"Aren't you even listening?" The girl's voice was laced with frustration as she reached out and gently slapped Lyra on the head.
Lyra's eyes widened in surprise, and she felt a sudden, searing pain in her head. The world around her began to blur and distort, like a reflection in rippling water. She saw flashes of images, disjointed and unclear, but they seemed to be pulling her toward some hidden truth.
The girl's voice cut through the chaos, laced with worry. "What happened, are you okay?" Lyra tried to respond, but her words caught in her throat. She could only nod, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar landscape as if searching for answers.
The girl's expression turned frantic. "Mr. Coachman, please, we must hurry! Her health is deteriorating!" The coachman's voice was calm and reassuring as he urged the horses onward. "Yes, it is better."
As the carriage picked up speed, Lyra gazed out at the passing landscape. Rolling fields stretched toward the horizon, with wheat, corn, and cotton growing in neat rows. But what caught her attention were the massive mirrors scattered throughout the fields, their glassy surfaces reflecting the sky and the landscape with eerie precision.
Lyra's mind reeled with questions. What was the purpose of these mirrors? And why did they seem to be watching her, their reflections like cold, dead eyes?
Lyra's curiosity got the better of her, and despite the searing pain in her head, she asked, "Why are these mirrors here?" She winced, clutching her head as if the words themselves were heavy stones that threatened to crush her. The pain was like a living thing, writhing and twisting inside her skull.
The girl stared at Lyra in surprise, her eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher a puzzle. "You were the one who told me how to install them!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with confusion and a hint of concern. "I don't know what you're talking about," she added, her brow furrowed in perplexity.
Lyra's eyes widened, her mind reeling as she tried to make sense of the girl's words. "What?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding in her head. But before she could ask another question, the carriage came to a stop in front of a grand, sprawling mansion that seemed to stretch on forever.
As Lyra stepped down from the carriage, she gazed up at the imposing structure, her eyes taking in the intricate stonework, the gleaming windows, and the majestic entrance that seemed to loom over her like a sentinel. The girl who had brought her here seemed to be watching her, a mixture of curiosity and wariness on her face.
Lyra's attention was drawn to the numerous mirrors installed throughout the courtyard. They seemed to be placed strategically, reflecting the sky, the trees, and the very walls of the mansion itself. As she approached one of them, she was shocked to see a reflection that was not her own. The clothes, the hair, everything was identical to the girl who had brought her here.
"Who is this...?" Lyra asked, her voice trembling with confusion and a growing sense of unease. She turned to the girl, searching for answers, but the girl's expression only deepened the mystery. Her eyes seemed to hold a secret, a secret that Lyra was desperate to uncover.
The girl sitting next to Lyra lightly tapped her head again, a mixture of concern and exasperation on her face. "You've really become a fool, haven't you?" she said, her voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "Do you see anyone else in the mirror? It seems like you've been under a lot of pressure today. That's why I'm telling you to stay away from that book. I have no idea where you even found it."
Saying this, the girl took Lyra's hand and led her inside the mansion. As they entered, Lyra saw a grand staircase curving upward like a ribbon, its intricately carved banister gleaming in the soft light. Both girls began to climb the stairs, their footsteps echoing off the walls.
As Lyra ascended, her mind began to clear, and she started to take in her surroundings. She saw her father, dressed in the attire of a wealthy landlord, standing at the top of the stairs. Her mother stood beside him, a look of relief washing over her face as she saw Lyra.
"Quickly, come inside," her mother urged, her voice low and urgent. But Lyra's confusion only deepened. Before she could ask any questions, a strange, ululating cry echoed through the air, sending a shiver down Lyra's spine.
Everyone's head jerked toward the sound, their faces set in alarm. One of the servants hastily produced a small, intricately carved horn and blew a warning blast. The sound sent the villagers scurrying toward their homes, their faces pale with fear.
Lyra's bewilderment grew. What was happening? And what was the meaning of the strange cry that had sent everyone into a panic?