The Little Wolf

The Monster in the Mirror

King's Landing

Lyra always felt divorced from everyone. Even if she was in a room, filled with jovial people, she somehow felt alone. She felt that no one understood her.

A couple of years prior, a figure had appeared in Lyra's mirror. What started out as a shadow, turned into what Lyra deemed a Monster. The monster in the mirror. It scared Lyra so much most nights she would find herself in her parent's bed. However, on the eve of her fourth Nameday, Eddard had led her back to her own chamber, looked between the mirror and his daughter, and told her it was time to grow up, get brave and face her fears. 

No one but Lyra knew that it was the truth, not a childish fable, or vivid imagination. It was then that she'd either join one of her older siblings in their beds, or just wander the corridors for hours at night with a lantern, avoiding any mirrors, and huddling in a corner somewhere. 

Nonetheless, the fear was always there.

Her father never wanted to deny that his daughter might be telling the truth, as he had never known Lyra to lie. She was always a truthful child, mature and wise beyond her years. However, lately, the things Lyra said were far beyond his help, and the little girl knew he was worried about her.

Lyra said things beyond anyone's imaginings. On occasion when the wind would blow, Lyra would stop and ask, "Who's there?" When her parents or siblings would ask her who she was talking to, she'd claim she heard voices in the wind. Ice-cold voices that sent a shiver down her spine, whispers she couldn't quite understand, except the mere word "Lyra". 

Looking into the fireplace one cold night at Winterfell, she said, staring intently as the flames danced, "Look daddy, a dragon!" He rose from her bed and went to the fireplace, where he saw nothing. 

"What are you talking about, my girl?" he had asked her, but Lyra had spoken no more on the topic. The figure in the fire had gone, and Lyra only mentioned it a few  times, every couple of moons following the incident. 

"I see dead people" she said innocently another day during a stitching lesson with Septa Mordane and her sisters. The Septa had immediately hurried her to her parents, interrupting her father's meeting. Lyra had said it with an innocent intent, her tone of voice casual, which, perhaps, was why there was much fuss over the comment. This time, her father sought her wise Maester, Leland. There, with her parents and Maester Luwin nervously standing around her little frame, Lyra described the figures she'd seen. 

They were unrecognisable, ghastly, with maggot-eaten flesh dripping off their decaying bone, gaping holes instead of eyes, and an odd sadness about them. They were never clear to the girl, she made habit of mentioning, only a figment of her peripheral vision, something only the corner of her eye caught. The dead didn't scare her as much as the monster in her mirror, they made her feel like she was less alone. 

Lyra still saw them to the present day. The wind spoke to her, and the dead followed her. It was so normal now, an occurrence that was no longer a novelty. 

However, the monster in the mirror scared her immensely.

One windy night in particular, just a tiny figure all alone in her large chamber, she found herself huddled underneath her covers. Her mirror has been covered by a blanket, in the hope that if she couldn't see the monster, perhaps it would disappear. Clasped in her tiny hands, glowing with nervous sweat, was a candle, the flame gently danced in the breeze, daring to flicker out and leave her in the frightful dark. As the gentle breeze rushed through her room, so did the voices that so frequently whispered to her. 

"Lyra", the eerie tone uttered. The voice was ice cold and morbid, like death itself was talking to her. Lyra's eyes fluttered to her side, seeing if the dead that roamed in her peripheral vision were present, but they failed to linger. Perhaps they were terror-stricken of the monster in the mirror, too, the child wondered. 

"Lyra", the macabre voice whined again, "Lyra, Lyra". At last she drew breathe, as she'd been holding it for some time. As she gasped, the flame of her candle dwindled once more, as if to be hiding as well. The girl's eyes were glued to the portion of mirror the blanket failed to cover, the icy blueness breaking through the darkness, tears of fear glistening. 

Lyra needed to close her window, to prevent the wind from rushing into her room and speaking with her. She pried her eyes away from her mirror to notice the shutters wide open, wildly rattling in the wind. Just as she quickly shifted her eyes from the window to the mirror, a spine-chilling shadow  sprinted across the reflective glass, forcing the blanket to slip off the mirror into a lump on the floor. Now there was nothing to protect Lyra, nothing to prevent her making eye contact with it. 

The monster was ready to feast.