OUT OF MIND² ━━ Bellamy Blake

𝐗𝐈𝐕: Wretchedly Divine

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WRETCHEDLY DIVINE

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"HELLO, LYRA. I AM — "

     " — Alie. I know."

     Tilting her head quizzically, Lyra studies the. . . woman? Computer code? She isn't quite sure what to refer to Alie as, though she certainly looks like a woman. Alie's voice is sultry and smooth as summer, yet somehow firm as ice at the same time. Her stare is unconcerned, the woman herself lithe with calculating, feline eyes. She cocks a perfectly manicured eyebrow as she clasps her hand. Her lips are lined in the same blood red as her dress.

     Lyra expects to feel crippling disappointment that this is not her mother ━━ no matter how similar Alie looks to her ━━ but she finds nothing.

     In fact, she hardly feels anything at all.

"Lyra," a low, male voice hisses. "What's going on?"

Slowly, with great deliberation, Lyra turns to who'd spoken. His appearance startles her. He is tall and broad-shouldered, crowned with black curls as though they have been stained by the night sky. His deep eyes glitter apprehensively as his mouth cramps, a thin, worried line against the bronze of his skin.

"The boy," she starts to frown. Hesitantly, she glances at Alie. "Who is he?"

"Nobody important," answers Alie. Her voice is sleek as velvet. "Not to you. Not anymore."

But her voice sounds distant, as if Lyra is hearing it form underwater. Puzzled, she scrutinizes the boy again. Something about him. . .

"I know him," she utters slowly.

"Yes," agrees Alie. "I removed all your memories of him. He caused you too much pain."

     Barred by her own mind, Lyra tries to think. Alie would not lie to her. Somehow, whoever this boy is, he has caused her a great deal of hurt. She studies his ashen face with a baffling calmness. If there is nothing but pain rooted in her memories of him, then she does not want to remember him.

     "Lyra," he hisses again. "What's going on?"

     She shrugs her shoulders casually. "Just catching up."

     Curiously, she tries to see what Alie will let her remember, but it's not much and none of it is personal. Instead she had access to an event she hadn't been present for at all; when Raven had been left alone with him at Niylah's trading post.

". . . Look at you, fighting for your little Angel," Raven had sneered. She'd been chained to the bed while he watched soundlessly from the corner. "Oh, c'mon. Don't flinch when I use her pet-name. I had my fun with her once, remember?"

At that, he had visibly tensed.

Raven's smirk was bloodcurdling. "Do you know that face she makes, right before she — ?"