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Dear Su,
I hope you, Mother and Father are having a wonderful time in America, although I do so wish you were back here in England with us, because I have so much to share. Somehow, Ed, Eustace and I found a way to Narnia!
The three of us were in my room at their house when, all of a sudden, the painting on the wall came to life and we were pulled in! We found ourselves in the sea, East of Narnia and not far from the Lone Islands, and were rescued by none other than Caspian himself! On their end it had been three years since we'd left. He told us that all was well at home, and he was on a quest to discover what had become of his father's old friends, exiled by Miraz long ago. Across many adventures (which I shall describe in full in person) we found the seven Lords, and we traveled to the very edge of the world! It was hard to belive until I saw it with my own eyes, but there was an island, and just beyond that island, a great wall of water reaching almost up to the sky, and beyond that... it was so wonderful I can hardly put it into words. There were mountains higher than you've ever seen, green and brimming with life all the way up - it surely couldn't have been any place other than Aslan's own country! It was there that Reepicheep left us, to voyage into the unknown beyond the wave, and it was there on that island that we were met by Aslan.
I've written notes of all that happened this time in Narnia, so that I shan't forget a thing when Ed and I share our adventures with you and Peter once we four see each other again, however... I also wrote them in hopes that I'll never forget the smell of the ocean, the roar of the waves, the sun beating down on the deck of the lovely Dawn Treader (Caspian's ship), not to mention his crew, and the times we had. You see, on that island, Aslan told Ed and I that we'd never return to Narnia again.
I can hardly bear it, Su! To think that we'll never walk through Cair rebuilt, or dance again with the dryads! To think that Caspian and Ed will never again see one another! It breaks my heart.
I am happy for Eustace, (who now isn't nearly as mean and sulky as you may remember him to be,) for Aslan told him that he may return, but I can't help but feel devastated on my part and on Edmund's. It's the oddest mix of feelings - one which I often now wonder if you yourself felt after we left the second time. I'll think of Narnia and feel such joy, but then remember that I shall never go back, and feel as if I'm in the grip of a Sea Serpent!
I'm sorry, I don't mean to be overdramatic, and this letter is really getting too long now, but I can't help but fear I'll forget all that we experienced in Narnia. Our first life there already slips from my memory, and I'm not sure I could bear it if I lost everything else. Although, of course, we'd still have each other.
How well do you remember our times in Narnia, Su? I'm telling Ed and Peter to write them down so we can share our favourite memories when we talk again in person. I hope you'll do the same.
Your loving sister,
Lucy.
"Oh, has the post arrived, dear?" Helen calls as she enters the room.
Susan forces her breath to be steady. "Yes, mother. There are letters for you and father on the table."
"And what about this one? From a boy, perhaps?" She leans over Susan's shoulder to peek teasingly at the paper.
"No, just Lucy," Susan smiles tightly. There are no boys she keeps correspondence with other than her brothers, much to her mother's steadily growing disappointment. She's only fourteen, but "is no good at school work," she's overheard her father say, and she already knows that all they hope for from her is a good marriage.
It's not as if she can tell her parents that her strengths lie in archery and governance. It's not as if she can tell her parents that she's not interested in boys, aside from debating with them over politics, and even then she's usually laughed at and condescended to. Though she can shoot a single apple at five-hundred yards, Susan has always waged her wars with words over weapons, so when her words are no longer valued, it's easier to remain silent and admired instead. She needs a new lipstick.
"And what does your sister have to say?" Her mother asks mildly, picking up the first of her own letters.
"Oh," Susan says, folding the letter back up, sharpening the creases already there into blades. "Just stories about some game we all used to play."
Stories - that's all they can be now.
They're never getting back to Narnia.
It's easier this way.