AN ENCHANTER'S FORETELLING. [NARNIA]

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN | WORRY

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WORRY

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With the prospect of war plaguing her already-restless mind, as minutes quickly ticked by, she rushed through the seemingly endless corridor. She gripped the many important documents under her arms, and hands, keeping her completely occupied as her feet carried her to the private meeting room, as quickly as she could muster. Only one thing was replaying over and over on her mind, and it was to get her kings' and queens' private meeting room in the Northern wing.

War, war, war.

The retched word that dared repeat back at her as she struggled to grip her skirts, and carry the many parchments without wrinkling them. The words she had grown so accustomed of in the very little time that had passed since the conversation with Lord Decker in the study room. It was like they had been drilled into her restless brain the second he had even uttered that word.

War. The word that had been spoken so freely in her own house in England, despite all the ache in her heart that it brought just by hearing it.

War. It was where her father had been, or perhaps, still is, fighting to save the many innocent lives by sacrificing his own. It was where her father still had been in by the time she travelled to the mystical world, where everything seemed to be good and pure; like nothing could go wrong. But, of course, that was until Lord Decker had popped her little bubble, cooping her with all the false joy in the world, before he broke the news of the impending war to her. And then she knew, it was time, for it had been long since they've reigned in harmony; nothing ever went wrong. At least not often.

She loathed what he had said; the words that had been engraved in her mind back in her home. The word that had been so carelessly thrown around the streets in her hometown: on radio broadcasts, newspapers, daily conversations with the neighbors, pavements, on limited phone calls, everywhere. She heard that blasted word everywhere. The mere thing that had tore her (and thousands of other's) family apart, when the possibility of war dared venture into the Londoners' everyday vocabulary. The word that mocked her and the kingdom's welfare the mere second it left the lord's mouth.

But, regardless of wondering whether or not what the lord had said was, indeed, true, and hesitating taking another step, she pushed those thoughts to the back of her head. She would figure them out soon enough, at least she thought she would, because thinking of those negative contemplations would drain her of her peppy disposition. It would even bewilder her how she could always maintain such attitude everyday, and night. It did not matter what she had done that day, she always seemed to be full of joy – full of everlasting energy.