How she was to fulfil her promise to Will, Lyra did not know.
She ran her long, slender fingers on the bench’s vacant seat and rested her hand on the place where she surmised Will’s would be if it was their time of the year.
The men that sought for her hand were numerous indeed, but always she found herself returning to this bench countless more than they’d pledged. For how could she – she who, in her childhood, had weathered so much with Will Parry – find herself happily betrothed to some other man who wasn’t Will?
“Must I really, Will?” She asked the empty air next to her. Must she truly be happy and marry and love another? Must she not compare?
Twelve years. Twelve years yet still she yearned for him.
Pan nuzzled into her neck, his tawny marten fur soft and comforting to her despair.
A moment later, his raised his head, ears twitching and nose sniffing the air.
A dark figure darted right in front of Lyra then and stopped to look at Pan, as if drawn to, but wary of.
Before Lyra could even react at the wildcat’s familiar shimmering coat of subtle colors, a man burst from behind the bushes chiding, “Kirjava! What has gotten into you?”
Dark hair, brooding eyes, and a staunch, strong built.
Shocked to her very bone, Lyra sat utterly still and breathed, “Will.” She’d know that face anywhere. Older, but it was definitely him.
His eyes shot to her, puzzled and unrecognizing. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”
Lyra swallowed, thoroughly confused. “I – ”
Her mind raced.
Suddenly, Lyra was fully aware of the empty seat next to her and felt the Dust in her mind begin to work her comprehension.
If this same bench could exist in her Will’s universe, then perhaps… People too.
“No. Not in this world.”
