Disclaimer: I own nothing Narnia. End of story.
A/N: For the most part, I really don't like OC inserts, in any fandom—Narnia included. However, my OC was a necessity for the story. I just want to make it immensely clear, though, that she's far, far from being the central character. In fact, this story really is a character study of the four Pevensie children. Chapter one makes it seem like the story is about her, but it's really just set up.
A/N2: The timeline for this story is about five years after Voyage of the Dawn Treader, because that puts all the Pevensies around the age I wanted them. That is, ranging from Lucy's 16 to Peter's 19. (I did do research to figure out the correct ages…but it was Wikipedia research, because I was being lazy. So I apologize for any minor age correctness infractions made. It's really not that important to the story.
A/N3: Yes, the prologue is supposed to be short. That's the way it is. The chapters vary in length, but they're all relatively short. They have a point, though. That's important, isn't it?
Quartet
Prologue
She ran.
This was not amazingly unexpected, because, at heart, Celia knew that she was something of a coward. She wasn't proud of it, but there it was: she was a coward.
She ran so that she didn't have to remember, didn't have to face the world, didn't have to worry, didn't have to solve, didn't have to think.
She could just concentrate on the pounding of her feet on the pavement (and on not running into anything solid).
But while her mind could keep on running forever, her body did not have quite the same stamina, which is how she came to be standing on a dark, deserted bridge, panting, unable to run any longer, wishing she still could.
Now that she was still, thoughts accosted her.
How, she wondered, could one stupid, stupid moment of out-of-control anger have turned into this? How did it all get so blown out of proportion? Why couldn't anyone understand? And, most importantly, how could she face tomorrow knowing that it would just one more day alone?
Angrily, she kicked the bridge railing, cursing the tears for finding their way to her eyes. Cursing the night for being so clear, so beautiful, while she felt so utterly wretched. Cursing the moon for shining so brightly and happily, cursing the stars for winking joyously at her when she was in no mood to be winked at joyously, or, in fact, any way at all.
At least the river—running in a vicious, angry, violently rapid current—was in the right mood, Celia thought, looking at said river (and the railing separating her from it) distractedly.
I wonder…
She wondered what their reactions would be, if she did do it. Not that she was planning to. Of course…
…maybe…
…maybe it was the night getting to her, or the sorrow, or the utter pointlessness of the whole situation, but when she looked at the water, it was almost surreal…
...if I…
…if she did do it, maybe she would be a little less empty, a little more peaceful. It was just one move away. A move that had formerly seemed so hard, so unfathomable, so ridiculous, now seemed almost…easy…
…just…
Through her muddy thoughts, Celia found herself climbing over the side of the bridge.
Standing on the small ledge, her back facing and her hands gripping the railing, her face turned to the waters below; it suddenly didn't seem so far down, after all.
Important A/N: This is not angst. Honestly. I couldn't write angst if I tried. I promise you, no one will die. No need to worry about that.
On another note,reviews are very much appreciated. They also make me update faster, you know, and that means we can get to the point. So review. Please.
~FB~