October 1996
Ilvermorny, The American School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Wizarding Massachusetts, United States of America
"I'm tired, guys. I think I'm going to wrap this up alone and get some sleep," Lyra said warily, gathering her Transfiguration homework and heading down the narrow corridor to her room.
"Lyra, what the hell?! It's only 8 o'clock," Diana called after her, confused. "Are you sick?"
"I hope not. You know how I get," she answered, deflecting further questions.
She felt fine, physically that is. The truth was that she'd been in a shit mood since coming home from England and was starting to run out of excuses to avoid social engagements. She would much rather brood around her room, stewing in discontent.
He promised.
Lyra had very nearly missed her flight waiting for him, certain he'd sneak up behind her as she stood in line for bad airport coffee or something, but he never showed.
But he promised.
It wasn't like him to lie. Well, ok he lied all the time but it wasn't like him to lie...like that...to her. She waited weeks for an owl from him, for an explanation if nothing else. But again, she was disappointed.
In the aftermath, Lyra made the executive decision not to write to him until he explained himself. Her ability to withstand temptation varied by the day. Some days she felt righteous in her indignation and others she worried that he had gotten ill or hurt. Either way, the sting of his continued neglect was taking its toll oh her attitude. On an intellectual level, she knew it was silly, insipid even, to care so much. But, she loved him, and that last night with him, that next morning, had been...special. Different. Deeper somehow.
Regardless, she would not be wasting any time writing to him when he couldn't be bothered to acknowledge her. Absolutely not.