"The most dangerous thing about playing a role is forgetting which version of yourself is real."
***
Lyra's fingers traced the edges of each bruise with reverent care. The cooling salve she applied seeped into the inflamed tissue, drawing out the heat. The relief was immediate. Blessed.
But that wasn't what I was focused on.
Her touch lingered longer than strictly necessary. Her eyes catalogued every injury like she was memorizing them. Like she was building a list of debts that would eventually be paid in blood.
Stop noticing how her fingers feel against your skin. Stop it.
"Tell me about the crowd's reaction," I said. Partly to distract myself. Partly because I needed to know how well my performance had landed.
Mostly the first thing.
