Prolonged Exposure to A Dementor
Luna Lovegood looked at the stars and wondered.
Would the world ever be the same again? She'd seen a different future right up until Lyra had come back to this world. Life in the Liminal was strange, and brutal and dangerous. You had to be disciplined, you had to be in control ALL the time. When you were with seers and weavers all around you, your will had the potential to bring about utmost destruction. It drove most Lovegoods to the brink of madness, and sometimes to the point of no return.
Luna was grateful she didn't have to live amongst them in all honesty. It was a difficult way to live. When Lyra came, it promised hope-- but also the looming threat of having to return to a place she couldn't quite call home.
"I promise Luna, I will not allow them to call you back. They think that's why I've come, but I've seen what they haven't Luna. The Liminal is coming to an end. The layers are becoming one. It's time to emerge, and frankly? I'd like to do it with a bang, Luna." Lyra said, "It's why I came in the first place. Not just because of that Voldemort"
Luna took hold of Lyras hands, "I, I think I understand Lyra, I saw it when you came also. The serpent's bite, the destruction of the veil. But what will I do when Matriarch Magdelene decides she wants to take me to account?" Luna whispered.
"For what Luna? For the crimes of your mother? For claiming your own freedom?", said Lyra. "If any of those blasted Matriarchs decide they want to interfere with either of our lives, they'll get what's coming for them", she spat, her eyes burning with fiendfyre and promise of vengeance.
Lyra left her there, at their spot by the lake. Luna looked at the moon and wondered. She wondered what on earth that shadow was that was coming straight for her. The cold crept up on her like a spider crawling up your skin, inching its way up your body. The despair was suffocating, her breath left mist hanging in the air, and waves of grief pushed through her leaving Luna on her knees with a voiceless scream echoing behind her ribs. Her soul, her every iota of happiness was being sucked out of her by the vile emptiness in front of her. Lyra couldn't help her now. Not from this. She whimpered, it was too late.
She collapsed as a lifeless heap; like a broken doll, as the lake rippled under the Hunter's moon.