One-shot. Takes place after The Last Battle.
Disclaimer: I'm not C.S. Lewis, nor do I own any rights there.
Susan woke up suddenly from a deep sleep. Once again, she had been dreaming about a lion. Not just any lion, but the lion- Aslan. She had been dreaming of him every night ever since the railway accident. Within the course of a few hours, she had lost her mother, her father, her brothers, and her sister. The youngest out of all of them. The funeral for Lucy had been the hardest. Susan could not believe that someone so young and perfect could tragically be ripped from existence. Every moment since the accident, Susan had wished it was her instead of Lucy; she wished it was her instead of everyone. Susan had abandoned her family in order to do what was popular. Long ago, Susan had forgotten about what was right.
She went to the bathroom to get a glass of water. As she turned the faucet on, she looked at the spot on the wall where the mirror used to hang. Susan took that down soon after Lucy's funeral. She felt like she couldn't even look at herself anymore. The water splashed on her hand; the coldness of it shook her from her memories. After she filled the glass with cold water, she left the bathroom.
She looked at the telephone cord disconnected from the wall. After she returned home from the hospital, where her mother had drawn her last breath, Susan disconnected any form of communication that existed in the house. She did not want to be in contact with anyone. She wanted to disappear in her grief; she wanted it to swallow her whole. The mailbox was full of letters addressed to people that no longer existed in this world. If any mail came for Susan, it was buried underneath the physical evidence of Susan's loss- the correspondence to her dead family.
The dreams of Aslan began to disturb Susan. At first, they were a nuisance. They dragged up memories of a time Susan tried to deny the existence of. However, after time, she began to recall the reign of two kings and two queens. She remembered sitting on the throne at Cair Paravel, in between Peter and Lucy. She remembered receiving guests in the castle, the lavish coronation, the years as a ruler of a country. The more she remembered, the more deeply she sunk into sadness. And every night, Aslan would come into her dreams, refusing to let her forget.
Susan felt as though she had hit rock bottom. She was at the very pit of existence. After ignoring the overflowing mailbox for weeks, Susan went outside to collect the stacks of letters from the quaint box in front of the house. She brought them inside her bedroom. Susan took an empty trash bin and set it in front of her as she sat on the floor. She picked up the stack of letters and unceremoniously dumped them inside the bin. Her eyes moved around the room, looking for a matchbox. Glancing one on the desk, she got up and walked over to the desk. She grasped the box in her hand, walked back over to the trash bin, and sat back down in front of it. Susan took a match from the box, lit it, and tossed it into the bin. The numerous letters caught fire and began to burn. Satisfied with the fire, Susan got up and left the room.
The kitchen. Her mother would cook in this room every evening, preparing a meal for the family. Susan would often help with the preparations. She remembered where the sharpest knives were placed; she remembered where the sharpening stone was, just in case, as her mother always said. Susan pulled the sharpest knife from the drawer. The blade had almost an evil look to it. It reminded Susan of the knife used to kill Aslan on the Stone Table, all those years ago. The knife felt appropriate, linked to that memory.
She returned to the bedroom. The knife was in her hand as she knelt in front of the fire. The fire seemed so destructive. It was the end of those papers, those memories. Just as the knife was going to cause an end.
Susan offered up a prayer of sorts. "Aslan, I've fallen away from you. I'm sorry." The fire danced in her eyes; the flames danced in the reflection in the knife. She raised the knife slightly above her head. And drove it straight into her heart.
Susan Pevensie died as the fire burned around her, consuming the grief and despair deep within her bleeding heart. And the hope that she would find herself in Aslan's country in the end.