I recently realized I've had a lot in common with Susan recently, and then I saw a Pinterest picture of her with the quote on it, "How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back," and this happened. I don't own anything here. Passages in italics are from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and Prince Caspian respectively.

"And more," said Queen Lucy, "for it will not go out of my mind that if we pass this post and lantern either we shall find strange adventures or else some great change in our fortunes."

"Madam," said King Edmund, "the like foreboding stirreth in my heart also."

"And in mine, fair brother," said King Peter.

"And in mine too," said Queen Susan. "Wherefore by my counsel we shall lightly return to our horses and follow this White Stag no further."

But her siblings insisted, and she yielded, and they moved forward and were proven right. They were children again, students again. She'd once heard her father say, "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," but she'd give anything to reclaim hers.

Instead, time passed. They left the professor's house (and the wardrobe she certainly didn't surreptitiously examine every now and then) for the city. Mother and Father were there and well, and Susan slowly grew accustomed to growing up all over again. At least the change wasn't as hard for her as for Ed and Lucy. She knew for a fact her younger sister still cried nights, lonesome for Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers and Aslan himself. There was some of that in her own heart, especially when she recalled the glorious dash through Narnia on the great Lion's back—but it hurt too much to think of often.

Then Caspian blew her horn—her own horn brought them back. But Lucy saw Aslan first (and dragged them after him in the middle of the night), and Lucy was right after all (and Susan had known it), and Lucy wasn't the one who cried in front of Aslan and had her heart unveiled so now everyone knew she was afraid. (But oh, how afraid she was. Afraid of missing out, of looking foolish, of having her hopes crushed once more.)

Lucy also wasn't the one who could never come back.

"Was that what Aslan was talking to you and Susan about this morning?" asked Lucy.

"Yes—that and other things," said Peter, his face very solemn. "I can't tell it to you all. There were things he wanted to say to Su and me because we're not coming back to Narnia."

"Never?" cried Edmund and Lucy in dismay.

"Oh, you two are," answered Peter. "At least, from what he said, I'm pretty sure he means you to get back some day. But not Su and me. He says we're getting too old."

"Oh, Peter," said Lucy. "What awful bad luck. Can you bear it?"

"Well, I think I can," said Peter. "It's all rather different from what I thought. You'll understand when it comes to your last time."

She didn't think she'd ever understand. Too old—what nonsense! She was just becoming old enough, for the second time. Why would Aslan himself send them away, banish the very ones he'd admitted and crowned and claimed to love? She couldn't say anything to his face, though. Those thoughts she locked up tight in her heart and tried not to dwell on. They hurt too much.

At home again, even the very word Narnia pained her. She couldn't stand it. The sorrow, the longing, the homesickness for somewhere she'd lived literally half her life . . . it was unbearable. So she refused to remember and forced herself to forget.

She threw herself into the social life at school, lunches with Marjorie and dinners with Nora, dances and fashion and boys. She followed her parents to America, a new country that actually existed. She made herself a queen again and tried her hardest to believe this was a much better kingdom than the one she'd reigned before. This was the real world (this cold, smoky, dark place of stone and heartache). This was where she belonged (like a peacock belonged in a pet shop). This was no fantasy of her childhood, no deluded dream now discarded. This was her place and she would make the best of it.

So she shoved away the memories of forbidden joy and peace. They were hers no more; why dwell on what could not be? Time had moved on, and she must as well. Surrounded by music, by laughter, by admiration, she could almost ignore the darkness eating away at her inside. And when it bit too hard, she only laughed louder, touched up her lipstick, and took another turn around the dance floor.

She had to go on—there was no going back.