Lyra
The door opened again and the puppet entered.
It tilted its head, amused, as if surprised to find me still breathing. Behind it came a second figure, a guard dressed ridiculously like a doll. His uniform was trimmed with lace at the collar, and his cheeks were painted like porcelain.
The absurdity of it made my skin crawl.
He was dragging someone with him. Not just anyone. He was dragging Evelyn.
Seeing her knocked the air from my lungs.
She was still in her wedding gown, the hem torn and soaked in mud and blood. A silver hairpin clung stubbornly to her dark curls, and when her body collapsed beside me with a heavy thud, the jewelry slipped free and clattered to the ground. Her wrists were tied, her face drained of all color, and her chest barely moved.
What on earth was she d
