Hit Rewind

FIFTEEN: MIGRATION

However, there was something undeniably eerie about the possibility of standing on the same cliffs Lyra had once looked down from, contemplating the crashing waves below. It was one of those things Iris would be grateful to be able to forget, to not ever think about, but, as she followed Lyra down the stairs leading down to the beach (and paying appropriate attention to where she placed her feet before she came tumbling down and injured them both), those thoughts resided there, rotting in the back of her head.

Whether those cliffs had any association with Lyra's death or not, they'd now forever be tainted by the possibility simply because they had dared to cross Iris' mind for a fraction of a second. It had been as simple as that, a complete rehaul of her memories, and now she couldn't get the new ones out of her head.

It was what she'd been doing in the past, anyway—wiping away memories, not even just hers, and convincing herself the rewritten and the new ones would be far better, with better consequences. She'd been convincing herself all the suffering would be worth it for the sake of a greater good, but what about all the people who weren't associated with her and/or Lyra at all? Why didn't get a say on what Iris had done to their lives just because she could, just because she'd wanted to? For the sake of something that wasn't guaranteed, for the sake of something the person directly impacted by it the most was passively fighting against?

"Be careful," Lyra warned her. They still hadn't gotten to the bottom of the stairs, but they had both stopped walking. In the distance, thunder rumbled, the skies coated in an even deeper shade of gray, and Iris was still mesmerized by how it made her eyes look even paler, almost translucent. "If you fall, it's going to be nasty."

"Have you ever fallen here?"

"Down these stairs? Oh, so much." She dramatically rolled her eyes. "They're a hazard whenever they're wet."

The question was right there, hanging on the tip of Iris' tongue like the sea foam from below, and all she needed was a little push, a little more bravery. All she'd have to do was ask, but stopped herself thanks to the nasty, stinging reminder that the Lyra standing in front of her wouldn't know the answer to any of her questions, either. The only one who did was dead and buried in a timeline Iris had wiped out of existence and, even if she hadn't resorted to her time altering powers, she would have never found the courage to reach out to the Sinclairs and ask them. She'd avoided them for months, after all, and the only reason she spoke to Coraline was because she'd cornered her in a grocery store. Had Iris had her way, she would have gone on her merry way avoiding everyone and everything that brought back reminders of Lyra (though her return to Emelle Bay was, by itself, a trigger).

This Lyra would never know whether she'd jumped off a cliff or not.

Based on the state of her body during her funeral—perfectly still, almost like she was trapped in a magical slumber, albeit with a blue tint showing through the makeup they'd caked her face with—there was a high chance she hadn't, which was why everyone had attributed the death to nothing but a freak accident. One of those things that happened to careless people, and Lyra had always been known for her recklessness, so any doubts regarding her state of mind at the time had been brushed aside by most residents.

That was just how she was. She never thought before acting. She was impulsive.

What a shame, what a loss, but is anyone actually shocked?

It's a miracle she lasted as long as she did without someone keeping an eye on her.

What happened to that Fox girl, anyway? Weren't they attached by the hip? How could she have let this happen? How could her parents let such a tragedy happen?