Narnia Preferences and Imagines

○Edmund~III○

(Because he makes me go jdkfmdlxllslxmcksklx and so did this idea.)

365 Letters

Everyday you write a letter. Not just to anyone, but someone very special. You sit at his desk - whose faint smell still takes you back to the nights spent wrapped in his arms as he worked - use his pens, his parchment, and his envelopes.

You write to him as if you are keeping a diary. After all, he isn't there to see what you are up to. Three hundred and sixty- four days ago he left forever. A tearful goodbye is the last memory you have with him. A hug on the beach, a long kiss that meant different things to the both of you, but still shared a deep sadness at separating. And that was the last time you'd seen him.

You miss him more than anything. The physical things - his eyes, his hair, his smile, the way he would hold you - and how he knew you better than you knew yourself. You could talk to him about things you couldn't talk to anyone else about and without him here you feel like you've gone invisible. There's no one you want to let you get that close to you and no one who dares to try.

Many times you'd wondered if you could find the lamppost and your way to him through the bustling street of what he called England, but never did that idea come to fruition. Instead, you've settled with writing letters to him as if there's a way to deliver them to him.

You reach for his seal, kissing the envelope gently after it's been properly closed, and place it in the pile of completed letters. You cast a long look at the growing stack, the height of it making a pit of sadness form in your stomach. It's only a reminder of how long he's been gone and of how much you yearn to be with him.

You tear your gaze away, stretching your arms above your head as you stand. You walk over to your wardrobe, shuddering as you pass by the window. You raise an eyebrow, making sure the glass is closed. Once you're sure it's properly latched, you close the curtains, continuing on your way.

You shudder again when you step in the bathroom. You look around confused, feeling a breeze blow through the chambers. You rush out into the main room to find the window latched, just as you left it. You huff, turning back around when a slight rustling catches your eye. You grab Edmund's sword that he left with you, heave it up, and turns towards the movement.

Instead of a person, you find the letters floating away. They lift into the air and then, when they get high into the air, they disappear. Just disappear with no trace. You drop the sword with a shout, rushing over to grab the letters before they can disappear. You close your hand around one, watching it slide right through as if you're a ghost. You jump, trying your best to grab at your letters before they are all gone, trying to save even just one. Your last bit of hope at ever seeing the Pevensie's again disappears as the last fades into nothing.

You stumble backwards, collapsing on your bed, crying into the pillow that Edmund used. You bury your face in it, furthering your distress when his scent has all but faded.

You can't help but cry at the crushing weight of how alone and frightened you are. Edmund is gone and no one seems to see notice you anymore. Even Caspian. You let your tears fall until you've exhausted yourself and slip into a dreamless sleep.
_________________
You curse the birds chirping outside your window, wishing you wouldn't have woken. There's no hope in an existence without Edmund. Without the letters you wrote him and hoped with everything in you you could give to him one day.

With a groan, you sit up in bed, gasping when a stack of white catches your eye. On the desk, where your letters to Edmund once sat, is a new stack. A stack of ivory envelopes replace your golden tipped ones.

Curiously, you get out of bed, approaching the desk. You pick one up, holding it up to the light to see if you can look through to what is inside. You bring it close, nearly dropping it when you catch a familiar smell. With vigor, you tear it open, gasping as the sight of memorable handwriting.

In his curvy, slightly messy, script is a letter from Edmund. You glance behind you at the stack, smiling. He'd done the same. Three hundred sixty four days of writing letters to you and it was worth every second to see:

My Darling,
How I still love you...