A/N: Unbetaed. English isn't my mother tongue. I'm sorry for the mistakes you will find here.

I. Nylons

She remembers a time when she'd barely ever see her own legs for she was always wearing these huge, flowing dresses made of the finest fabrics. She had loved them, because they were simple yet elegant, and they were noble – just the kind of dress a Queen ought to wear to please her people.

She had been wearing one, that day her siblings and her accidentally stumbled back into England. It had been a deep, velvety green, just like the leaves of the trees she loved so dearly, and she had worn her hair in a long braid, for they had been riding across their land, chasing after the White Stag, and she couldn't have risked having it getting tangled in branches.

She had been suddenly worried, seeing that lamppost, and she had felt her lungs get tighter, her breathing get more difficult, and she had begged Peter, Edmund and Lucy not to go on, to go back to Cair Paravel where they were most certainly impatiently awaited.

She had felt the shivers run down her spine, she had felt the fear run through her veins, she'd felt the knowledge they would regret this run straight to her heart. And she'd felt the goose bumps on her legs too, the soft material of her long skirt caressing her bare skin.

But they had gone anyway, and moments later, they had left the deep, luscious forest of their kingdom and had been sprawled on the floor just before a wooden wardrobe, and she had been back into a body she had overgrown years ago, and her skirt had been grey and plain and knee-length again.

She looks into the mirror big mirror up in her bedroom and she quite likes what she sees. Ellen had been right in convincing her to buy it. It's a small, dark blue dress – no sleeves and a hem stopping somewhere on her upper thigh. It's not very Lady-like, especially not with the black nylons she's wearing underneath it, drawing attention to her thighs and her knees and her calves, but Susan hasn't been a Lady for quite some time, as she? She used to be a Queen and she's been stripped of her kingdom – she has all the rights in the world to turn into a tramp if she wants to.

ooo

II. Lipstick

Back in Narnia, there had been a long time during which she never really paid attention to the way she looked. Her people hadn't been in need of a beautiful Queen – they had needed a Gentle Queen. And Gentle she'd been, righting wrongs with a smile and a peaceful gaze, like only great monarchs can do. It had gone like this for years until one day, a Prince from overseas had said he wanted to marry her.

He had been a Son of Adam had come to Narnia and charmed her with words and poetry. He had looked into her eyes and said that she was the purest woman in all of Narnia, and that she had the fairest skin, and that she had the most luminous eyes, and that she had the silkiest hair, and that she had the more beckoning lips. And she'd been only nineteen, and that had been more than she had ever thought she'd heard. So when he had stolen her a kiss, she had let him and she had even pressed her lips back against his.

She had been unsure about how to do it, but she had followed her instincts, and found out she had really enjoyed it. It had been nice, feeling his warmth against her cheeks as he had drawn closer to her, and then the softness of his mouth covering hers, and the tingling sensation she had felt when he had caught her lips between his teeth.

Aslan had not been happy. They would never really see him – he would only show up when they had had a real problem to deal with – but the morning after she'd been kissed – the morning after she had kissed back – he had come to see her on her own, and he had said that she should not do it again. "You are meant to stay pure until you can marry, Susan," he had said, and she had not really understood, because the only other Sons of Adam she really knew in Narnia were her brothers. "You will know in time," Aslan had said before disappearing.

And now, as she takes the lipstick into her hands and looks at her reflection in the mirror, she fully knows what he meant. She's twenty-one, now. She hasn't been a virgin for a while, now, and she can't really be faulted, because he told her that she was too old for Narnia. And if she was too old for Narnia, then surely she's old enough for kisses and sex. She presses the red tube against her lips, relishing in the way it glides on her lips as if it was another mouth pressing against her, and a few seconds later, she's smiling broadly. She doesn't know who yet, but one thing is for sure – she's not coming home alone tonight.

ooo

III. Invitations

During the Golden Age, balls and receptions had been an essential component of their lives. As Kings and Queens, they had had to host countless of feasts for reasons that were very often forgotten. "It's really just a way to spend time with everyone we love," Lucy would always say with a huge grin on her face, her eyes sparkling. She had never seen it the way her sister sometimes would – long, fastidious preparations for not very much. Oh, of course, it was always nice getting to spend time with Mr Tumnus, or the Beavers, or anyone else really, but… even without the feasts and balls, they would be seeing their friends every day anyway.

Lucy might have loved the parties, but her sister had always had the impression that it was too much hassle for not very much.

And yet she had attended them all – she had been a Queen, after all. Queen Susan the Gentle, they had said, and Gentle she had been. She had smiled at friends and at royal delegations coming from overseas kingdoms. She had listened to lively music and romantic ballads. She had danced with talking animals and Sons of Adam alike. And yes, most of the time, she had enjoyed herself, because she'd been with friends, but it had always been there at the back of her mind, that she would have preferred the peace and quiet of a walk on the beach or in the forest to be with her friends.

Years later – or is it years before? She'd been twenty-six once – she nearly laughs at the irony of her getting ready for a party thrown by someone she barely even knows. It never really matters whose house it is, as long as she gets the invitation. It's the only thing she's got left for herself, after all – she'd been stripped of her kingdom, and she's been stripped of her family too, because they barely even talk to her anymore.

ooo

IV. No longer a friend of Narnia

And she knows what they think, all of them – Peter, and Edmund, and Lucy, and every single one of those who once knew Narnia too. She knows that they think she's superficial and silly and conceited, but she couldn't even be bothered to correct them, because they can't even be bothered to ask why she never wants to talk about Narnia.

She wasn't really asked to forget, but it was as good as if she had been. She was told she had to live in "her own world" but Aslan had forgotten that her world was Narnia. And it had hurt, it had hurt so much to be denied her world, that she had had to shut it down, hadn't she?

Once she's been a Lady, and now she isn't. Once she didn't have agency over her sexuality, and now she has taken full control of it. Once she has hated social gatherings, and now she craves them.

Aslan has taken Narnia away from her, so now, she is taking Queen Susan the Gentle away from him.

A/N: I just have a lot of Susan Pevensie feelings.