This is my first Chronicles of Narnia fic. The idea just kind of came to me and I had to write it down. This will probably be five or six drabbles long.
Disclaimer: Not my place, I just lurk here.
Rating: K, maybe K+
Summary: Ever since she first left Narnia, Susan's life has been nothing but a series of masks, of "costume changes," if you will. How does she truly feel about that? Does she ever find Narnia again?

Susan released the finger of her current dancing partner, turning the simple spin into an elaborate whirling step. The other dancers parted as their Gentle queen lost herself in joy and elation, spinning onto the balcony. She ended her little solo dance and touched her fingers lightly to the stone cold balcony railing, laughing for the pure delight of having something to laugh about.

It was Christmas Eve in Narnia. She was twenty-seven.

Sighing a little, she slid her arms down the railing until her head rested in her hands. Her mask was itchy, but she didn't care. She and her best friend Primplefeather, a blue jay with a bright disposition and quick temper, had worked for weeks to make sure both masks were just right for the Christmas Eve masquerade. Susan couldn't help but feeling that the hard work wouldn't mean as much if she acknowledged that the mask was uncomfortable.

There was a breeze blowing in from the snow, setting a slight chill in the air. She hardly felt it, so caught up was she in her joy. She gazed out on clean, white landscape, feeling as if she could go on staring forever. The heavy, muted sound of padded paw prints drifted closer, and out of the corner of her eye Susan saw the great Lion himself rear up on his back legs and rest on the balcony railing just as she was doing. "Oh, Aslan," she murmured happily.

"What are you thinking about, Daughter?" said the husky, enchanting voice of the Lion.

"Narnia," Susan answered dreamily. "Isn't she beautiful? I love her more than I can say, and I am proud to serve her."

Aslan gave a small sigh that she was sure did not result from laughter or joy. "That is a beautiful mask you are wearing."

"Thank you," she said, brimming with pride. "Primplefeather and I made it together. It is lovely. Even more so because Prim let me use her molted feathers."

"Indeed," said the Lion. "Just remember, Susan the Gentle, that the most beautiful and dangerous mask is the one you'll leave on when the masquerade is over."

She bit her lip trying to puzzle out his words. "What do you mean, Aslan?" she asked, turning towards him only to find he was gone. "Aslan?" There was no answer.

That very spring, not more than three months later, the Kings and Queens of Narnia rode after the White Stag.