Vanilla: I've never been too good at writing stories, so tell me how this one is, okay? Well, here goes...



Chapter One Nightmares

Lyra tossed her blonde head around on the pillow. Every few moments, she gave a little sigh and turned again. Beside her, her daemon Pantalaimon, a beautiful pine marten, whimpered and curled around her head. She was having another bad dream, the fifth this week.

She was in a misty forest of green canopies and dripping waterfalls. Pan was still a young daemon, and at the moment he was a toucan, calling mournfully to another toucan perched a few trees away. Lyra was staring sadly at her reflection in the stream nearby, and periodically glancing up and down the stream as she looked for the unknown item of her desire. Suddenly, she heard a rustling, and as she turned Pan gave a cry so passionate it tore her heart. He swiftly changed to a bright red and green parakeet, and flew to the bush that had moved. A few moments later he emerged with

Lyra's eyes flew open. Frustrated, she punched her pillow, sending Pantalaimon flying into the air on the rebound. She caught him and held him close.

"I'm sorry, dear Pan! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine Lyra, but why did you do that?"

"It was that dream again, you know, the one where I never see what you bring out. Ever since that fever last winter, the one right after my sixteenth birthday, you remember, I've had dreams like this."

Pan flowed into her sleeve and hung in the cloth drowsily. They sat in silence, each remembering their previous adventures with Lyra's love, Will Parry, and his daemon Kirjava. A knock on the door broke their reverie.

"Mistress Lyra? Would it please you to wake and come to breakfast?"

Lyra stood and pulled Pantalaimon out of her nightdress. "Come in, Marie."

A French maid dressed in a black dress and a matching white frilly cap and apron, appeared in the doorway, carrying a silver teapot, sugar bowl, and teacup on a silver tray. Her daemon, a small black and white cat, followed her in, kicking the door shut with a graceful stab with her back leg. He sat down and began to wash his face.

"So, Marie, what's on the menu today?" Lyra stood, stretching, and waited for Marie to pick out her clothes for the fancy breakfast.

"Well, mistress Lyra, the cook has prepared a delightful-''

"Marie, I'm not in the mood for you to fancy things up, so please just tell me what's for breakfast." She stepped into the offered lavender dress with the tight bodice that flattered her figure.

"French toast, tea, Belgian croissants, and some coffee if it pleases you ma'am."

Lyra was beginning to enjoy this life. Ever since the year after Will left her to go home and she stumbled on the art of writing, she was living like a queen. Even now, she wasn't happy. Sure, she had thirteen maids, over one million gold pieces in the bank (growing steadily daily), a huge fifty room mansion with an indoor pool, an outdoor pool with a waterfall, a huge Botanical Garden, a cook, fifteen bedrooms, and much more. But she was unhappy. She needed someone to talk to her the way Will did, she needed someone to touch her the way Will did, she needed a boyfriend. She was the only person in this part of the country; the nearest town was fifteen miles away. Occasionally she would have Iorek Byrnson to dinner, or Serafina Pekkala, but they weren't the same.

Marie walked outside. Lyra checked her newly curled blonde hair in the floor length mirror one last time, and slipped into her lavender slippers, and left, with Pantalaimon in a silk lavender pocket that fit neatly around her waist. She would check her new story, Roger, after breakfast. Her strange gift of lying had struck gold. And she was miserable while doing the things she loved. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she had a few clues.

If the housekeeper at Jordan College could only see me now, she thought with a smile. On the way down the stairs, she practiced holding her head high and walking gracefully. She was almost down the stairs when she tripped on her dress and sent Pan flying once more. He hit the floor with a force that made Lyra cry out in pain, and slid across the newly waxed floor, through a swinging door that led to the kitchen, and out of sight. With a gasp, Lyra ran across the floor and through the kitchen door, and burst out laughing. Her daemon had landed in a huge black cauldron that was lying on its side, and now he was covered with soap from the half-washed pot. He stared at her ruefully.

"Look what you did, 'Mistress Lyra'! You just aren't what you used to be- you used to be so carefree, but now you're acting as if you are the Princess of Cittagazze or something!"

She stifled another giggle and tried to look serious as she carried her beloved Pan upstairs to get him washed up.

After she and her daemon were ready, she sat down at the fifteen-person table in a plush red velvet chair. Pantalaimon sat on the table next to her, sampling the honey-flavored milk that had come as a gift from the mulefa: how it had gotten through the worlds was a mystery to everyone. He decided he liked it and licked the plate clean energetically. Lyra licked her lips as the cook, with his bulldog daemon trotting behind, entered the room with her breakfast. She dug in, all memories of nightmares forgotten.





Notes from Vanilla: Okay, the chapter is through, and the next will be made to fit your requests, so please comment on it, okay? Thanks!