Lyra: born to play music. Unfortunately, on a potato farm.
Her parents promised she’d be a cultured lady playing the harp, if she wanted. They farmed together, scrimping, saving. Until eventually, unbelievably, wonderfully, Lyra reached Celestia’s School. Canterlot!
She was OK at music, but treasured the harp. The angel’s instrument. Unwisely, she told a more classically trained student.
A harp! An idle fashionista’s prop! No serious musician would treasure it. No one would compose for it. Its purpose: to look pretty and gather dust. Harpists were nothing.
Later, Lyra dropped out. Didn’t dare move to Canterlot, or return home in disgrace. She settled for some quiet town and hid away, busking. Good for nothing else.
Her parents tracked her down. Agreed to send letters and money. Their little angel merely had to wait for her big moment.
Among friendly strangers. Among appreciative regulars. Among praising friends.
She could wait.