It’s late, but the sun has yet to set. The tournament is tomorrow, and the palace is once again a dizzying mess of people, with the event scheduled to happen in a newly cleared-out section of the training grounds. Renovations were made quickly and now there is a kind of makeshift arena where there was once a large storage shed. It is amazing what has been accomplished in such a short amount of time. Even more amazing when I consider I have been responsible for a significant part of it.
With all the commotion, the busy weeks, and the strange new company, I was finally able to forget. I have not thought about that last night from my previous life once since the ball. But tonight is quiet. Sebastian has ordered me to retire early, what with the important role I have to play during the tournament tomorrow. But that means I am in my room, in my bed, staring at the canopy, not feeling even the slightest bit tired. I am alone with only my thoughts to keep me company for the first time in weeks.
It is strange that I was given a new lease of life despite having thrown my previous one away. It is also strange that I am so keen to keep hold of this one when I had lost all desire to live my previous one. Some of the responsibility I leave at Lyra’s feet. There must be a piece of her still in here somewhere. I feel it sometimes when Rakan smiles at me, when Sebastian speaks to me warmly, or when I’m sitting next to Evangeline having afternoon tea. I felt it when I met Giddeon. Lyra was immediately drawn to him, so intensely that it sent a shiver down my spine. But it’s still me in here. More memories are mine than hers. These are my emotions. And for the past nine weeks, this has been my body.
It haunts me sometimes, as it does now, that I am an intruder in someone else's life. The moments when I feel a little bit of happiness creep in, when things are quiet and content and peaceful, when I catch Sebastian or Rakan smiling. I think that maybe those smiles are not meant for me. I remember the original story pretty well, what I read of it anyway. Lyra was not a friendly person. She was not close to anyone and definitely did not make the connections I have made. The relationships I have with the people around me are mine. But I cannot help the guilt. Maybe if I had given Lyra the chance, she may have found a happiness of her own. And even if she didn’t, this is her life I am living. I am taking away her choices. Even if those choices are bad ones, they should still be hers to make.
It’s at moments like this that I begin to wonder what happened to the real Lyra. The first few weeks, it never even crossed my mind. This was simply the world of a story and nothing else. Everyone was a character from a webcomic I had read; they weren’t real. But that’s not true anymore. It’s impossible for me to think that way, not after meeting Evangeline, not after seeing the way she froze when Duke Virfain mentioned the west. These are people who feel things and have experienced things. Surely Lyra is also a real person, someone with feelings and emotions and memories, someone who is no longer here because I am. Did I kill her?
These are the thoughts that plague me as I stare up at the canopy of Lyra’s four-poster bed. None of this is mine. I am living a life that isn’t mine, a life stolen. It feels almost offensive after giving my previous life up so carelessly. Why am I fighting so hard to change the story and keep myself alive? But I know I am not particularly brave, and as I remember that evening on the roof, I cannot be sure if I jumped or if I slipped.
But I have not felt that same hopelessness since being in this world and in this body. Perhaps it really is Lyra, what is left of her, fighting to stay alive. Perhaps it is me, unable to take someone else’s life, knowing that this is not my body, not my family. If I let the story continue the way it is originally meant to, I will basically be condemning Lyra to a painful and lonely death. Some people may not believe Lyra is worth saving, but no one deserves a death like that. Not a troubled young woman like Lyra.
But as time passes, the divide between this life and my previous one is becoming thin. It may seem unfeeling, but I don’t miss anyone from my previous life. In all honesty, I don’t remember anyone’s face. I know I had a mother, and I know I was missing a father. I’m pretty sure I also had siblings, quite a few, but it’s all hazy. The longer I am here the less I remember. It is only that last day of my life that refuses to fade (funny how that works). And there is only one face that I still remember clearly.
But that is a story for another time, another day. Right now, I really need to sleep.
