19
Have you ever been played by a lyre? I’ll wager not. I don’t especially recommend it; at least, not by this specimen. If it must be so, try for a mild-mannered, grandmotherly type; the sort that will have you baking Victoria sponge cakes and puttering about in the garden.
Not the sort that will pump you full of all the magick it has been blithely soaking up until your nose bleeds. Not the sort that will use you and discard you like a sodding handkerchief.
When I took up that lyre, it was as though either I or it (or both) ceased to exist; instead of the-moonsilver-lyre or Vesper-Cordelia, there was simply a force. And while taking up the lyre had enhanced my mother’s and Emellana’s ability to track past magicks, or imbued one or the other of my parents with the ancient magick of faer
