"Mm," Lyra mumbled with a noncommittal nod. The other woman's interest was likely fleeting, and not the sort of thing where it would benefit her to make up some silly lie about how far away home was, particularly when there was always a chance of being caught in a lie at some later point. A small chance, granted, given that she had no reason to suspect she would ever see this woman again, but a chance all the same.
Except she did look familiar, and as Lyra moved towards the back of the room in a show of departing, she finally realized from where. She stopped in her tracks and looked back at the other woman, to see whether perhaps she had been mistaken, but her conviction held just as firm. This was one of her schoolmates. The possibility hadn't even occurred to her, because Miss Browne looked so old by comparison — but of course, she looked no older than Lyra ought to be. While she had known from the start, academically speaking, that she would not age and that everyone who had mattered to her would, she had never before been faced with such a physical reminder of it. She hadn't seen anyone from England since she had left in spring of 1884, and since then, she had never stayed in any one place long enough to see time take its toll on the Muggles around her. That would have been too suspicious, too difficult to explain (and besides, during the earlier days she had seldom been able to last that long without accidentally murdering someone who stood slightly upwind of her when she hadn't eaten recently).
August would be older now, too. She was glad that they had agreed not to see each other; she wasn't sure whether she could bear the idea of that. This, after all, was just a schoolmate. Their natures had been too different at the time to even make them passing friends. Though Lyra thought perhaps she'd complimented her way into homework help on an occasion or two from the other girl, they were nothing like close. Even this was rather painful, though, and it was a mercy that Miss Browne hadn't recognized her — particularly that she hadn't recognized her and recognized her fangs. Lyra wasn't ready to start that conversation just yet, with anyone.
Except she did look familiar, and as Lyra moved towards the back of the room in a show of departing, she finally realized from where. She stopped in her tracks and looked back at the other woman, to see whether perhaps she had been mistaken, but her conviction held just as firm. This was one of her schoolmates. The possibility hadn't even occurred to her, because Miss Browne looked so old by comparison — but of course, she looked no older than Lyra ought to be. While she had known from the start, academically speaking, that she would not age and that everyone who had mattered to her would, she had never before been faced with such a physical reminder of it. She hadn't seen anyone from England since she had left in spring of 1884, and since then, she had never stayed in any one place long enough to see time take its toll on the Muggles around her. That would have been too suspicious, too difficult to explain (and besides, during the earlier days she had seldom been able to last that long without accidentally murdering someone who stood slightly upwind of her when she hadn't eaten recently).
August would be older now, too. She was glad that they had agreed not to see each other; she wasn't sure whether she could bear the idea of that. This, after all, was just a schoolmate. Their natures had been too different at the time to even make them passing friends. Though Lyra thought perhaps she'd complimented her way into homework help on an occasion or two from the other girl, they were nothing like close. Even this was rather painful, though, and it was a mercy that Miss Browne hadn't recognized her — particularly that she hadn't recognized her and recognized her fangs. Lyra wasn't ready to start that conversation just yet, with anyone.