Narnia Preferences and Oneshots

Caspian Oneshot

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(A/N: Hey guys! Remember to eat something, drink some water and take your meds! Love you!)

Oneshot: Sadness!in the songfic with Caspian

Song: Saturn by Sleeping At Last (A/N: Make sure that you are reading this in a space where you can cry openly if ya need to.)

You taught me the courage of stars before you left.

How light carries on endlessly, even after death.

   A girl, dancing on a stage. Floating, really, the white silk trailing around her body with no precision or method but in a manner that can only be deemed gentle. Fragile.

   This wasn't her first time in the light, basking in the drag of the violin and the reliability of the piano, but it would be her last. Her last time wondering when the players would lose their sync, when the violin would run off and wait for the piano to follow her lead, the lead of the dancer, of her mind and her body and her heart and her lungs.

With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite.

How rare and beautiful it is to even exist.

   They would catch up soon. Her heart would begin to beat too fast, her lungs beginning to lag behind, while her mind veered off the path, watching as its counterparts began to fail. And her body is torn, wanting to go in every direction, to do her job of keeping the parts of this girl intact, but everything is falling apart and without the mind, the brilliant mind that has wandered off of the stage, into the crowd and to the man, just a boy really who made their life simple, she decides that giving up is easier than fighting against herself.

I couldn't help but ask

For you to say it all again.

   She falls. It's a slow, long fall and the girl watches from afar, as though she is another person in another body that isn't dying, that wasn't told it would deteriorate and only had so long. It's not a pleasant feeling, but it is perhaps more unpleasant for the man in the crowd, who we have determined is really only a boy, as he sees her head hit the stage and feels his heart hit the ground. 

   He knows. He knows that it's happening, that their time has run out. A piece of him is selfish, and wants to beg her to hold on, to continue treatment and pain and torture. To continue losing her hair, losing her body and her mind all in one because to him, he'll only lose her when she's gone. She's been watching pieces of herself float away with every round of shots and radiation, whether it be her ability to dance or her ability to see clearly through this fog, this fog that clouds her rationality and her judgement. And him.

I tried to write it down

But I could never find a pen.    

    In the beginning, they couldn't get enough of each other. It was all dark rooms and late nights, rough kisses and roaming hands. Only after her diagnosis did either take anything into perspective, into the mindset of a clock ticking down. They became somber mornings, quietly handed coffees, sunny windows and warm bedrooms. Staying up late and waking up early so as to see as much of the world as possible. Daring adventures as one said, "What have we got to lose?" and the other answered, "You."

   Photos became something of a necessity, a crutch. The boy hated them, couldn't stand how dependent she seemed on them. Because he knew that if, when, she died, they would be there when he got home, glaring and potent, stuck to the windows and mirrors and walls, surrounding him with the memory and the feeling and the sight of her.

I'd give anything to hear

You say it one more time,

  It was nice. The funeral. Y/N didn't want many people there; she said she would have been fine without one entirely, as long as Caspian was beside her when it happened. But when she broke down crying one evening, as though it finally hit her, through tears she said that she did want a funeral. That she wanted it to be nice and quiet and peaceful like her mornings with him were, wanted the people to wear white instead of black and smile instead of cry.

    Caspian cried. He regretted it, of course, as she hadn't wanted him to, but he didn't chide himself too much on it. And this time it was him who was seeing this from afar, from a distant body and a distant mind.

    As he watched her die, he realized that she hadn't had much left. She was a shell of the girl she once was, clutching her life to her chest, whether because she didn't want to die or because he didn't want her to. Their thoughts, wants, hopes, and dreams had become muddled somewhere along the line. Equal fierce love and passionate affection, identical quiet words and gentle movements, soft hands and kind eyes, warm kisses and dark skies.

    That the universe was made

    Just to be seen by my eyes.