Lyra woke up, lying on cold, damp stone. Consciousness returned slowly, as if rising from beneath a thick sheet of ice. Her mouth was filled with bitterness and sticky saliva, tasting of metal and dust. She tried to swallow, but her tongue wouldn't obey. She attempted to move her hand—even just a finger—but nothing responded. Her body felt paralyzed, alien, heavy, as if her bones had turned to stone and her muscles no longer belonged to her.
The pain wasn't sharp. It was deep, dispersed, overwhelming. She felt as though she had walked through fire and been submerged in freezing water all at once. Every muscle pulsed, burning from within, while a crushing weight pressed down on her shoulders, legs, and spine. Breathing was hard—as if something cold and merciless sat on her chest. Every nerve trembled, as though just now waking from eternal darkness.
