She see’s it, though she pretends not to. That glance towards the door. For all her efforts, it seems it may be near impossible to restrain Lyra in the way that she wants. If they’re to have this conversation –if they’re to discuss the workings of their relationship, whatever this was now— then Lyra would have to be open, and Mrs. Coulter would have to be honest. But Lyra had been injured by her, and to curtail that damage, Mrs. Coulter had to lie and lie and lie. A never ending cycle. My fault, was the first thought she had. An error. It will take some time to correct. She acknowledged that there was the possibility that they may never bridge the gap between them. She accepted it. And that was half the battle here.
She does not move too close, as though approaching a skittish cat. Her own daughter, scared of her, curled into a vicious little ball on the corner of the lounge. The sight is abhorrent. Mrs. Coulter takes a seat nearby, far enough to not encroach upon Lyra’s space –close enough to catch her. “I know, I know it’s difficult to understand. But you’re not just anyone, Lyra. And intercision wasn’t a perfect procedure yet. If it was, why, it would have already been taking place in hospitals around the country.” To admit that those tests were to satisfy her own fathomless need for answers was impossible. But she can, at least, admit to the mistakes that she has made in searching for those answers. “A mistake on my part, but where Lord Asriel is concerned… he would have taken any child to bring his plans to fruition.” Damning, and she knew it. “Those experiments, in the end, could only have wasted more life than they would have saved. But they gave us a better understanding of what it is we are dealing with. Dust is volatile, sinful, it fills us with nasty thoughts and all sorts of unhappy feelings. But, it is, in a sense, essential to a child’s life. There’s something more to it. It is unfortunate that there is no easy way of studying it.”
HOW LYRA WISHED SHE could return to a way of easily trusting the malevolent figure she could never quite bring HERSELF to call mother. she notes mrs. coulter’s gentle step , careful positioning , and twists her lips slightly. pantalaimon was SOFT in her arms. alive. vital. a constant reminder of all they had come so close to losing at the BLONDE’S hand. she would always carry that blame , despite rescuing lyra just in the nick of time. she was the spider in the CENTRE of the web. they were trapped now ; caught in the lies she could not escape.
AVERTING her gaze slightly from her soul - partner curled in her lap. ❝ why didn’t you just let them test it on us ? if you can test it on all those other kids ? they didn’t do nothing wrong. ❞ INSOLENCE coloured tone. demanding and fierce , flames resided in her soul and she glared ❝ you don’t care. NEITHER of you. you don’t care about me and pan , nor any of those kids. you only care about yourselves. you don’t even know nothing about dust. you don’t know IT en’t good. ❞ pan’s old theory echoed in her mind ; that perhaps the very fact that the adults feared and HATED dust , was what made it good and in need of saving. letting her knees fall to the floor , pantalaimon hissed in her arms , and she pleaded with faux - gentleness in her eyes. ❝ CAN’T you just let us go back with will ? ❞
