But it was too late, the wall was gone, there was no seam, no crack, nothing. Only cold stone pressing close from every side. Her trembling hand lifted the lampstick, and the faint orange glow flickered weakly to life.
She was standing in an old room.
The walls were damp and cracked, the ceiling arched so high above her that the lamplight couldn’t quite reach it. Cobwebs clung thickly to the corners, and dust floated through the air in lazy spirals, catching faint glimmers of gold from her lamp. The room was utterly empty… stripped of life, stripped of meaning. No table, no chair and not a single mark to suggest that anyone had ever stood here before her.
The silence was so complete that it pressed against her ears until she could only hear her own breathing.
Lyra turned slowly in a fu
