Lyra watches as the lights begin to wink out one by one, the lanterns dimming as though to make the chosen one all the brighter. She doesn't recognize the woman whose lantern is chosen, but the man who steps through the veil is at least familiar to her - Harper, a former leader of Torchline, and Jude's father. She hadn't known him terribly well, but she knows that his death has been hard on his son. As the woman and Harper step aside for some semblance of privacy, Lyra looks away. It's none of her business what they may be doing or discussing, and she turns her attention back to the rest of the festivities.
The vendors are quieter now, perhaps hyperaware that the dead walk amongst them. Lyra has always wondered if this day of remembrance brings ghosts to press against the veil between worlds. Do the ghosts, she wonders, hope to be picked just as much as the living? Or are they content in Mort's halls? She supposes that they will all find out one day, though she hopes fervently that her time is not soon, and she wanders off into the crowd.
The vendors are quieter now, perhaps hyperaware that the dead walk amongst them. Lyra has always wondered if this day of remembrance brings ghosts to press against the veil between worlds. Do the ghosts, she wonders, hope to be picked just as much as the living? Or are they content in Mort's halls? She supposes that they will all find out one day, though she hopes fervently that her time is not soon, and she wanders off into the crowd.
lyra
Never take advice from someone who's falling apart
