"What have you done?" he— she —breathed.
Caspian laughed. "Almerias's magic doesn't care about personhood. It cares about role . You look like a courtesan. Do you feel like one?"
That night, alone in Lyra's guest room, Kaia did something she never would have done as a man. She looked in the mirror—a normal one this time—and posed . She ran a hand down her new hip. She pouted. A tear slid down her cheek, not of sadness, but of confused arousal. "What have you done
Lyra tries. She fails. Every time she looks at Kaia, she sees the perfect model, the tragic artwork, the "different perspective." Kaia takes the mirror shard herself. She holds it up to Lyra. "Stop looking at me. Look through me."
She wasn't keeping Kaia trapped out of malice. She was trying to prove that identity was a choice. "If you can become her and still choose to be you ," Lyra explains in a drunken confession, "then maybe I can find the real me too." It cares about role
When it fades, Kaelen is back. Tweed vest, stubble, broad shoulders. He's kneeling on Lyra's floor, gasping.
"You're the transformation piece?" he asked, circling her. She looked in the mirror—a normal one this
"I see you," Lyra whispers.