A/N: This piece of work was inspired by Peter Ellenshaw's painting, Mystical Kingdom of the Beast. The piece is beautiful, and I highly recommend googling it and checking it out before reading the following fanfiction.
Susan made her way to the train station, bundled tightly against the cold and wet, trying to protect the clothing she had adjusted to perfection underneath her coat. She was on her way to a party with classmates, and was rather hoping that she might catch the eye of a particular boy.
Her siblings had been decidedly grumpy to her about the whole deal in her mind; she just didn't understand how they could be so childish! Lucy had told her that she was prettier without the deep red lipstick; Ed had rolled his eyes when she past by him towards the hall closet in a whirl of skirts and perfume; and Peter had openly glowered when she left. In her opinion her sister simply didn't understand fashion and would eventually grow into it and her brothers were trying to be protective in their silly, overbearing way.
She was sick of all of them, really, but what she was really sick of was all this Narnia business. It was almost an obsession for the three of them and she really couldn't understand it. It had, of course, been a marvelous idea once upon a time, especially as a distraction from the bombings and the blitz, and that long summer away from their house and parents. The thought of a place for them, where they ruled was as wondrous as it was ludicrous in retrospect; they were four children from Finchley, after all, not royalty of any sort! And the notion of talking animals and a lion for a king! How silly it all had been, really, and she was angry at her brothers at times for allowing Lucy to continue believing in such things. She should be learning about other pertinent matters such as make-up and proper clothing, and Susan couldn't understand why Peter was babying her. He needed to be doing some growing up himself and that included setting the right kind of example for their younger siblings.
A deep puddle of slushy snow had formed just before the busy crosswalk and she hung back a moment, waiting for the time to cross. She let her eyes and thoughts wander, and she realized that on the other side of the street was a store she had never noticed before, though it seemed, at the same time, to have always been there. It was an art store, paintings displayed in the glass front, and though Susan squinted the distance was too great to make much out.
There was the beep of a horn and she realized with a start that it was her turn to cross and that the car's driver was rather impatient with her standing on the side of the street staring seemingly into space. She felt embarrasement flush across her cheeks and she hurried to get across the road, not stopping until she had stepped up onto the far curb, panting slightly.
She looked up as she gained her breath back, her eyes still drawn to the artwork. She knew that she had best hurry up lest she be late but she couldn't help moving forwards towards the display. The shop was clearly closed and she somehow felt guilty about what she was doing, though she hardly knew why. How very queer and illogical of her! She tried to shake herself of the feeling and head determindly forward, but she couldn't help but cast a furtive glance at passerbys.
She reached the window, casting a glance over various pieces, before her eyes lit upon one and her breath caught. She pressed her palms against the glass, heedless of the marks her fingers would leave and the way she would have scolded Lucy or Edmund for such an act.
There was a castle on a hill in the dead of winter, snow swirling and dusting out the backdrop. Pine trees covered in snow blanketed the rocky mountains in turn. The painting was beautiful, and surely anyone else would have certainly agreed on this, but for Susan it touched something buried inside of her.
She felt a tug deep down inside - something she might have called magic once - and tears began to well in her eyes. Her shuddering breath left a fog on the glass but she didn't care; that beautiful castle in the painting had reminded her of a place so real that she didn't need the picture. She pressed her face up to the window, drinking the picture in through tear-blurred eyes and misty glass.
And suddenly she was sick of herself; she was the foolish one of the Pevensie children, not the beautiful and mature young women she had been striving so hard to be.
'Oh, Aslan, forgive me! Please forgive me,' was the whispered, choking sob. She stayed a moment where she was, her tears running off of her cheeks and down the cold glass. She half imagined that they would freeze, but this winter was nothing compared to that cold, first winter she had experienced in Narnia. 'Oh, please let them forgive me.'
And with that she turned and dashed across the street, ignoring the honking cars and angry shouts, forgoing her dinner plans, running to her house to the love of her siblings and racing to get back home.
Well, I hope that you enjoyed this as much as I loved writing it. PLEASE go and check out the painting I mention at the beginning of this fic; it is absolutely one of the most gorgeous and inspiring pieces of art I have ever seen. I know that it doesn't quite look Cair Paravel in the painting but it definitely makes me think of Narnia.
Feedback would be wonderful, Moksgmol