His Perfect Lyra

Silas's POV 

I held the photo in my hand.

Teenage Lyra. Smiling.

The longer I stared at it,

The more it gnawed at me.

Why won't you show me that smile now, Lyra?

Are you not happy here?

After all—

I give you everything you need.

Food. Clothes. Care.

Strict love.

And still,

You can't do something as simple as smiling.

—

A memory flickered.

Small. Distant.

I was six, maybe.

Snowstorm outside.

The mansion silent as always.

I sat near the fireplace, reading.

Father in his usual armchair.

And I asked—

In that small, childish voice I had back then:

"Father… how did you fix Mother?"

"You said you would fix her one day. But… how?"

He waved me over.

Lifted me onto his lap.

His smile was the same as always. Crooked. Creepy. Cold.

"Simple," he said.

"I took her human sense away."

"She begged to come back to me after that."

He pointed toward the grand painting on the wall.

Father. Mother. Me.

Standing like nobles do.

Father and I—smiling.

Mother?

Lifeless. Broken eyes.

"I found her. I brought her home. I fixed her.

I raised her.

But she chose to fight back.

So I gave her a taste of punishment—

One she couldn't fight."

Then he tapped my nose,

His smile shifting into something almost… fatherly.

"If you ever find a girl you like, son—

Make sure she wants you too.

Make her need you. 

Use force if you must.

After all… you are my son."

He laughed. Loud. Proud.

And I—

I stared at him like he was everything.

That was my inspiration.

Father.

He could bend anyone's will.

Make them obey.

Make them his.

I wanted to be like him.

No—better than him.

A perfect wife.

One who never breaks.

One who never runs.

That's why I worked so hard.

Early education.

Cram schools.

College before my peers.

Training. Discipline.

And I succeeded—

But not enough.

Not enough to surpass Father.

Lyra.

She's my gift.

Like I said.

I found her.

Brought her home.

Raising her.

Fixing her.

But unlike Father—

I don't force love on her.

Not directly.

Because if I did… she would only hate me.

Maybe that's why Mother never loved me either.

Maybe I wasn't meant to be born.

But back then… all I wanted

Was attention from her.

One real moment.

A gift.

So I asked Father.

And he gave it to me.

Because he's the best.

That birthday day, 

All I wanted was tea with Mother.

We had the yard. The pond.

A perfect sunny day.

She barely smiled.

Barely looked at me.

But she listened.

Responded.

That was enough.

And when I asked—

If she had a present for me—

Her voice shook.

"I do… but you'll get it when you're older. Can you wait, Silas?"

A lie.

But I let her say it.

That day…

Was the last time I saw her.

She removed herself from this world.

And I wasn't sad.

I wasn't disappointed.

Not even for a second.

—

Now—

Back to today.

I looked down at Lyra.

That same feeling.

The same weight.

I asked her about the photo.

About her.

And I told her—

"I want to see your smile."

Her expression shifted.

Slow.

Fear.

That's right.

Fear.

But it's just a smile.

If you smile, you'll be fine.

Then she said it.

"I can't smile if I don't feel happy.

It's not easy."

Those words.

As if she had control.

As if she had power.

No.

That's not how this works.

I leaned back.

Cold. Calm.

"I see… then I suppose I'm getting bored of my gift now."

Let's see.

Let's see how my method works.

And how she reacts.