"But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason you were brought into Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you might know me better there."

Set after the train crash where everyone Susan ever loved disappeared into smoke and rubble and fire

Note: Thank you sealure, my beta reader

The others think her gone and wasted with the taste of wine on her tongue and the whispers of silk clinging to her body as Susan faces the vanity mirror, satin curls forming a halo around her face. But she sees things others do not and so, she is alone in her room once more, applying her armor once more.

But this time is different for she is truly alone now.

Her brothers are dead. Her sister is dead. Her parents are dead. Her cousin, her friends.

The others milling around her house, the others dropping off food, the others comforting her with barely felt shoulder touches and soft soft voices- they do not reach her. They dare not enter her room when Susan finally moves from eons of stillness ever since she received the news of a train and a crash and a deafening roar that had echoed throughout the town.

Now, as she stares at her reflection, she wonders at how the others must have felt in that last moment before they were taken away to another place. She wonders if perhaps, the others will finally understand that she is not so different than them for they had all mourn a loss so fierce that every moment awake was like walking in fire and every moment asleep was like drowning in water.

Susan knows her siblings whisper among themselves about her and the distance she puts between the past and the present. They think she has forgotten about the Golden Age, that she has forgotten about the Golden crown on her head, that she has forgotten about an ivory horn that had hung along her belt at every waking moment.

They think she has forgotten about Aslan. She can hear it in Peter's wavering voice over the phone. She can see it in Edmund's dark eyes when he comes to visit. She can taste it in Lucy's sweets that make her yearn for something long ago.

But she has never forgotten and perhaps it is that unforgiveness in her that the other three actually believe she did…

She can swallow many things and hold her tongue, but this is something she can never forgive; the words that are swirling inside her are burning her from the inside out and sit in her stomach, weighing her down.

It matters not anymore about what she does remember. What matters now is how she will honor them. Them and Aslan.

For she had always discovered Aslan in this world. It had always just been different for her than the others.

She knows Peter finds Aslan in the architecture of buildings, in the stone carvings of monuments, in the high alcoves where gargoyles sit. She knows Edmund finds Aslan in books, in the delicate thin writing of authors old, in the tomes that spell out ancient laws that he can use in his studies of court. She knows Lucy finds Aslan in dance, in beats that spur a flurry of movements, in songs that tug at the eyes to create tears.

Yet, Susan has always found Aslan in all things beautiful, and it had upset her greatly that the others never saw it the way she did. And it is with great love and care that she paints these things of beauty on herself now.

The pink blush that adorns her cheeks is an emblem of the flowers in the garden her room oversees. The pink blush that adorns her cheeks is a memory of a pair of sisters in dresses, giggles floating around them. The pink blush that adorns her cheeks is her handkerchief stuck on the suit pockets of suitors.

The red lipstick that kisses her lips is her brothers' blood spilt in battle. The red lipstick that kisses her lips is the scarlet sunset that hugs the horizons of the Eastern Sea her sister so dearly loves. The red lipstick that kisses her lips is the morning birds' feathers that grace them all with song at breakfast.

The black liner that graces her eyes is the sail on a boat that brings news of adventures. The black liner that graces her eyes is the tally that her younger brother writes in straight lines to count the number of guests to invite. The black liner that graces her eyes is the curve of a beak, softness of a snout, the linings of a paw that are her beloved subjects.

So how can the others possibly think she forgot all about Narnia and Aslan when all these are her armour she puts on daily to face the world?

A/N:

I never felt content with how Susan was treated at the end of the Last Battle. How she was treated rubbed me the wrong way. Just because she liked makeup and going out, the others believed her to no longer be a friend of Narnia. How can they ever think that after all the times they've been together? So this is just a small short story about the aftermath of the train crash.

Please enjoy and leave a review~