#fuckkkkkk this
(Looking back, there were holes in their beings that they never knew how to understand. Looking forward, it was Narnia. Always Narnia.)
In a wilder Narnia, Peter Pevensie drives his sword through the heart of a grinning witch, before taking off her head too, a growl unfitting for a young boy from England vibrating in his chest and blood dripping from his chin.
In a wilder Narnia, Susan Pevensie still hates the war but masters it in the curve of her smile as she tilts her head to listen to the voices of their land, ready to open her mouth and let her blood-red lips bring down another enemy.
In a wilder Narnia, Edmund Pevensie was enchanted into allowing his siblings to bear wolf-teeth scars on their legs and arms, and this weight transferred into his steps, shaking the ground of the kingdom they inherited.
In a wilder Narnia, Lucy Pevensie grows needle-sharp teeth and claws to fight for the kingdom that would be hers and her family’s home, be it stained with blood or flashed in warning at any that dare step in their way.
In a wilder Narnia, the Pevensie siblings grow in very Narnian ways. They don’t shy away from showing their teeth, from growling at those that refuse to show respect, from reminding everyone that dares to forget that they sat upon their thrones in blood-stained armour and skin. Their eyes shift from blues and browns to amber, their strides carry power and weight, their teeth never hide the possibility of tearing into enemies that find themselves foolish enough to come close.
(In a very grey England, Lucy finds her body soft, fragile, without its claws and screams in anger; Edmund finds his steps too easily overheard and grits his teeth in spite of it; Susan finds her smile seen as shallow and she buys crimson paint for it; Peter finds his chest empty of a growl and throws clenched fists to try and bring it out. In England, they grow in all the wrong ways.)
