She lay down, the grass still wet from the rain. She stared up at the cloudy sky, mind whirling. No stars. Only a lone moon, riding low on the horizon.
Broken Moon, painted sky, she thought.
A gaggle of crows exploded from a nearby oak in a flurry of raucous caws. Lyra closed her eyes. A cold wind blew, mussing her hair and sending the tremors through the grass. The happy yelps of children echoed through the otherwise still night. Halloween. The day of the year she used to love the most.
Lyra dragged in a breath, and let it out in a cloud of condensation. Her eyes burned with tears that she refused to let fall. She slipped her AirPods into her ears.
Angel’s Song, by Arlo Parks, began to play. She closed her eyes and soaked in the sounds of the night. The crisp, cold October air. The far-off honking of car horns from somewhere in the city. Laughter. A burst of song issuing from a car radio as it sped past.
I used to be infinite.