Title: so they linger
Day/Theme: Yawn
Series: Chronicles of Narnia
Character/Pairing: Susan/Caspian, Lucy
Rating: PG13



It was a chill, bright morning when Lucy scrambled out of bed early enough to catch Susan in the hall. She'd been waiting and only barely managed to sleep last night; at the decisive click of her sister's heels she'd gone scrambling out of bed, catching the paper off her bedside table as she went.

"Susan!" Her whisper sounded harsh and too-loud in the hallway, filled with pale, watered-down sunlight. Susan turned, skirt swirling out, and came back to kiss Lucy on the cheek, half yawning as she straightened.

"What is it, Lu?" She looked lovely and composed, her pale eyes sleepy, her dark hair gracefully twisted back.

"I was cleaning the study," Lucy said, pinned between accusation and wonder. "And I found some of your papers."

And there--a flicker, quivering over Susan's face, turning it into a pale mask for a long, unhappy moment. "I don't keep my business papers in Peter's study, you know that."

"Oh, Peter just commandeered it, you know that," Lucy said crossly. "It's all of ours. And they weren't your business papers."

Susan took a steady step back, as wary as though Lucy was not only as tall as her chin. "I don't know what you--"

Lucy thrust it at her, a silent challenge.

Susan's eyes dropped, even though from the multitude of pictures she must have the image she was recreating memorized by now.

A man's face, dark eyed and beautiful, soft shadows along the cheek and jaw. Lucy liked this one best because it was the most tender; each line labored over, every angle tended to with exquisite care, the near-wistful look in his eyes leaping off the paper.

Susan was pale, and she couldn't seem to look away from it. "I don't--"

"Susan," Lucy said plaintively.

Susan shook her head hard, hair coming free and slithering over her shoulders. "No, Lucy! It's just--just a dream. Just a foolish dream that won't go away and I--" She took more steps back, her composure shattered.

"Just burn it, Lucy," she whispered. "Just leave it alone."

And then she was gone, leaving Lucy with only the scent of her perfume, the hasty clatter of her heels, and the memory of the incredible pain on her face.