Lyra's POV
I strolled down the hallway, the cold air lashing around me. I hugged my arms, rubbing them with my palms to warm them against the cold, while I counted the stone tiles with my eyes—fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, I counted, committing every number to memory, even that of the chipped or broken stones.
Not that it mattered, but I had to do something to take my mind off my thoughts, or I'd be going crazy soon. I had nothing to do. And since Draziel and I had agreed to stay away from each other, I had no one to talk to except me, myself, and the air.
I paused before a stone chipped off heavily on all sides so that it looked almost like a pebble between the others. I squinted my gaze on it. Should it count? It was practically not a tile right now.
I dropped my shoulders and smiled at the stone. In my kingdom, everyone was welcomed—the good, the bad, and the ugly.
