Prompt #7: Narnia was just created, and the Animals are few. What did one of the Animals do in those first days?

She had been lying about finding victory in America, of course.

But it was better this way—to push away her sister, the sister she had always been envious of, so that maybe when Lucy found out how hollow she was, it wouldn't hurt so much for Lucy. As for Susan, maybe if she pretended she didn't care, the fit of her soul would chafe less over time. She would get used to it, as unhappiness had become a scarcely noticed companion. Something about baseline, and what was normal for her, even if someone else would look around the empty basement of her heart and say, "You live like this?"

(And she would say, "Yes," and try, and fail, to remain calm.)

Lucy was the embodiment of joy; one week the sermon was on the fruits of the Spirit, and when she got home Susan pulled out a fresh notebook and wrote down a detailed analysis of how Lucy ticked off each of the fruits mentioned in Galatians. At the end she tore the section out of the notebook and put it in an envelope, with the date and Lucy's name on it, then laid it aside and promptly forgot about it.

(Six years later, she would find it while cleaning out a cupboard, and give it unopened to Lucy, commenting that she hadn't even read it and had no idea what was inside. Lucy would read it, later, in private, and cry for the sister she had once loved so much. But that was neither here nor there.)

And Susan—well, Susan was the black sheep of the family. She wore lipstick and nylons, went to far too many parties and pretended she was having fun, though she was still a schoolgirl. For that her grades suffered, but she was clever enough to coast by anyway, and brushed off all objections by claiming she would become a housewife who didn't need an education.

Time passed. Now that Lucy could no longer go to Narnia, she was beginning to think more seriously of her life in England, the real world. By now she was eleven, and Susan was fifteen; despite staying in school longer than most girls, Susan needed to figure out what to do next.

For that, she blatantly stole Lucy's idea. For the last few months, Lucy had been talking of her eventual desire to become a nurse, and eventually specialise as a midwife. She'd assisted a couple of Archenlander births during the Golden Age, and always come out of them so full of joy it seemed to be a physical halo of light around her. Lucy would be a perfect midwife.

And Susan was determined to do exactly the same. She would not be perfect, but she would pretend, just like she would pretend it was out of love. They would give their love to Lucy, and their courtesy to Susan, and that would (have to) be enough for Susan.

She half expected Lucy to grow angry when she told her what she was planning to do, but instead Lucy's features filled with delight. "Oh, Susan!" she cried, thrilled. "That's wonderful! We're just the same—oh Su, I always knew we were. You'll write, won't you? And tell me what you're up to and what you've been learning and doing? So that I know what you're doing?" She caught at Susan's arm in an excess of excitement. "Don't leave me behind, Su."

"I might find myself unable to handle blood," Susan pointed out.

Lucy shook her head vehemently. "You won't. I remember—back then."

"That was another me—another world. Things are different in this one. I'm different." But Lucy wasn't.

"You're still you, in the most essential parts. Queen Susan the Gentle." Lucy's voice became tender and almost proud. "The beautiful queen—as you are still, though in a different style."

Susan made a little gesture, as if she could not bear it. "If I am the beautiful queen, you are the beloved queen." Her voice cracked slightly. Lucy was beloved of everyone; Susan was admired. There was a chasm between them.

Lucy smiled wistfully. "We were so happy there. But we can be happy here, too." Her eyes were pleading, full of a sincere love and trust Susan could not offer in return.

Yes, thought Susan. There were joys so high no words on earth could tell them; and there were despairs so black no sad song can encompass them. There was no happiness in Narnia—only madness, for me. And then she thought, I do not think I was made for happiness.

"We need to talk about Narnia more often. Why, if we don't—even the Jackdaw will be forgotten. The one who loved jokes. The Professor was telling me about him the other day. He kept a tally up until the hundredth joke, and then he retired it. And all his days he was called either the Jackdaw, as if he was the only Jackdaw in the whole world, or the Jokester. I think it's a legacy he would like—to know we still think about him today, the first animal Aslan created with a real sense of humour."

Susan forced a smile. "Yes; we do need to. But—but for now I can't. Don't you see? I have things to do."

Lucy's face fell, and she nodded and ended the conversation, leaving her sister alone with her thoughts. At some point Susan found herself lying on the floor. All the tears were cried out, and she was an empty husk.

Author's note: I don't know how clear I made it in the first chapter, but in this particular story, during the Golden Age, life was bad for Susan. I'm sure I don't need to specify. It probably won't get that bad again until after the end of the Last Battle... but oh boy, I have Plans for that chapter. Y'all gonna hate me :P but that's in a while, I think. We're still—what, seven or eight years from there at this point, so it'll be a few chapters. Most of the month, probably, assuming I keep going with this and all that.

I hope you like this chapter; please let me know what you think of it, and the characterisation and all that. Oh, and I was fairly sloppy with the factual accuracy: I did very minimal research. And yeah, Lucy becoming a midwife is my own headcanon as a midwife-in-training myself, lol.

(The chapter title is from "One Love".)

God guide you today.

—H