LIVIA (LYRA)’S POV.
It is cold.
Extremely cold.
I cannot move yet I am not chained. My body feels like it is not mine. Wrong time to drop one of my dry jokes but I will because even when I am dying I could make use of a dark or light humour.
My body feels like it is not mine, because it actually is not mine.
‘That was so not funny. Not even anyone will smile. You may leave the jokes to the skit makers and try moving.’
Moving?
I cannot.
My muscles feel like they've been tied in knots, pulled and strained beyond their limits and I do not know if it is Lyra's head but it feels like a sledgehammer is relentlessly striking the inside of my skull. The pain wraps around my head like a vice, squeezing and squeezing— opening my eyes is as good as leaving them close.
It is either I am
