𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝑨𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑, peter pevensie

𝒙𝒙𝒊 . . . thank the heavens

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄 could hear were hazy voices, all blurring and meshing into one incoherent sound, not being able to separate the voices apart from each other. The light was practically blinding her when she cracked her eyes open for what felt like the first time in years. She tried to sit up to be able to make out the distorted figures and the still blurred voices, but Charlotte felt a hand on her shoulder push her back down into the pillows when her head was pulsing and she visibly winced in pain.

The voices melted away into silence as the world turned dark around Charlotte when she closed her eyes again, feeling much too drained of energy to push away the hand still set gently on her shoulder, before she felt it slip away. Finger by finger.

When Charlotte finally cracked her eyes open, it was dark, and the figures and voices were long gone. The only thing that could be heard were the curtains fluttering in the breeze wafting in through the open window, and the sounds of dryads bursting into petals every so often.

When Charlotte managed to sit up, the pulsing in her head was gone, but there was a blinding pain that shot right through her abdomen when she tried to sit up to fast. When she turned her head to the right, Charlotte saw the moon shining brightly through the gaps in the curtains, and when she looked down, there was an array of medicine bottles, all different colours.

There was a green one that looked particularly revolting. When Charlotte looked to the left, there were four arm chairs placed around haphazardly that definitely weren't in her room before, and many, many broken quills and open pots of ink.

The door creaked open, leaving a small sliver of light in its wake. The shadow of a badger carrying a great bag , with more medicines and tablets threatening to spill over the edge grew longer, until Charlotte looked up at him when he sighed loudly.

"Ah, your Majesty-"

"Charlotte, please?"

"Very well then, Charlotte, drink this. You look frightful." The badger thrust an electric blue phial into her open hand lay over her sheets, but it smashed all over the messy floor when it slipped out of her weak grip.

Instead, her mouth was held open slightly, and the blue liquid was poured down her throat, making her cough and splutter. It tasted horrible. But, then again, no medicine she'd had was even close to crossing the bounds of even almost pleasant, not even the horrible tonic she'd been forced to take when she was nine when she had unfortunately caught the ever changing seasonal flu.

The doctor had claimed it was strawberry flavoured, but Charlotte begged to differ. She remembered accidently-on-purpose pouring it out of her bedroom window and into the patch of withered marigolds Mrs Macready had planted the previous summer.

Charlotte barely managed to croak out a thanks before she felt the medicine take its toll, and her surroundings slipped away into the realms of nothingness once again, for the second time - for what she assumed to be - that night.