Sorry this is a bit late! Hopefully I'll catch up today and keep up after that. The last couple of days have been... not easy. But I'll probably survive. Anyway, I decided to go with a bit of a weird interpretation of today's, because I could.

Prompt #3: One of the friends of Narnia (or a Narnian, if you like) learns their colours.

"Susan, I'm so sorry." The voice interrupted her reverie, and she put down the letters hurriedly; she hadn't even been reading, only idly flipping through them and feeling the paper.

"Haven't I ever told you not to walk in without knocking?" she asked, ignoring her boyfriend's sympathy. "Honestly, I could've been changing and you would have walked right in."

He shot back a comment Lucy would have called obscene. Lucy was a prude, and Susan wasn't like that, but still she felt uncomfortable about it. They hadn't actually done anything like what he was suggesting.

Unabashed by her rebuke, Dylan continued, "The party's tonight: you know, Sylvie's. I was wondering if you'd like to go anyway, maybe take your mind off what's happened?"

"I'm busy," she said, without really thinking about it. "My entire family died in a train crash not even two days ago, and you ask me about a party? Go on your own if you want to go that bad."

His expression changed. "Fine, I will."

Once he had slammed the door after him (Susan winced, and not for the first time wondered why she still kept his company), she picked up another letter. Indeed she was busy: she had letters to read.

My dear Queen Lucy,

Greetings in the name of the Lion. I take this very great liberty of writing to you, Lion-blessed Queen and you who are called Valiant, to tell you of a strange tale from Aslan himself.

When my son was born (for you must understand, we are Talking Rabbits) he was all white, a curious thing which made him a target of all animals without enough Aslan-given sense to talk. He blundered around as a kitten, and we all thought it was mere clumsiness he would grow out of. However, to cut a very long story short, we presently found he was blind, and that the whiteness in his eyes meant that he would never see. It was a disease, my Queen, a disease we call the White Blindness, and which primarily occurs in rabbits, though other Beasts will sometimes have it: and it is very contagious, requiring isolation to avoid it sweeping through the community.

To that end, we farewelled our son, perhaps for ever; but presently I knew I could not bear to think of him, outcast and growing sicker and sicker to death. I called upon Aslan the Beloved, and I began to search Narnia high and low; I even came to Cair Paravel and asked the guards at the gates when they had last seen Aslan, that I might seek him. Many days passed, and my paws were raw, yet still I persevered, still I hopped on.

On one day, I was limping, leaving bloody pawprints behind me, and longing for Aslan to come to me. And lo! the great form of a lion, the Lion himself, stood before me, and spoke to me.

"Your faith has made your son well. Go in peace, and when you find him, he shall be healed."

And then he was gone in two bounds, before I could even thank him. That night I set out for where we had sent our son to, and two days later I was reunited with him.

He rose from his bed of sickness, looking fearful, eyes white, almost no fur left on his dear wee body, and when his head turned blindly towards me he grew still, and said, "Aslan!" There was what I can only describe as a sea of tossing gold, all surrounding me, so that I could not see my son, nor indeed anything else. When it cleared, we were standing in the same places, but he was healthy. His eyes were a vivid red, as they should be, and his whole body quivered with health.

That was the moment he looked at me, and called me by my name. After a short reunion I led him out of the small dark scrape he had made for himself, with intent to lead him home. But when we came to the surface, he looked all around, looked long at everything, and said, "I never knew the world was so full of colours," and his great red eyes shone with tears. My Queen, you must understand Aslan healed my son. He has such learning still to do, and I shall forever be grateful to our noble Lion for giving me back one who was surely doomed otherwise.

On our way back in triumph to our home burrow, he would stop every moment, and ask for the names of the colour presented to him, for until that moment he had never seen colour as it truly is, as vibrant and beautiful and Aslan-blessed as it is.

In the name of Aslan I send this letter, my Queen, and it is the writings of a joyful rabbit mother: my name you need not know. Only remember myself and my son, and Aslan's goodness.

Aslan's goodness! It sounded so appealing, Susan thought: if only it existed in real life. Why had their games come up with such a true and beautiful and wonderful concept? For when she finished reading the letter she felt a deep and terrible ache of longing to be there, and to see the grateful rabbit-lady and her joy.

She laid the letter down and wept for that which could not, and would never, be.