FROM HER ASHES³ ━━ Bellamy Blake

𝐗𝐈𝐕: Throne of Gilded Bones

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THRONE
OF
GILDED BONES

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please do not leave hate comments. if you don't like how wordy my writing style is or disagree with something lyra does, here's a thought — write your own book! i work really hard on this in my free time and it j sucks to see some ppl go out of their way to hate for no real reason.

obviously constructive criticism is fine but please yall BE NICE

LYRA SPENDS THE next five days in and out of consciousness.

Thick silence encompasses her for what feels like eons. Darkness has a chokehold on her. Horrible inky blackness, as if she is drowning in an abyss, and ugly pain. Pain crawls across her body, sinking icy claws into her flesh. Festering in her chest wound. Taking the shape of a collar around her throat. Restraints around her arms and legs. Pain, like an ice pick in her head, breathing fire behind her eyes, so potent that she cannot stand to open them. Indescribable shadows dart across her vision. Phantom hands touch her.

Time is thick and congealing. It feels as if she is paralyzed by it.

     Voices float all around her. Real or not real, she never knows. She's only ever lucid for a few heartbeats.

     "We can't move her!" An aghast voice snaps, sounding suspiciously like Bellamy. "Look at her, Jackson. She's in no fucking condition — "

     " — if she stays here, she starves!" A second voice argues, though there's little anger. Mostly, they sound defeated. "Blodreina burned down the farm. We have no choice. Lyra marches with us or she dies."

"We executed Jourum," a miserable male whispers. Nate. "I don't know. . . I don't know why he would have done this to her. It doesn't make any sense. We think. . . We think she might've been trying to save you from the pits, Bellamy."

Even in her delirium, Lyra refuses to feel guilt. She will protect Octavia until her last.

"Just fix her," begs the first voice. Bellamy. Another wave of despair washes over Lyra. "Jackson, please. I won't be able to live with myself if. . . this is my fault. It's all my fault again."

It's not, Lyra yearns to shout at him. I would've fought Octavia a thousand times over! But she's too tired and she feels very small and very much wants to die. She doesn't want to fight anymore. She's hurt too badly.

She wants her dad.

She wants her dad to appear and save her and take her back home.

That's all she can comprehend; darkness takes her again.

     And in that darkness, the ghosts come for her.

     They are wicked, with claws sharp as knives and teeth dripping with venom. Unforgiving. Lyra is walking over the fine line between life and death and this leaves her vulnerable to the dead. They are not just phantoms; they are sharp, blade-edged, and they are starving.