The defiance crumbled piece by piece, not in a violent collapse, but in a slow, mortifying melt. Lyra stopped trying to hold back her laughter. Then she stopped trying to form words. Then she forgot why she was supposed to resist.
A tear of mirth escaped Lyra’s eye. A snort. Then a real laugh, short and bright, shattered the library’s silence. tickling submission
Lyra lifted her chin, defiance still flickering in her eyes. “It was trite. The rhymes were forced.” The defiance crumbled piece by piece, not in
“Please,” Lyra begged between heaving breaths. “Please, stop.” The defiance crumbled piece by piece