Moonspear by a route obscure and lonely

The tension of his body sent a flutter of uncertainty through Alya's own. The snap of his teeth was loud and near, but somehow, the girl kept from flinching and remained where she was, eyes tracing the hard and overwraught lines of his face.

Cypress didn't answer her question, and Alya got the feeling that he hadn't heard; that he was too far away to hear. Feeling this, she remained silent as well when she turned her head into his chest and let the heat of his body warm her freezing nose. She found that she was cold, though she hadn't known it when she'd requested this. It surprised her. A lot of things did. Like how she was the one comforting him, now, when she'd asked for this in order to gain something for herself. Taking his warmth is enough, she thought, I can't take more. He doesn't have it left to give.

Alya pressed her head closer against his chest. His heartbeat was profound. A revelation. For one flash-flash-flash second, she keenly felt her own insignificance. There was a living boy beside her that needed things, who hurt so badly that he could not hear her voice.

I won't love you, Lyra.

"I'll love you," she said in a breath like a sigh, so soft that it might only have been. Then, more loudly but in the same soft tone: "I lied; my name's Alya. Lyra is one of my sisters," she admitted. "Sometimes we pretend we're each other, because... sometimes we are." She did not explain that they all looked exactly the same. It was such a deep, abiding truth that it did not bear mentioning. Part of her must have assumed that Cypress would just know.