Actually no— no the pain hasn't crossed Lyra's mind once. That's weird, right? Or... maybe not so weird, cuz like, people choose to have second kids, and they wouldn't do that (in Lyra's pretty firm opinion) if something funky didn't go on in their brains to make the horror and the trauma and the gore and the pain fade into irrelevance. She remembers how bad her hands were (and her bruised feet, and the nightmare of her dry, cracked lips) but it just don't feel relevant right this minute.
What isn't irrelevant is the fear in Rosario's voice, and maybe Lyra's been confessing this really-bad-idea cuz she knows Rosario's the only one gonna be able to argue back against the voice in her head tryna reminder her how goddamn good it'd felt (till it didn't). "I know," she says, around a mouthful of donut she takes another moment to swallow. "I don't wanna lose any more chunks of my life, I like my life, and yours? I gotta be round to bite off Apollo's nose if he tries sticking it into your business again, don't I? I'm not— I'm not gonna try disappear or anything, I just wanted to tell ya, I guess... it's like a weird itch. Urge. Call. Something. I didn't wanna keep that secret. Here, c'mere," she brushes a little sugar off her palm and reaches, tugging at Rosario's sleeve to pry her loose from the bottle so Lyra can weave their fingers together, and grin. "See, I'm telling you before I run head first at something. Growth, right?"