A/N I'm sorry this took so long, really! *ducks rotten tomatoes* Thanks to
HDM lover and Lightbulbs make good pets for reviewing. The ideas are great,
I'll definitely be doing some of them. Sometime. Hopefully you like this
one... it's actually quite similar to the first. I suppose Lyra has that
effect on people. Enjoy... or not.
Disclaimer; See the title at the top of this page, the one that says Fanfiction.net in pretty green/black letters? See it? Now, the word FAN implies that this work is done by a fan, not an author, does it not? (and no, not a little whirly thing that cools you down in the summer) Therefore, doesn't that mean that I am NOT the author of His Dark Materials? So then, logically, wouldn't I NOT own them? You understand? *waves flamethrower* Good.
"What is going on here?"
A light, musical voice. Her voice. Everything stopped.
"What are you doing? And who is this child -"
She didn't complete the word child, because in that instant she recognized Lyra. Through tear-blurred eyes Lyra saw her totter and clutch at a bench; her face, so beautiful and composed, grew in a minute haggard and horror- struck.
Laugh At the Irony
Glittering silver. The undeniably cruel silver that had hovered over so many terrified children, had split so many defenseless, innocent souls in half. These factors alone are horrifying enough. But to me, it was a hundred times worse.
I had /invented/ that silver. I was the one who had ordered all the souls split apart. I had watched it being done a million times before, with many feelings. Feelings of excitement, of fascination, of /pride/ at what I was able to do. Many feelings, yes. But never these ones.
Because this time it was my child under the silver blade. My daughter. And these feelings were ones of horror and terror. Still, I could almost laugh at the irony. Or cry. Two products of mine, one, my brainchild, the invention that made me rise up in the ranks of the church. And two, the child of my own womb, with my blood flowing through hers. And now my two 'children' were about to destroy each other.
I had been an awful mother. I never gave a second's thought to her since she was born, never bothered to care about whether she was healthy, was happy, whether she was dead. Except for the last year, when I had realized that I was a mother too. That I too was among the masses of those who loved someone more than anyone else, more than life itself. I now cared for a child just like all those children that my blade had put an end to.
Which was about to put an end to my child, too. Is this how the other mothers felt when it happened to their children? No, of course not. They hadn't been there to see it, they didn't even know what had happened. They hadn't been the cause of it.
I was an agent of the church. I would do anything to help the Authority, look at all I had done already. How many were as devoted as I was? What had I ever done to deserve this? I knew the answer before my mind had even asked the question. The look on the little boy's face from my last visit several months ago was answer enough. That and the sound of his cries.
And now I'm hearing those cries again, coming from my daughter. My daughter, who I ignored, and never cared for a second about, who never, until recently, had even known my name, or who I was to her. Who still doesn't know who I am to her. My child, who is now beneath the ever descending, glittering silver.
Disclaimer; See the title at the top of this page, the one that says Fanfiction.net in pretty green/black letters? See it? Now, the word FAN implies that this work is done by a fan, not an author, does it not? (and no, not a little whirly thing that cools you down in the summer) Therefore, doesn't that mean that I am NOT the author of His Dark Materials? So then, logically, wouldn't I NOT own them? You understand? *waves flamethrower* Good.
"What is going on here?"
A light, musical voice. Her voice. Everything stopped.
"What are you doing? And who is this child -"
She didn't complete the word child, because in that instant she recognized Lyra. Through tear-blurred eyes Lyra saw her totter and clutch at a bench; her face, so beautiful and composed, grew in a minute haggard and horror- struck.
Laugh At the Irony
Glittering silver. The undeniably cruel silver that had hovered over so many terrified children, had split so many defenseless, innocent souls in half. These factors alone are horrifying enough. But to me, it was a hundred times worse.
I had /invented/ that silver. I was the one who had ordered all the souls split apart. I had watched it being done a million times before, with many feelings. Feelings of excitement, of fascination, of /pride/ at what I was able to do. Many feelings, yes. But never these ones.
Because this time it was my child under the silver blade. My daughter. And these feelings were ones of horror and terror. Still, I could almost laugh at the irony. Or cry. Two products of mine, one, my brainchild, the invention that made me rise up in the ranks of the church. And two, the child of my own womb, with my blood flowing through hers. And now my two 'children' were about to destroy each other.
I had been an awful mother. I never gave a second's thought to her since she was born, never bothered to care about whether she was healthy, was happy, whether she was dead. Except for the last year, when I had realized that I was a mother too. That I too was among the masses of those who loved someone more than anyone else, more than life itself. I now cared for a child just like all those children that my blade had put an end to.
Which was about to put an end to my child, too. Is this how the other mothers felt when it happened to their children? No, of course not. They hadn't been there to see it, they didn't even know what had happened. They hadn't been the cause of it.
I was an agent of the church. I would do anything to help the Authority, look at all I had done already. How many were as devoted as I was? What had I ever done to deserve this? I knew the answer before my mind had even asked the question. The look on the little boy's face from my last visit several months ago was answer enough. That and the sound of his cries.
And now I'm hearing those cries again, coming from my daughter. My daughter, who I ignored, and never cared for a second about, who never, until recently, had even known my name, or who I was to her. Who still doesn't know who I am to her. My child, who is now beneath the ever descending, glittering silver.