Remettre L’église Au Milieu Du Village - [Solo]

[Lyra d'Aiglemort]

Straightening the buttons of her shirt, Lyra smoothed her palms against the soft fabric to check that it was laying flat. She smiled to herself, humming quietly as she walked over to her desk. The finished wooden surface was clean and recently polished which left her work ID taking pride of place resting in the center.

Picking it up, Lyra marveled at the plastic sheen, tilting the card this way and that in her hands. She wondered how they worked. The picture and personal details emblazoned on the front made enough sense, but her ID could also open locked doors, or let her into another compartment on her office computer.

It was a mystery.

Lyra would have been pleased if all it did was allow her to go to work. She buffed out a smudge near the corner and carefully placed the ID in her pocket.

It was a little nerve-wracking, carrying around something so important in such an unsecured manner -- Lyra hadn’t figured out how to get a lanyard yet, so she had to copy what she’d seen her coworkers do. She checked often, to make sure it hadn’t fallen from her pocket, and so far, there were no incidents.

She still had 27 minutes before she needed to leave but Lyra liked going early. It was nice walking down the sidewalks with the crisp morning air and birds trilling nearby. She had never really noticed things like that, and Lyra enjoyed how she always got to work in a cheerful mood. Plus, she didn’t have to worry that stopping to watch a pair of squirrels duke it out, or a line of kids crossing the street together, would make her late.

After checking that nothing was out of order in her bedroom she headed for the kitchen. Keeping to the inside of the stairwell to reduce creaking, she debated what she should eat for breakfast.

[Lyra d'Aiglemort]

Since it was just Lyra, she kept the lights off, not wanting to waste electricity when she could see fine with the ambient lighting streaming through the wide windows. She shook her head at the sight of dust motes floating in the air and made a mental note to dust more often.

Turning the knob halfway so that the sink water wouldn’t be too loud, Lyra filled a glass near to the brim and had to take a few sips before it was safe to set on the countertop.

She found a banana in the fruit basket, alongside three other identical copies, which meant no one would mind if she took this one.

Pressing her nail into the bottom of the banana the peel split open easily without any fuss. Lyra went to take a bite and paused. She couldn’t remember where she had learned to do that. Was it wrong?

Practically everyone she watched opened a banana from the top.

Lyra didn’t know how to answer that question until she recalled that her work computer had Google. It wasn’t the panacea Lyra first thought since there were often conflicting answers on Google, but it did give Lyra a lot of references to work from.

She ate the banana and ignored the twinge in her belly. The water helped, and Lyra had tossed the banana peel and finished rinsing her cup with 22 minutes of leeway remaining.

Skin prickling, Lyra turned, catching father watching her from the doorway, and jumped as if in surprise.

His smile was fond, and he stepped over the threshold and into the kitchen. “Lyra, darling, are you leaving so early?”

She nodded in response and father hummed. A bland noise, neither approving nor disapproving.

Her heart rate spiked. Lyra tripped over her words in an attempt to clarify. “It’s a long walk and I want to avoid being late, sir.”

[Lyra d'Aiglemort]

The space between her speech and Father’s reaction stretched endlessly as if they were tugging on a piece of taffy. It collapsed just as softly, folding in on itself all at once, as Lyra held still in spite of the chill racing up her spine.

“I never see you these days.”

Oh.

Oh.

Lyra’s eyes widened. Warmth uncurled in her chest, a fern unfurling as sunlight struck, and Lyra felt lightheaded. Did Father miss her? Was he saying that he missed her?

She took a step forward unthinkingly, wanting to close the distance between them. It seemed like an eternity since last they spoke - for all that Lyra recounted her day after work there was no real substance to those conversations. Father kept so busy, without Lyra to help he continued his research, and he hadn't asked for her even on the weekend.

Was she gone too often? Did Father need her? The notion should have been shameful and yet it was joy that squealed loudest.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice wobbled. Lyra halted before she could make a fool out of herself. The heat stayed stuck to her bones, like rice filling her up.

His hand trailed loosely through the air as if brushing the topic aside. "No matter."

Lyra hesitated. It was a good thing that Father wasn't upset with her -- that her guilt was unnecessary. She should be pleased. (Why wasn’t she pleased?)

“Tell me, darling, how are you faring at Adimus Industries? It’s been nearly three weeks since you started, hasn’t it?”

Nodding, Lyra swallowed and pulled at her scattered thoughts. Normally she wasn’t so slow in the mornings. She batted at her thoughts the way a cat chased butterflies. “It’s been difficult.”

Father made a sympathetic noise, encouraging her to go on.

“The tasks are fine. It’s just that I’m not used to being around so many people all at once and my coworkers are strange.” Lyra frowned reflexively, reminded of all the weird things that occurred in an office setting, and the weirder social interactions she was still picking apart.

“I’m working on it,” she finished earnestly, not wanting Father to think she was failing her job.

He favored her with a compassionate smile as he approached the counter to set the coffee machine up. (Lyra would have done that before leaving if she were capable of making edible coffee. That was also something she was working on.)

“That comes as no surprise, dear. You’ve always had difficulties with social settings.” Father pulled down the tin of fresh coffee beans and glanced her way. “I apologize, darling. It’s likely my fault for not warning you beforehand. I thought after all of your success this year that it wouldn’t be necessary. It seems I left you unprepared.”

Lyra’s heart stung at the regret sewn into the corners of Father’s words. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault – that Lyra should have known better and predicted these challenges, but that would only draw out further apologies. More than disappointing him, she hated that her mistakes caused her father pain.

Her knuckles throbbed, and Lyra realized she was clenching her hands into fists. She exhaled slowly.

Father wouldn’t like it if she got upset.

“No, I – I’m learning. I’ll get better at all of this, sir.” Lyra willed him to hear the underlying message. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. The last thing he needed was more to worry about.