A/N: Edmund's piece. I'll keep this short and sweet: let me know what you think of it please!
Edmund
It's so cold here.
I can't feel my fingers or toes. Who makes a dungeon all of ice anyway? Stupid idea.
I suppose she does.
I know that if I'd listened to Peter and the rest I wouldn't be here. I hate that. Listening to stupid old Peter's never worked before, why should it work just now, when I don't want it to at all? It isn't fair. None of this is.
I also, for the record, know that I sound like spoiled child. Well, maybe I do, but I'm trapped in a cold, gloomy, freezing dungeon while Peter and Susan and Lucy are probably out with those beavers having the time of their lives.
Only, of course, I know they're not.
They're probably running for their lives, and it's my fault I suppose. Well, it is. My fault I mean. There really isn't a doubt about it. I came here, and then ran here, to her and told her where to find them. I daresay she's found them by now.
At first I wanted her to find them. She promised they'd be my servants, and I couldn't resist the thought of Peter kneeling in front of me, after what a git he'd been. But now I realize (to late) that I've led her to her prey. She's going to kill them. And then me I suppose.
I'm frighteningly detached about the idea of dying. I think my brain's frozen solid along with my toes. But Peter (he's an idiot, but he's my brother) and Susan and Lucy don't deserve to die. They thought they were just coming along for a little adventure. They don't deserve to be caught in the middle of something like this.
Neither do I, but it's my own fault.
I guess being numb and about to die combined make you a lot more, er, I think the word I'm looking for is noble. Yeah. A lot more noble than you ever were before. I don't think that's very fair. If I'm going to be noble, I'd like to have a bit more time to do it in.
The littlest things (like that) are getting to me, because I just can't get it through my head that the others are going to be…dead.
It's like reading a book, and one of your favorite characters seems to die in some strange accident, but you convince yourself he hasn't really died, that it was some kind of clever plot twist, and that he'll be back later. So it's not as if he's really died at all.
Only this isn't a book, and Peter and Susan and Lu aren't plot twists. They're people.
And she knows it.
Because of me.
It seems that guilt can penetrate even frostbite.
Oh! There's a faun here!
…
Finis
A/N: Tell me if I got Edmund right? I'm not sure how good I am at writing him… Thanks for reading, and please review!
