His Perfect Lyra

Lyra's POV -

I wake up, and something's wrong.

It's dark.

Not just "late-night movie" dark. Not "lights-off" dark.

Just… dark.

Except for the glow stars.

They're still up there on the ceiling, giving off that weird green light.

Like always.

Like they're the only things that never change.

I sit up fast, heart already pounding.

I look at the floor—where I left Ducky.

Gone.

He took it.

That means he came in here.

While I was sleeping.

…Does he always come in when I sleep?

That thought alone makes me sick.

I stand slowly, moving by memory.

Everything feels heavier without the light—like the dark presses against my skin.

No movie.

No food tray beep.

No hum of anything.

It's not a power outage.

This is punishment.

He left everything off on purpose—just to screw with my routine. My sense of time. My sanity.

I glance up at the stars again.

I still don't get why they're here.

But somehow, they comfort me.

They're fake—but familiar.

I walk over to the wall.

His wall.

The only one he lets me write on.

I grab the charcoal and start scrawling again.

I'm not Lyra

Trapped

Alone

Ducky gone

F**k Silas

Then I add one more:

No lights

Off to the side, I mark another line under the tally.

Day 13.

Thirteen days in this place.

Two of them in total darkness.

And it's getting to me.

I can't tell if time's moving fast or slow anymore.

The cold food still shows up.

So does the water.

But it's like everything's a second behind.

Shower's freezing.

No new clothes.

No movies.

Just me.

And this room.

And the f**king dark.

I keep thinking I see something moving.

I know there's nothing there.

But my brain keeps making shapes.

Eyes. Shadows. Movement.

I curl up in the bed and try to pretend it's not happening.

Just breathe. Just wait.

I peek up at the wall again.

Fifteen tally marks.

Two full days.

No lights.

It's torture.

That's all it is.

Because I destroyed a stuffed duck.

He's insane.

And maybe I am too.

I don't even know what's real anymore.

I hug my knees to my chest and cry.

Quiet.

Tired.

Soft.

"What did I ever do to deserve this?"

I sleep. And I dream again.

The same dream.

The same old hand offering me that tiny duck plush.

That same little girl—me?

Why this memory again?

What am I supposed to remember?

————

Then—

three loud beeps

I jolt awake.

And blink—

The lights are on.

I've never felt so relieved.

But then—

I freeze.

Ducky.

Perched perfectly on top of the old TV.

Not torn.

Not shredded.

He's been stitched up.

Neat. Clean. New.

There's something around his neck.

A ribbon.

And hanging from it—a note.

Sealed with a fake flower.