❛ the ground. that's the dream. ❜
On the list 𝘓𝘺𝘳𝘢 𝘑𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘛𝘰𝘱 𝘛𝘦𝘯 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘔𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘖𝘧 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦, getting arrested is definitely up there. But, hey! At least there's a silver lining ━━ getting shoved into a drops...
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ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY EIGHT DAYS before her execution, Lyra is huffing and puffing inside her cell. Forget Jaha, forget Pike, forget everything. The fact is that she's going to die and there's nothing she can do about it. She's going to die and that's that. But the one thing she can do is make sure she died spending the last of her days being happy. After all, being happy is what life's all about, isn't it?
Happiness is a happening and Lyra is going to be happy. No doubt about it!
So. Back to the huffing and puffing. She's trying to push the metal bed frame holding her cot all the way into the shadowy corner of her cell. That way she'll have more space. At this point you may be wondering, Lyra Jupiter, have more space for what exactly?
Well, she's thrilled to inform you that she has taken it upon herself to do a cartwheel. Which you in fact need space for. And thus she is currently trying to push her metal bed frame out of the way so that there is enough space in her cell that hangs in space for her to do a cartwheel.
"Today's the day," she tells Berlioz, even though he isn't real. "I'm finally gonna do it."
The door to her cell clicks open. Two guards walk in, the same two guards that Lyra's seen every morning for the past two weeks. The stout female and the lean male; Byrne and Costa respectively. On the first day they sort of intimidated her, but by now she's gotten used to them. Dropping her arms to her side with an audible smack, Lyra gives them a winning smile.
"Morning," she greets cheerfully, then frowns. "Or is it night... ? I can never tell anymore."
"Prisoner three-hundred," announces Byrne in a monotonous voice, ignoring the starry-eyed girls greeting. "Turn around and face the wall."
Lyra turns around and faces the wall. Far be it from her to disobey a guard. She'd seen what Pike had done to Murphy and the fierce boy had only really made a harmless joke. Instantly an elbow is grinding into her back, a thick gloved hand wrapping around the nape of her neck so that she cannot move. Her left wrist is yanked backwards and something bites into it. Not handcuffs. No, whatever this is stings her. It feels like one thousand fiery needles are stabbing into her wrist all at once.
