"Punished? Tomorrow?" Lyra was huddled on the prison floor miserably, her cheeks strewn with stray hair, her dress torn, and looking shabby. The pain in her legs was gone, replaced with paranoia about death. "I'm finally going to die? Am I going to die?" Then she burst out laughing, filling the prison with her loud voice, making its guards wonder at her character.
Shortly after that, she burst into tears, spilling all the sadness that was entrenched in her chest. Her hands squeezed her bulging dress, forming a fist to hit her chest. "He just wanted to kill me from the beginning," she assumed. "He tried to torture me by giving me hope before killing me," she continued.
The flames of the torches still snaked through the room, casting shattered shadows across the floor, giving her another false hope.
