In another dormitory, Dorm No. 142 to be specific, Lirael was knelt in front of a small memorial she had built for her brother by the side of her bed.
The memorial was simple, just a dagger and a diary that he had given to her for her 14th and 15th birthdays. Then a bouquet of flowers she had bought from the market nearby.
She held her lavender sword upright before her, the tip of the blade on the floor and the hilt clutched her grasp.
Her eyes closed in silent prayer as a tear fell down her cheeks, memories of her brother and his wise words racing through her mind, causing more tears to fall.
When they finished, she dried her cheeks, and opened her eyes, brows furrowed as she glared resolutely at the memorial she had made.