Seventeen

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𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖘 𝖎𝖙 𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗
𝖌𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖋, 𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖑𝖑, 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖑𝖊𝖋𝖙 𝖔𝖓
𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖍 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖘 𝖌𝖔𝖓𝖊

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━━━━━━━1990

THE MINUTE Peter's attention had been drawn to the lamppost, Cornelia knew what was going to happen and she couldn't stop it. She had always known that they would be inevitably separated (for wasn't it always the curse of dreamers to never get the ending they dreamt of?) and they would once again be separated by space and time and distance.

She'd tried to fight fate, to plead with her soulmate not to follow his siblings, to stay right there with her forever, but for all her efforts they ended up exactly how they'd been fifteen years ago. She'd felt his hand slip from hers as they tumbled out of the wardrobe, Edmund to the 1940s and her to the 1990s. She'd felt the connection snap as they crossed the threshold and had felt the sudden desolation of the loss of a soulmate. Like the Pevensies, Cornelia had spilled out of the wardrobe completely disoriented as she sat on the floor, her blue dress turning back into (boringdulllifeless) jeans and matching shirt.

Cornelia stared at down at the (exact same) wide, wooden panels as she felt all that magic and all those dreams slip right out of her hands through the sands of time just as her soulmate had, sliding right out of grasp. She was no longer a queen, no longer a wife and certainly no longer a woman— she was just a foolish little girl with foolish little dreams that seemed more impossible than they ever had before. She closed her eyes against the wave of pain (only (only) her own) and remained on the floor for what seemed like an eternity, unwilling to give up on all those hopes she'd had just that morning.

(They didn't call her the Steadfast for nothing.)

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Eventually, Cornelia was able to stand as she shouldered the weight of her own error (for this was her mistake alone) and turned to look at the oak wardrobe. The face of the lion no longer seemed fierce and kind, only mocking and flat. It was just wood after all. Something told her— instinct, perhaps— that there was no point in trying to go back to Narnia. Not that way at least. This was the sort of magic that came when you least expected it and not a moment sooner.

Instead, she turned away from the piece of furniture and towards the door at the other side of the room. She took achingly slow steps forward, the only image in her mind was of her last look at Edmund's face, with those honest brown eyes and soft, dark hair.

Sometime later, she made her way downstairs still in a daze. Everything seemed muted and distorted as if she were looking up at the surface of the water while being submerged underneath it. She ran her finger absentmindedly against the white molding that jutted out from the wall, the pad of her finger collecting dust. She came to the end of that wall which was interrupted by a door. Her finger lifted as she crossed the empty space (which could have been only several feet or fifty years in the past) and placed her finger back down on the opposite molding before continuing, unbothered by the break in pattern.

Cornelia had always believed that Earth was filled with a type of magic that one just had discover. She saw that she was wrong now (how could she be right after experiencing a world so filled with magic— not any kind of specific one, mind you, but one that just was?) and Earth was just as lackluster and lifeless as any world besides Narnia.

As she made her way from the third to the second floor, she came upon the first person she'd seen in this time— she stopped abruptly, her eyes finding the older woman's, "I thought you might be her," Susan said presently, "your eyes were familiar."

Speechless, Cornelia stared at her as she tried to put the two Susans together (Queen Susan and Miss Susan.) The remaining Pevensie studied the girl for a moment, "you've just come back, haven't you?" at her nod, she continued, "come with me."

Rather unable to have her own course of action, the twelve-year-old girl followed her down to the kitchen. Susan began rummaging around in the pantry and the refrigerator for unknown items while Cornelia took a seat at the table, relieved that she didn't have to stand on her own anymore. The older woman continued to speak as she placed her gathered items on the table, "I was hoping that you might be able to avoid this. My brothers were a right mess when we first returned and they didn't get much better after that. There's not much that can be done except give it time," (she was, of course, talking about Cornelia's heartbreak), "but there are a few things that might help."

The girl watched her distractedly, hardly listening to the woman's words. Her attention had caught on brothers and all she could think about was Edmund and how he must have felt the same way she did now— adrift, alone and entirely desolate. Susan glanced up at her as she worked, "would you like me to talk about Edmund?"

Cornelia hesitated before nodding, the ache in her chest only expanding at the sound of her soulmate's name spoken aloud.

"I don't know what he did the first night back," she began, "but every night after that until we left the Professor's, he spent the night outside— or, well, inside— the wardrobe. He didn't want to miss an opportunity to return, you see. I'll save you the trouble of doing the same by saying that portals to Narnia only open once or so the Professor claimed. He was the only one we told about Narnia and surprisingly he believed us. I always did think he was off his rocker."

Susan paused and handed a glass of lemonade to the girl. Cornelia took it uncertainly and took a sip, her eyes widening as they met the woman's gaze. She merely smiled mysteriously before continuing, "while we still stayed with the Professor, Edmund wrote a lot. I'm almost certain they were letters to you though he'd never let us see them. I think he was hoping that you'd be able to find them in this time. He worried about you a lot, you know, especially because you didn't have any siblings to help you adjust. I'm sure he was—" she paused and shook her head, "never mind. If you'd like to ask me questions about him, I'll answer as best I can."

It was very odd talking to elderly Susan while she was a child after— not even two hours ago— having spoken to adult Susan while she'd been nearly the same age. She didn't mind, though. Some of the shock was wearing off, partly due to the (somehow) Narnian lemonade she was drinking and discussing her soulmate. They talked for quite awhile as the sun sank below the horizon, the sky outside turning dark.

Around dinner time her parents entered the kitchen, laughing and talking as they'd always done. Cornelia stared at them for a moment as if they were strangers before hurling herself at her mother, her arms wrapping around the woman. Confused but welcoming of her daughter's actions, Chelsea hugged her back, "did you have a good time, Nel?"

At the nickname, she squeezed her eyes shut against the remembrance of her soulmate calling her the same thing, "yes," she murmured, though not in the way her parents thought.

"How about a hug for your dear old dad?" Stephan asked jokingly, holding out his arms for her. She ran into them with the same enthusiasm, surprised by how much she'd missed her parents (she missed Edmund more.)

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The first night was the worst as Susan had said. Cornelia lay awake in bed, her fingers tracing the letters on her wrist as her thoughts became consumed by her family that was in a distant time. When she closed her eyes, all she could see were the four Pevensies with glittering crowns on their heads and Edmund's sweet, charming grin that had always made butterflies swarm in her stomach.

Throwing back her covers, she padded up to the library where she knew a ghost of the past lay hidden. Lying on her back underneath the worn-out chair, Cornelia raised a hand and traced the old carving of EP + CL. Edmund had lain in this exact spot to gouge the wood and the similarity made her feel closer to him.

Closing her eyes, she tried to picture them here, in this ancient house in the long-ago past.

(Maybe Earth was still a little magical after all.)  

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ━  edmund pevensie¹Where stories live. Discover now