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Stars to burn out ✶ Chapter six
Lyra Black always took pride in her ability to separate her heart and mind, to differentiate between thought and emotion.
Sane decisions should be made upon certain grounds: should stem from reason rather than impulse. She once thought herself better than her father who was as impulsive as they come, and it pained her not to admit it. He was erratic and inconsistent, making up his mind only to change it again and again and again.
Lyra aspired to be the opposite: calculating and stable to never find herself in the position of regret. After all, decisions one comes to regret are decisions that should never have taken place: ones that can be prevented if only conscious enough to pry fluctuant tendencies into disarray.
Rather ironic is the inevitability of unpredictability: after all, a child is merely a child, looking for acceptance although denying it, acting in defiance although portraying oneself as indifferent. Lyra Black may pretend to differ, but was just the same.
One word, as so she crumbled deeper into demise.
One false apology, and so she lost sight of trust.
One dismissal, and so she swayed into allegiance she swore to never take.
A daughter is to a father as undoing as death itself: Lyra was Sirius' ruin, for she had him showcase sides he never believed himself to possess. In turn, Sirius morphed into Lyra's downfall: his mistrust the catalyst for something lethal within, alike some poised toxin reigning control of her mind until it was already too late.
Until already irreversible.
One act of impulse, and she had gone and ruined herself. One moment of hopelessness, and she had signed away her freedom with a stab of excruciating pain, a look into dangerously inhuman red eyes.
A moment of genuine hate, and so her mind turned on itself: creating some paradox of revenge for a person she claimed not to care for. Her allegiance had been of great value, was what she was told. Sirius had driven the Noble house of Black into ruin, it's reputation gone from prestigious into notorious. If embroidered onto the family tapestry in Grimmauld place, you were fated for betrayal: whether it be toward blood or your own morals.
Lyra had claimed to stand for neutrality, picking no sides. Still she launched herself too quickly into freezing waters too extensive, her control coming undone into a tender mess of her own creation. Pride into obedience. Innocence into ragged guilt.
