The nun – middle-aged, gentle, with weathered hands and the calmness of someone who has seen too much and still believes – looks up from the chart on her lap. She sets it aside and smiles at Lyra, bracing for her to scream, cry, or joke.

  “I feel like someone splashed my face with hydrochloric acid,” Lyra says in a weak whisper – then starts coughing.

  “That’s because someone did, dear.” She reaches to adjust Lyra’s IV – a quiet, practiced move. “You’ve been unconscious almost a full day. The Pope came by twice. Left you a little stuffed sheep.” She gestures to the toy on a table. “I think it was meant to be ironic.”

  Lyra raises her healthy hand to her face. “How bad is it?” she asks. She cannot see out of her left eye. “Is the world burning already?” She tries to chuckle, but it turns into another cough. “Can you pass me that sheep? I think I’m going to cry.”

  The nun’s face softens – not in pity, in recognition. She has seen this kind of pain before – not this exact kind, but pain that tries to make a joke before it bursts. She nods, silent, and rises from her chair. The sheep is small, plush, maybe 20 centimeters long. Someone, probably Francis, tied a ribbon around its neck. She places it gently into Lyra’s healthy hand.

  “Your eye is gone. We could not save it.” The nun’s voice is quiet. She lets the information sink in. “The burns will leave scars. Not everywhere, but they will show.” She pauses. “As for the world? Not burning. At least not yet. I think your talk with the Pope still has a hold over them. Your followers are lighting candles in your name across the globe. Some say you’ve ascended. Others say it only proves you were a danger all along.” Her voice lowers. “And yes, you can cry. God knows I would.”

  Lyra looks at the sheep. “I’m calling you Jorge,” she says, and then hugs it tight. Then she feels the wetness of tears on her right cheek. Her face contorts in pain – both physical and not. She was dumb. She had fucked up. She had fucked up so badly. Again.

  Lyra’s body tightens involuntarily. Grief. Shame. Fury. It is not about the acid. It is about trust. About letting herself be part of the world. About thinking that maybe – maybe – she could be human. And about getting burned once again.

  The nun reaches out and places her hand on Lyra’s good shoulder. “You trusted. That’s not a mistake. That’s a risk only the brave take. And you’re still here. And…”

  “If anyone comes to visit,” Lyra interrupts her, “tell them I’m fine. But I’m asleep.” She sniffs a few times. “And thank you.”

  The nun gives a small nod, almost conspiratorial. “Of course. Deep sleep. Terribly unresponsive.” She rises, smoothing the blanket over Lyra’s legs. Then she gets ready to leave. “You’re welcome Lyra,” she says and closes the door behind her – leaving Lyra with Jorge the sheep.

  Lyra looks around the empty room, searching for her tablet – and finds it right beside the bed. “Gotta make sure my children behave,” she mutters to herself, reaching for it. A deep breath. Then she assesses the situation. What is the internet hive mind saying?

  Trending hashtags:

  #PrayForLyra

  #GoblinQueenYetLives

  #LyraDidNothingWrong

  #KaosNeverDies

  Articles on news sites:

  Acid Attack on Orbital Figure Lyra Inside Vatican Walls: Was it a Security Breach or Holy Targeting?

  Lyra’s Mythology Faces Real-World Consequence

  Comments and tweets:

  “I don’t even like her but if she dies I’m gonna riot”

  “This is what happens when you trust the Vatican”

  “She was getting too soft. This’ll harden her again. Watch”

  “Lyra’s alive. The timeline remains intact”

  “She said she’d keep the world from burning. She still planning to?”

  Lyra thinks for a moment. Takes it all in. The internet is doing what it does best: believing in everything, all at once. Then she turns on the camera on the tablet. Tweets the link to the stream. She waits a few seconds and smiles as thousands rush in to join.

  “Hey there, kids,” she says in a barely audible whisper. “Sorry for the bandages, but someone splashed me with acid today. Quite rude, if you ask me.”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  She does not even finish the sentence before the comments flood in – a tsunami of chaos, grief, memes, and raw affection.

  “SHE’S ALIVE SHE’S ALIVE SHE’S ALIVE”

  “LYRA WHAT THE FUCK DON’T SCARE US LIKE THAT”

  “crying. actually crying. i would’ve taken the acid for you”

  “quite rude? YOU ALMOST DIED”

  “that’s our girl. scarred == hotter”

  “Calm down, people. It’s just an eye, half my face, and my tits. I can reconstruct the first two. I’ll skip the tits though. Flat chests are sexier anyway.” Her low raspy voice makes the stream feel intimate, almost ASMR quality. “Listen, folks.” Lyra switches to a more serious tone. “I’m kinda tired and I really feel like crying right now, okay? But I’m responsible for all you idiots, so I’m here talking to you.

  “They caught the person who sprayed me with their hot sauce and I will deal with them personally. But if I hear any of you going on a holy crusade, doxing people, plotting revenge, or even fucking frowning too much, I swear to all the main sequence stars – I’m nuking this entire planet. Understood? I’m not joking right now. You all calm your collective nipples down or you’re going under faster than the dinosaurs. Questions?”

  “FLAT IS JUSTICE. FLAT IS DIVINE”

  “HOT SAUCE??? queen wtf”

  “YES MOM I PROMISE TO CHILL PLEASE DON’T NUCLEAR WINTER US”

  “i’m gonna tattoo that entire speech on my pp”

  “pics or it didn’t happen”

  “if ur crying, do it with us. we’ll wait”

  “I’m not going to cry on stream, you idiots. This is not a YouTuber apology video. Now go and pray or something. I need to sleep. Don’t burn the world down in the meantime. Kaos Queen out.” She salutes, and with that, ends the stream. No outro music. No fade to logo. No donation link.

  The clip of the “I’m nuking this entire planet” speech is already trending. Jorge has his own Twitter account within six minutes – even though no one even knows his name, people saw him on Lyra’s lap and just rolled with it.

  Lyra lets herself fall onto the pillow. She sees her reflection in the black screen.

  The room is quiet again. A bird chirps outside, then flies away.

  The tablet slips from her hand. She lets it fall.

  Tears begin to roll. “I’m so glad you’re still with me, Jorge,” she whispers.

  ***

  “Father Marek, father Marek!” Zuzia bursts through the parish doors. “Have you seen it?”

  “Have I seen what?” he asks, waving to the kids pouring in. They look agitated – buzzing with a childish joy that adults can no longer imitate.

  “Lyra is awake! And the first thing she did was posting a stream. Watch!” Zuzia practically shoves her phone into his face.

  “Calm down, calm down,” says the priest – though he has to admit, he is curious as well. Lyra has been on his mind since her talk with Pope Francis. Marek expected a disrespectful teen rebel. Instead, it felt as if she had studied his own sermons and held up a mirror – showing him every mistake he had made in guiding the youth. And he could not look away.

  The kids gather around him. They have already seen the video, of course – but watching Lyra never gets old. Especially when they can watch adults react to her.

  Father Marek squints at the screen, but watches the whole thing in silence. He does not react when the kids giggle at Lyra talking about her tits, or the “collective nipples” of the internet. He does not react to her calling hydrochloric acid “hot sauce.” But he does – briefly – chuckle at the irony of “go and pray or something,” wondering if anyone else even caught it. God, You speak in strange voices these days, he thinks.

  “She’s amazing, isn’t she?” asks Zuzia.

  The kids all start nodding, talking over each other about why Lyra is the pinnacle of humanity.

  “She is amazing.” Father Marek nods. A strange thought pops into his head, if Lyra died right now, would she not qualify for beatification? He chuckles at the absurdity. “She’s irreverent – blasphemous, even – but undeniably amazing. Have you seen what she did there?”

  One boy snorts. “You mean threaten to nuke the planet while looking like an anime villain? Would she actually be able to do that?”

  “She said in one interview that she doesn’t own any nukes,” Zuzia replies.

  “She could just drop a tungsten rod from orbit. It would work even better,” says a quiet boy in the back everyone called Joss.

  “No,” says Father. “I did not mean the nukes. That was just a way to get everyone’s attention. I meant that she told the world to have compassion.”

  “What? When?” asks Zuzia.

  “Throughout the whole video, in fact. Have you seen how bad she looked? How bad did she sound? What would you do if someone did this to you?”

  The kids go quiet, but the obvious answer hangs in the air.

  “You would rage and want revenge,” says Father Marek. “I would rage and want revenge. But she made this video instead. Probably just after waking up. Probably in terrible pain. And came up with what to say to calm the world down. And to force them to have compassion for the person who harmed her. She is the best Christian I know – despite not being one.”

  “Is she even baptized?” asks Joss.

  “Of course not, you dolt,” says Zuzia. “She grew up in an illegal brothel, remember? It’s not like they had a priest just hanging out there.”

  “I need to learn from her,” says the priest. Not to the kids. To himself. “If that wasn’t the best sermon I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is.” Then he turns to his flock, “She shouldn’t be the one holding the world together. She’s too young. Too hurt. But she is. And that makes me want to keep doing my part. It was supposed to be my job. But if Lyra, flawed as she is, kept her faith with us, then how dare I not?”