(no subject)
Another sunrise, another cup of generic island tea, another beginning to another unextraordinary day. Lyra spent that morning perched on the smooth wooden counter in her father's kitchen with a mug in her lap and a textbook cradled in her rough hands.
The hours had passed without incident until the sun shifted high in the sky, slotting wayward rays of light through several windows, snatching her from her study. She'd been reading about stoichiometry, carefully balancing equations in her head, before a cramp in her thigh made her shift and hop down, bare toes wiggling against the wood floor, filmy smooth pages abandoned.
On the days when she felt especially powerless, so far removed from her Oxford, her home, Lyra took solace in the absolute: science, maths, anything with a single, inarguable answer.
By the time Draco showed up she'd moved onto a dogeared geometry book, her fifth cup of tea going cold on the porch beside her.
The hours had passed without incident until the sun shifted high in the sky, slotting wayward rays of light through several windows, snatching her from her study. She'd been reading about stoichiometry, carefully balancing equations in her head, before a cramp in her thigh made her shift and hop down, bare toes wiggling against the wood floor, filmy smooth pages abandoned.
On the days when she felt especially powerless, so far removed from her Oxford, her home, Lyra took solace in the absolute: science, maths, anything with a single, inarguable answer.
By the time Draco showed up she'd moved onto a dogeared geometry book, her fifth cup of tea going cold on the porch beside her.