Lyra's POV
From her post by the library window, Lyra watched them. Selene, her head thrown back in a laugh that Lyra could not hear but could easily imagine, and Eliza, standing too close, her hand a possessive brand on Selene's arm. The sight was a physical ache, a cold knot tightening in her stomach.
She had told herself she was just getting some air, just taking a moment to look at the world outside her fortress of books. But she had been drawn to the window like a moth to a flame, a silent, hidden witness to her own undoing.
Every laugh from Selene felt like a small betrayal. Every smile she offered Eliza was a nail in the coffin of the fragile thing they had begun to build. Lyra's hands, hidden in the folds of her cardigan, clenched into fists. She had done this. Her refusal to explain, her retreat behind her walls, had left a vacuum. And nature, especially human nature, abhors a vacuum. Eliza had simply flowed in to fill the space Lyra had vacated.
The worst part was that she understood it. Eliza was everything she was not: uncomplicated, present, boldly confident. She offered Selene a simple, easy affection without the weight of ancient secrets or the threat of unimaginable danger. Who wouldn't choose that?
Lyra had spent centuries learning the art of stillness, of observation without engagement. But watching Selene walk away with Eliza, she felt the practiced calm shatter. A raw, primal jealousy, an emotion she had not truly felt in lifetimes, surged through her. It was hot and ugly and terrifying in its intensity. She wanted to march across the street, to pull Selene away, to claim her with a truth so undeniable it would eclipse Eliza's sunny allure.
But she didn't. She just stood there, frozen, her own personal punishment to watch the consequences of her fear play out in real time.
Hours later, the image still burned behind her eyes. The library was quiet, the silence now a mockery of the turmoil within her. She picked up her phone, her thumb hovering over Selene's name. What was she even going to say? I saw you with her. It felt like you tore my heart out. It sounded pathetic, even to her.
She pressed call before she could lose her nerve.
"Hey." Selene's voice was tentative, guarded.
Lyra's own voice felt like gravel. "Hey. I just wanted to... check in. See how you are doing."
It was a pathetic offering, a feeble branch extended across a chasm she herself had created. She held her breath, hoping for a crack in Selene's armor, a sign that she was still waiting on the other side.
The response was like a door slamming shut.
"Everything is fine," Selene said, her tone artificially bright, a shield in its own right. "I have just been hanging out with Eliza lately. You know, keeping busy."
The words were a precise, devastating blow. Keeping busy. As if Lyra was a chore to be avoided, a problem to be shelved. As if what had simmered between them was just a passing diversion to be replaced by a more entertaining one.
I see. The two words were all she could manage. They were neutral, empty, a perfect reflection of the hollow feeling expanding in her chest. Well, if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.
The lie tasted bitter. She was giving an invitation she knew would not be accepted. Selene had clearly made her choice. The easy choice. The safe choice.
She ended the call and let the phone drop onto her desk. The silence of the empty library pressed in on her, heavier and more profound than ever before. She had spent ages building a life of quiet solitude, protecting herself by pushing everyone away. She had believed her own longevity was a burden no one else could share.
Now, for the first time, she realized the true curse was not living forever. It was the potential of facing that forever alone, having finally found someone who made her want to break her own rules, only to have her own fear drive them straight into the arms of someone else.
She had offered Selene a glimpse of eternity, and Selene had chosen to go get coffee instead.
A bitter, humorless smile touched her lips. She had called Selene's behavior childish during their fight, but who was the real coward? Who was the one so terrified of being known that she would rather lose everything than risk being truly seen?
She looked around the library, her sanctuary, her prison. The rows of books held countless stories of love and loss, of courage and fear. She had read them all, but she had never truly lived one. Not until Selene.
And now, it seemed, the story was over before it had truly begun. She had waited centuries for a connection like this again, and she had managed to sabotage it in a matter of weeks. The ancient, immortal being felt very, very small, and more alone than she had in a hundred years.