn't nod, she simply held Mrs. Coulter's gaze as she began to pace around the bed.

'A long, long time ago. Some of our ancestors made a terrible mistake. They disobeyed the authority, and that is what made dust come into the world. And ever since then, we have been sick, been sick with dust. But there is a way out.'

Mrs. Coulter sat at the base of the bed, looking down at the sheets.

'You see, dust doesn't settle on innocent children. It's later, when your daemon begins to settle, the dust begins to swarm all around us, trying to work its mischief. And that is how children begin to have all sorts of nasty thoughts and unhappy feelings. But there is a way to stop it. A little cut. And gone forever.'

She smiled at Lyra. Lyra could feel the bile rising in her throat at the smile. A smile of smugness, but also an attempt to justify why the nurses and doctors were doing what they were doing.

'But if it's so good, why don't you do it yourself? Why didn't you let them do it to me? Why am I here?! Why am I safe? Why are you protecting me?' She found herself angrily challenging Mrs. Coulter's explanations. Mrs. Coulter didn't reply.

'I'm going to tell you something. Something very important, something you don't know.' She paused, as if to allow the message to sink in.

'Intercision isn't perfect yet, and you're not just anyone, Lyra. Your mother didn't die in airship accident like you were told. She wasn't married to your father, and even though… Even though she loved you very much, and she wanted to keep you. It wasn't allowed. And so you were taken from her. But she tried to find you. She never stopped praying that one day, she would able to come and find you. She located you when she went to Jordan College, and she sat next to you at dinner.'

Lyra couldn't hold it in. She ran from the bed, Pan not far behind her, ignoring Mrs. Coulter as she turned to stop her. She pushed open the door to the bathroom and instantly vomited into the wash basin. The contents of Ma Costa's food, the contents of the milk and the tablets she'd been given to put her to sleep, all spewed out into the basin. The door opened and Lyra heard the familiar click of a pair of suede boots. The wash basin's colour began to change. The orangey coloured sick was washed away and clean, cold water replaced it.

Mrs. Coulter held Lyra, placing her on her knee as she knelt down beside her. Before she cleaned her, she began to rock her in a comforting, maternal manner. 'Mummy's here, Lyra. I'm right here.' She began to mop gently, and then slowly at her face with a cold flannel, and she was shocked that Lyra was willingly allowing herself to be mothered. Lyra was damp, her face felt hot and clammy. And she was also on the verge of tears. But she didn't push her away in protest.

'Let's get you cleaned up, sweetie.' Mrs. Coulter spoke gently, with each wipe that she gave to Lyra's face and mouth. It was then that she eased Lyra's clothes off her, one by one.

'My bag.' Lyra choked out. Mrs. Coulter felt the edge of it. The alitheometer. But she placed the bag aside, continuing as she very slowly eased the tights from around Lyra's waist. She located a pair of pyjamas, and found a pair of soft, wooly slippers. Very carefully, she dressed Lyra in the night clothing, and placed the slippers on her.

'Would you like me to carry you through or are you able to walk?' Mrs. Coulter asked her softly. The golden monkey at her feet, Pan looked vulnerable curled in his paws. Lyra allowed Mrs. Coulter to carry her, and as she did, she rocked her back and forth. She placed her daughter gently back into bed, and tucked the blankets around her.

She tenderly kissed Lyra's forehead. And just like that, Lyra was asleep.