I despondently admit that I don't own even a square inch of Narnia. However, I do own Christine.


She was not amazingly beautiful, nor amazingly clever. She was uncoordinated and always seemed to say the wrong thing. She was not a hopeless romantic, but loved a good love story, and cried when she scraped her knee. Not exactly special. Peter spoke to her in the university halls one day, a casual chat, mindless talk amongst two students. Nothing different. When she smiled, she showed a reasonably pretty mouth, and her laugh was not a tinkle of bells, but rather a loud honking sound that everyone seemed to recognise. "Here comes Christine", her friends would say. Peter's eyes passed over her in the halls, her form blending in with the rest of the mass of students.

In Art History he had started to speak to her more often, none of his friends were in that class, nor were hers, so they sat together. She didn't know all the answers, and her doodles in her notebook weren't very impressive. She didn't always do her homework, and her stockings were never quite straight. But after many whispered conversations, Peter started to like her more and more. A few dates and a chaste kiss later, they were like many of the other young couples on campus. After a few months it became serious. She met his family, he met hers. She was well-liked by his parents and siblings, and only Edmund had noticed her nervous smile and edgy manner that had come from his endless interrogating. However, he soon approved of his brother's new girlfriend.

His proposal had come three years later. She had accepted joyfully, and a few months later, the wedding was held. The ceremony was small, only close friends and family invited. When they first walked into their tiny new house, Peter had lifted her up into his arms, carrying her quite romantically into the bedroom, only ruining the moment slightly when he tripped on a rug in the upstairs hall.

Their first child was a boy- a loud, energetic baby boy named William, who never seemed to want to sleep. Her waist was getting a bit thicker, but Peter never noticed. The years passed on, and when Peter was nearing his twenty-eighth birthday, he realised he'd never been so happy since Narnia.

She and William waved to him from the train station. He had smiled at them from his compartment; sure he would see them again soon. The next day, she was walking through debris, struggling to identify Peter's body from all the others.

The years passed on, and she never was quite the same. Something was missing from her heart. She missed sparkling blue eyes and sun-kissed hair. She missed calloused hands and a golden tan. She missed a warm laugh, and a heart-stopping smile. She missed a caring touch and a noble face. And she never realised, but in a different world, under a different moon, in a different bed, there lay someone who missed crooked stockings and a honking laugh. Someone who would do anything to have her grounding realness next to them. For Peter Pevensie knew that the most beautiful, intelligent, graceful and worldly woman in the world was nothing in his eyes compared to his Christine. To Peter Pevensie, her imperfections made her special.


Don't be afraid to critique this; constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Flames will be used to torch Mary-Sues and illiterate authors (an oxymoron if I ever saw one, yet this site has an infestation of them).