Lyra noticed something was wrong as soon as she entered the Moreau mansion. Mrs. Moreau sat in the living room, her face unnaturally pale, her breathing shallow. Something about her posture sent alarm bells ringing through Lyra's mind.
"Mrs. Moreau?" Lyra approached cautiously. "Are you feeling alright?"
Mrs. Moreau lifted her head, eyes glassy with pain. "Lyra... I was hoping to speak with you." Her voice came out weak, barely above a whisper.
Lyra rushed to her side. "You don't look well. Should I call for help?"
"No, I just need to tell you—" Mrs. Moreau suddenly clutched her chest, her face contorting in agony. She tried to speak again, but instead, a trickle of blood escaped from the corner of her mouth.
"Mrs. Moreau!" Lyra cried out, catching the older woman as she slumped forward.
