“No,” Lyra gasped, pulling at her bonds. “Don’t—”
“Please,” Lyra begged between heaving breaths. “Please, stop.” tickling submission
Lyra closed her eyes, and in the warm silence of the library, she found a strange, profound peace in the ruins of her resistance. She had not been broken. She had been asked to surrender—and finally, she had chosen to. “No,” Lyra gasped, pulling at her bonds
Lyra shook her head, even as her body trembled. “I won’t… break that easily.” She had not been broken
The defiance crumbled piece by piece, not in a violent collapse, but in a slow, mortifying melt. Lyra stopped trying to hold back her laughter. Then she stopped trying to form words. Then she forgot why she was supposed to resist.
“What… what do you want?” Lyra gasped, her face flushed, tears streaming down her cheeks.