HOW THE LAST BREATHS WERE TAKEN
"Lyra?" she was devastated. "Lyra?!" she had to be screaming. "Lyra?!!" she wanted to cry. She wanted to cry. She wanted to cry. But she couldn’t. Her eyes were as dry as the sand that her mother described to her in all those stories about lost souls, stuck in those hot desserts. But here she was. At the end of the world, where the land of cities turns to dust. All one long and endless dessert. And she has seen sand. It was the only thing left. But that sand wasn’t dry, it was wet. For as the last clouds cried on the dead bodies at the end of the great war the red sun reaches the sandy horizon. And all because of the great war. The great apocalypse. Where all the standing people fall to the ground and soon even they turn to ashes.
