Okay, this chapter is in Lucy's point of view. First Lucy fic I've ever written! Only a oneshot, but still…oh, it's about Lucy's struggle after they get back from Narnia in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Angst. Enjoy. This was deleted, but now reposted.

I don't own Narnia, or anything in it, but I wish I owned William Moseley's heart. Is there a hotter guy on the planet?

Lucy POV

When I was little, I believed in fairies. I believed in Father Christmas. I believed in a magical land, a land of perfection and peace. I believed that if I ever needed help, Peter and his faithful sword would be standing in front of me. Susan would be beside him, arrow aimed and at the ready to protect me from danger. I believed that Edmund would always be standing behind me, guarding my back, ready to catch me, should I fall.

As I grew up, this was my reality. A reality made up from childish fantasies. But then, I was plunged back into a dream, and became a child again. I never really knew which was the dream, whether it was my world or the world under the lion's paw. People dismissed my stories as the ravings of a silly little child. But they didn't know. My siblings knew. My protectors, my guardians knew. I was no child.

It was so easy to believe I might go back. But I grew impatient with want, and it filled me, eating away my memories, blurring them until all I was left with was a dream. Or a dream of a dream. They reminded me though. And still do today. My oldest brother tells me fantastic stories of a wondrous battle. My older sister tells me of the most beautiful sights, of lands where the ocean is but a mere myth. And my youngest brother, though still my elder, tells me of great injustices, of revolting unfairness that cost more than money, and how they were solved to become fair. And they are a great help. But I seek a greater comfort than my family. I seek my friends, the Beavers, Oreius, Aslan, and Mr Tumnas, my first friend. They are the comfort I seek.

Sometimes, at night, I cry out in my sleep. And my gentle sister Susan comes in and sings to me with a pure and soothing voice. Melodic, like the whisperings on the wind, a chime of a bell, a faint echo of the voice that used to lull me to sleep in a foreign place. And she stays with me until I feign sleep. Sometimes she doesn't come, though. She's comforting one of the boys instead. And it's on those nights that I am weak, and I give in to another song. I follow the sound of it. The sound of my heart.

I sneak to a room, a room that is adorned with the most exquisite of wardrobes. A wardrobe carved with more than decorations. A wardrobe engraved with the history of an enchanted realm. Everything in the room points towards it. And it is whispering my name, calling me, ever calling…so I come.

The first touch is the hardest. Once I open the door, it's almost easy. Until I see that there is nothing of relevance inside. Only a wardrobe. Not a portal, not anything. Only a wardrobe. I'd do anything to change it. So I beat it with my fists until they bleed, I curse at it with the most hateful tone I possess, I implore it to open up to me, and I even bribe it. But to no avail. It will not open up its heart to me, the way I did long ago. It will not open.

Narnia is closed.

And I weep.

Sad? I wondered how Lucy would react if she had taken it harder. So, this was born.

Please review, "For Narnia, and for Aslan" and for me…

Just A Little Bit Dramatic