❝yours truly, genevieve chen... sincerely yours, peter pevensie.❞
a heartbroken woman writes letters to her deceased fiancé... and a deceased king responds to the letters written by his grieving fiancée.
( post the last battle. )
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☾☽
THE NOVEMBER AIR WAS CHILL, but for whatever reason, there were kites in the sky. The sun was hardly out, simple sunbeams the only proof of it, and there were small flakes of snow falling. It was a most peculiar sight in Peter's opinion. He had spotted it from afar and felt he had no choice but to find the source of it, wondering if he was imagining it. Weren't kites meant for warmer weather than this? He supposed it wasn't necessarily out of the ordinary but it was still rather odd. That's why, after staring at the kites swaying in the cool breeze, he decided to follow it.
After about ten minutes of following the sight of the kites into Central Park, Peter found his answer. It laid in the sight of a young woman, around his age, and a child much younger than her, stood together near a pond that appeared frozen. He could hear from where he stood the child complaining that he was frustrated he couldn't keep his hands still in the cold, while the woman laughed and told him yes, it can be difficult if you haven't had enough practice, before giving him one of her tips, though Peter couldn't hear what it was, because she whispered it conspiratorially to the boy.
She was beautiful. Her dark hair was styled underneath her hat and she wore a chestnut-colored coat with fur trim at the collar, and she had similar mittens on her hands to protect from the cold. Peter found himself unable to look away from the woman with the kites, undeniably curious about her. He smiled without knowing he had as he sat on a nearby bench, gathering his thoughts about her.
She wasn't the boy's mother. That much was clear; she was far too young to be mother to a boy of ten years. He very briefly considered the thought they might be siblings, but they didn't look alike at all. He quickly came to the conclusion that she was babysitting him, though flying kites when it was snowing seemed like a strange babysitting activity. He always thought kites were meant more for spring and summer.
After a few more minutes of flying the kites, the woman and the child sat on the bench near the duck pond. Peter checked his watch again and glanced at her. If he wanted to speak to her, now was his only chance. So he stood, absentmindedly adjusted his tie, and walked over. "Kites in November?" he inquired curiously as the pair looked at him. He smiled lightly as he met her eyes and added, with a vague gesture to the area around them, "Is it warm enough for that?"
"Any weather is good enough to fly kites," said the woman, her voice smooth as she smiled at him, "so long as the sun is out and there's wind."
He chuckled lightly. "Afraid I can't disagree there. I'm Peter," he said, holding out his hand.
She shook his hand and said, "I'm Genevieve." She glanced at the boy beside her, nudging him lightly as the boy shook Peter's hand politely as well. "This is James. He's a bit shy."
