Ladies and Gents, this is Kio. I'm asking you all from the bottom of my heart to please reveiw, since I have over 450 hits for my Twilight fanfiction, but only 10 reveiws. I'm not demanding anything from you, I'd just like to know how I'm doing is all. If I've read any of your stories, you'll know that I'm an avid reveiwer with lots to say, and it's always constructive and positive. So, I'm not hounding anyone, I'm jut asking politely.

Also, this fanfiction may seem a bit out of character for Edmund, but this is just how I imagined the story would change if an outside force had been present, like my origional character. I hope that you enjoy it, and, if you think of anything that could be better or changed or that something was just plain stupid, then feel free to let me know.

Just before I go, bump their ages up to whatever they would be if Edmund was 15. I'm trying my best, cause I really don't know.

All my love,

Kio 3

The Chronicles of Narinia: The Lion, The Witch, and the......Recording Studio?

Chapter 1: The Ocarina

"Hurry up, Beth," I called, running towards the door of the music store, "We're going to be late!"

"Shut up and run, Phillipa," Beth called from behind me, "It's your fault if we're late!"

"I told you not to call me Phillipa," I huffed, trying to catch my breath as we made it into the store, "I refuse to work with you unless you call me Pipa."

"There you two are," Mrs. Thompson, our boss, called, as he held up two different Billy Talent posters, "I need your opinions now more than ever, and you were going to miss this."

Beth and I were both employee's at Mr. Thompson's shop, "The Merchant of Music". It was a banging independent shop in downtown Ottawa, the capital city of Canada. In the world I came from, the only war I knew about was the one going on in Afghanistan. The one that didn't concern me whatsoever.

I was in for a switch.

"Well," I said, my 15-year-old voice mockingly carefree as I pulled my shoulder length, fluffy, left-parted, hay-coloured curls into a low, messy ponytail, "My mom said you can talk to her if you have a problem, Mr. T."

"Ah, yes," Mr. T gulped, remembering the last time he'd had a problem with my timing, "I understand completely, you have school."

"Yeah right," I chuckled, looking over the posters as I blew the last short lock of hair up to the side, "The one on the left, by the way."

"Beth, what do you think?" he asked her.

Beth looked at the posters in disgust, reminding everyone of her imminent distaste for heavy metal and all things other than the Jonas Brothers and Twilight. That's why I worked in CD's and she works in merchandise.

"Take your CD master's word for it," she grinned charmingly, flipping her platinum blond hair over her shoulder, "I'll be getting more Gackt t-shirts out of the back. Pipa knows a good looking man when she sees him, because they're flying off the shelves."

"With a face like that paired with the J-Music section, why wouldn't they?" I smiled.

"Well then," Mr. T smiled, discarding the other poster near my bag, "I'll leave my top employee to tell you how to display them, Bethany. Pipa, you can have the other poster if you like."

"Aye, aye, sir, and thanks," I laughed, checking the order forms, "We'll be needing more "New Moon" t-shirts too. This fad is driving me ballistic. I'm ready to jump off a bridge."

"Well, don't," he chuckled, walking towards the back room, most likely to get the sticky tack, "I'm hoping for my future assistant manager to live until her sixteenth birthday next August so she can get the job."

"Yeah, you've got a good eye," Beth sneered after Mr. T was gone, "If only you had the looks to catch something you like. A little less meat on your bones too."

My heart sunk in my chest.

I looked my curvaceous, 5'7", size 12 frame over. I really didn't look my weight, but people love to call me fat. I'm tall, so of coarse I weight more than 5'2" Beth. My touching, muscle-bound thighs look good on me, and I can't picture my body without them. I have the average woman's slender arms and a long neck. My D-cup breast are something I know she'd kill for. My hourglass figure, and rib marks are proof that I'm not fat.

That's what I tell my self esteem, anyways. I'm no stranger to slander, but I wouldn't give Beth the satisfaction.

"At least I have the height to carry my weight," I chuckled, my grey-green eyes dead as I turned towards the recording studio, "Which is more than I can say for you."

I heard Beth gasp and turn on her sky-high heels, most likely heading to the storage room to do as she was told. I loved being Thompson's favorite.

When I reached the recording studio, the local band who wanted their demo recorded was already there. It was an all girl, skimpily dressed, Gothic, rock group. They were called "Blood Red Stripes".

More like "The Goth Strippers", I thought, chuckling to myself.

There were some groups that made me doubt Mr. T's ability to pick out a good sound to endorse. That's why he always let me check them out before he even bothered.

This group was OK, but their lyrics were lacking a key underlying element.

It lacked experience.

A person's lyric writing often lacks something if they've never experienced what their writing about.

Their music talked about pain, but the was no pain in their sound. They talked about heartbreak, but I doubted that they knew the true meaning of the word. Last, but not least, the lead singer's nasally voice made me want to rip my ears off and jump off a cliff where there were jagged rocks at the bottom.

Normally I'd just grin and bare it, but it was even worse that day.

That day, there was an unusual ocarina playing in the background, and I could here it the whole time. It sounded like it was coming from the second studio next door, but I knew it was impossible. Mr. T had deemed that studio unusable when he'd bought the place.

No one was in there.

After the emo whores had recorded their demo, I stayed in the studio for a while longer. The ocarina continued to play, and it was definitely coming from the second recording studio.

I stood up and walked towards the door that conjoined the two studios. The closer I got to the door, the farther inside the music seemed.

When I finally stood in front of the door, I noticed that it was unlocked. I opened to door and saw that the room was full of boxes, all piled up to the ceiling. A single path lead into the blackness of the abandoned studio...

Disregarding every fiber of my being that told me to ignore it, I ran back into the studio, grabbed my bag, and began to venture into the forgotten room.

The closer I got the the music, the more the box path seemed to be getting smaller and smaller. I walked for, what felt like forever, which was, in reality, only a few minutes. I walked and walked, until I saw light. I heard a soft crunching under my feet.

I looked down, and saw snow...

I jumped back, only to end up in more snow. When I turned around, the boxes all fell, blocking my path. Determining that there was no turning back, I flipped up my hood and headed back towards the light.

When I was about half way there, everything shifted. The boxes became snow covered pine trees, and there was no ceiling. The light came up to meet me, leaving me stunned. The ocarina was right in front of me, filling my ears with sweet music. I was quickly being swallowed by the dense forest, pine branches scratching my face and catching my favorite HarajukuLOVERS, green and brown, hooded sweater. The bottoms of my dark skinny jeans and black Reboks were covered in snow.

I was almost out when I tripped over a root. I fell out of the trees and flat on my face. The freezing snow stung my warm cheeks.

The ocarina stopped abruptly.