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𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐘𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 after her peaceful slumber, it was to find the room empty. Sighing, she sat up, placing the pillows behind her back and leaning back into them. She then proceeded to look at her wrists, which now bore an embarrassing amount of pink scars. Lyra hoped she could get a healer or someone to make the scars fade forever.
She regretted what she had done. She had been infatuated by the feeling of the blade breaking the surface of her skin, and enjoyed watching the beads of blood drip from her arms. But most importantly, and probably the part that scared her the most, she enjoyed that it took her mind off the thoughts that suffocated her.
Lyra turned her head to the door in her room, where a healer walked in, clipboard clutched to her chest as she sat in the chair Remus had previously sat. Her hair turned from the natural black to a dull grey, a thing that happened when she was nervous.
The healer smiled politely at her, showing pearly white teeth before speaking in a voice deeper than what Lyra expected with such a small woman, but it was still calming and soothing, "Hello Miss Black, I'm Healer Emmeline Vance, but please call me Evie." The healer held out a hand for her to shake.
Lifting her arm cautiously, Lyra shook the woman's hand. "Why Evie? Emmeline doesn't sound anything like 'Evie',' the girl questioned.
Emmeline chuckled softly, "It's a play on my initials, E and V. Evie."
"Ah, so I'd be..." Lyra paused, scratching her chin, "Elbee. How electrifying."
The healer let out another chuckle before coughing to keep herself professional. "Despite the fun I'm having chatting with you, I need to go over a few things," Lyra sighed and looked outside the window that looked into the hall to see Remus, Mary, Arthur and -- Is that George?!-- all waiting nervously. "They're all very worried about you," said Emmeline, Lyra looked down at her hand in her lap, refusing eye contact. "I don't need all the details, I just want to know how long you've been feeling down, and how you really feel. I also know that the nurses healed the bruises that were clearly made from someone who isn't yourself."
Lyra nodded, and fiddled with her hands before speaking "I don't want to talk about the bruises just yet." she said quietly, the healer nodded understandingly. Lyra took a deep breath before continuing, "I-I've been feeling like this for nearly all summer," she admitted, still keeping her focus intently on the knitted Weasley-made blanket on her bed, "And I don't know how to explain it. It's like there is a fire inside of me. A fire that is uncontrollable. It's big, loud and bloody hard to control.
"Sometimes it dies down, but then a match lights it again. I keep waiting for the matches to run out, but it's like there is a refilling charm on it." Lyra took another deep breath and realised how overdramatic she sounded and croaked out an apology. Her hair changed from grey to a murky green, she was ashamed of speaking out about her problems. It was something a weak person does.
