A Smile Worth a Thousand Lies
Lyra’s charming smile was a carefully honed weapon, sharp enough to fool even the most cunning politicians—men like Cornelius Fudge, who thought themselves untouchable, only to fall for her honeyed words and carefully woven deceptions.
Well, spending seventeen years with a Dark Lord’s soul lodged in her forehead did have its advantages.
But that was a thought for another time.
Right now, she needed to play her part.
So she flashed that smile—the one that could melt walls and disarm even the most skeptical hearts—and let her aura shift into that of the perfect hostess, warm and irresistibly inviting.
"Pleased to meet you." Her voice was smooth as silk, welcoming yet utterly controlled. "I cannot believe you took time from your busy schedule to come and check up on me. It would be a dishonor to my name if I let you stand on my threshold. Please, do come inside."
Not before she sent a quick signal to her elves.
With a single glance, her magic hummed, and every trace of the arcane, the enchanted, the otherworldly was swiftly hidden away, tucked behind layers of illusions and charms.
She stepped aside, allowing them entry, and watched.
Watched as their eyes darted around, scanning every grand detail of the Black estate.
Oh, how she loved the extravagance of the Blacks—the way their homes were not just houses, but statements. Statements of wealth, power, and legacy.
It was intimidating, it was commanding, and most of all—
It left an impression.
Carol—or was it Catherine? Cassandra? Katrina?—finally broke the silence.
"I'm sorry if we disturbed you. It’s quite late in the evening."
Lyra waved a dismissive yet elegant hand, her expression still perfectly warm.
"Oh, no, not at all. We were just about done for the evening."
She motioned toward the parlor, gesturing for them to take a seat.
"Would you like some tea?"
They both nodded, and Lyra poured them each a cup, her movements as fluid and graceful as ever.
Carol took a delicate sip, her eyes widening ever so slightly before she let out a small, appreciative hum.
"Exquisite! What is this brew?"
Lyra’s lips curled into a knowing smile.
"Oh, just a family recipe," she said smoothly, her tone dripping with effortless charm. "You know, us British do know our way around tea."
Carol chuckled lightly, but Richard…
Richard was still watching her.
Still studying her.
And then, after a beat, he spoke.
"It is quite intriguing," he began, setting his cup down, measuring his words carefully, "that an heiress of such an illustrious lineage, a duchess in her own right, would leave everything behind and move to our small, quaint town of Mystic Falls."
His eyes were sharp, calculating.
"Forgive my curiosity, Your Grace, but may we ask… why the sudden move?"
Ah.
So they weren’t just nosy—they were also annoyingly direct.
Well, if they wanted information, she would give them information.
Altered, of course.
Lyra tilted her head slightly, allowing her expression to soften just enough—just enough to hint at vulnerability without ever actually exposing herself. She leaned forward, fingers delicately cradling the rim of her tea cup, her emerald eyes glinting with something unreadable as she let out a soft, dry chuckle.
"Ah, well… you see, Mayor Lockwood, it’s a rather tragic story. A classic tale of an orphan heiress, a power-hungry lunatic, and a society that simply couldn’t decide whether they wanted me dead or married off to the highest bidder."
She let out a dramatic sigh, taking a sip of her tea before continuing, her voice light, conversational—as if she were discussing the weather rather than a lifetime of near-death experiences.
"I was targeted practically as a baby. Imagine, if you will, a megalomaniac with a god complex deciding that a literal infant was his biggest competition. I mean, truly, what kind of man sees a baby in a crib and goes, ‘Ah, yes, that one. That one is a threat to my power’? A man with serious issues, that’s who."
"It’s rather funny when you think about it," she mused, swirling her tea lazily in its cup. "A grown man. A powerful, influential, terrifying man. And yet, his greatest fear… was me."
Carol blinked, confusion flickering across her face.
Lyra chuckled, shaking her head.
"You see, it wasn’t just about getting rid of me. It was about what I represented. This lunatic—this delusional, power-obsessed monster—wanted control over everything. He had a vision, a future he wanted to shape with his own hands, and there was just one tiny problem standing in his way."
She raised a single, delicate finger and pointed to herself.
"Me."
Richard's gaze sharpened, but he said nothing. He was listening. Good.
Lyra took a slow sip of her tea, savoring the moment before continuing, her tone airy, almost amused—as if the idea of being hunted like an animal since infancy was some grand, cosmic joke.
"He wanted a legacy. A dynasty. A bloodline that would rule over everything. And wouldn’t you know it—" she let out a soft, sardonic laugh, "—I had a better claim to it than he did."
Carol inhaled sharply.
"Oh, he couldn't have that, could he?" Lyra tilted her head, her sarcastic amusement barely veiling the cold steel beneath. "Imagine the horror. A little baby girl, sleeping in her crib, and suddenly—boom! She's your greatest enemy."
Richard frowned. "He tried to kill you over a claim?"
Lyra lifted a brow, lips curving into something almost resembling a smirk.
"People have been killed for far less, Mayor Lockwood. But yes. He was obsessed with the idea of power. Obsessed with control. And the fact that I could take that away from him? That I existed at all?" She let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head. "Well. You can imagine how that played out."
She took another sip of her tea before setting it down, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of the cup.
"Of course, the world didn’t exactly rush to protect me. No, no. Instead, they handed me off to relatives who were… well. Let’s just say they weren’t exactly thrilled to have me."
Carol's lips parted, concern flickering in her eyes.
Lyra didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to.
She let the weight of those unspoken words settle between them, let them fill in the blanks on their own. The quiet moments spoke louder than any gruesome detail ever could.
Then, with a small, almost wistful chuckle, she continued.
"And so, I grew up in a house where I was… not particularly welcome. But that was fine. I learned quickly. Learned that the world wasn’t going to do me any favors, that if I wanted to survive, I had to figure it out on my own. And survive I did."
She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the arm of the chair, her fingers drumming lightly against her temple."But he never stopped coming after me. Not once. Every single time I thought I could just… breathe, he’d send someone. A follower. An assassin. A whole damn army."
Her lips twitched in dark amusement.
"I was fourteen when he decided to test the waters again. Sent a group of fully grown men after me. Can you imagine?" She let out a low, mirthless laugh. "Fourteen. And I had to fight them off myself, all while trying to hold my torn cloths together, as grown men leered and pawed at me."
Carol visibly tensed, her knuckles white against her teacup.
Richard’s frown deepened.
Lyra tilted her head, feigning thoughtfulness.
"You’d think that would’ve been enough. That they would’ve seen a teenager barely surviving and left it at that. But no. That would’ve been too easy."
She exhaled slowly, letting her voice soften, letting just enough pain seep into it to sound authentic.
"When I was fifteen, I lost my godfather. The only family I had left."
Silence.
Carol swallowed hard.
"He was the last person who truly cared about me. Who saw me for more than just… this symbol, this ‘last heir’ nonsense. He was reckless, stubborn, loved me like I was his own daughter." She let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "And then he was gone. Just like that."
Carol blinked back tears.
Richard was quiet, his expression unreadable.
Lyra exhaled, as if shaking herself out of the memory.
"And then, of course, after everything—after I finally got rid of the monster who did all of this, who was behind the murders in London last year, the disappearances, all the chaos—you’d think I’d get some peace, wouldn’t you?"
She let out a sharp, dry laugh.
"You’d be wrong."
She picked up her cup again, swirling the liquid absently.
"You see, people are fickle creatures. They love a hero—until the hero reminds them of everything they want to forget. And I? I was a walking reminder of everything they lost. Everything that went wrong."
She shrugged.
"So, naturally, their solution was to shove me into a marriage. Or, failing that, to turn me into a pariah."
Carol looked horrified.
Lyra smiled, small, tired, but unbroken.
"It got to the point where it was starting to affect my godson. He’s barely more than a baby, and I saw what they were doing to him. What they were turning him into. And I—" she let out a breath, shaking her head. "I couldn’t let that happen."
She looked up, meeting Carol’s gaze directly, letting just enough vulnerability flicker across her face to make it look real.
"So, I left."
Silence.
Carol’s lip trembled.
And then, suddenly, she stood up and pulled Lyra into a tight, motherly embrace.
"Oh, sweetheart." Carol’s voice was gentle, full of warmth. "You’ve been through so much. But you’re safe now, you hear me? You’re safe here."
Lyra hesitated—just a fraction of a second—before melting into the embrace, allowing just enough tension to linger in her shoulders to sell the act.
When she pulled back, she offered a small, hesitant smile—the perfect picture of a girl too strong for her own good, but just fragile enough to need protection.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice soft, sincere.
Carol squeezed her hands, eyes full of emotion.
"You are more than welcome in Mystic Falls, darling."
Richard nodded, his sharp gaze still studying her, but the skepticism was fading.
Lyra simply smiled, her emerald eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
Hook. Line. And sinker.
Mayor Lockwood let out a shaky breath, his usual stern demeanor softened with something dangerously close to sympathy.
He had seen and heard a lot in his time—politics, deception, old feuds that spanned generations—but this? This was something else entirely.
This young woman, barely past 17, had endured more than most people would in several lifetimes. And yet, she sat before him, composed, elegant, carrying herself like a lady of fine breeding, despite the horrors she had survived.
And the worst part?
She didn’t seem to be lying.
He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, a rare display of emotion from a man like him.
"I didn’t mean to step on a hurting nerve," he said quietly, sincerely. "I’m so sorry, my child. But do remember—if you need anything, we are here, and you are always welcome in Mystic Falls' society."
Lyra blinked back tears, perfectly timed, her lips quivering just enough to appear strong, yet vulnerable.
Richard nodded, his tone now official once again. "Do come by the Mayor’s office when you have a bit of time. As the last standing member of a founding family, there are… some things I’d like to discuss with you."
Lyra offered a small, delicate smile, one laced with just the right amount of hesitation and gratitude.
"Of course, Mayor Lockwood," she said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief before squeezing Carol’s hand gently. "Thank you so much for listening. My heart feels a lot lighter now."
Carol’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She patted Lyra’s cheek, her motherly instincts in full force.
"Anytime, child," she murmured, giving Lyra’s hands a final squeeze before stepping back.
The two of them exchanged glances, something unspoken passing between them, before they finally took their leave.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Lyra exhaled softly, her delicate fingers tracing the edge of the wooden frame.
For a moment—just a moment—those old memories crept up, clawing at her like specters from the past.
The cold. The hunger. The never-ending chase. The smell of blood and smoke.
For a second, she felt small again. Powerless. Hunted.
Then—she smiled.
Perfectly done.