"Ettinsmoor? Is that what we're calling it now?" Imira asked.
"Better than 'the northern lands the Ettins inhabit' don't you think?" Peter asked in return.
"I suppose it's catchy," she agreed. "So what do we do now?"
Peter looked around the room...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Imira's eyes fluttered open and her senses were immediately greeted by an ethereal ambiance that engulfed her childhood bedroom. A soft, radiant glow suffused the air, casting a delicate luminosity upon every surface. Outside the window, birds filled the surrounding landscape with their melodic songs, their joyful chirping intertwining with the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. The gauzy curtains swayed gracefully, moved by an unseen hand, casting dancing shadows upon the room's sunlit walls.
As Imira tried to comprehend the inexplicable beauty around her, a figure emerged from the door, a figure that seemed to radiate love and warmth. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the figure.
"Mother?" Imira's voice escaped her lips, a mixture of awe and disbelief.
Her mother smiled and Imira's heart swelled with a mix of joy and confusion at the sight of her beloved mother. She jumped off the bed, bare feet on the cool carpet and ran into her mother's loving arms. Tears of joy welled up in Imira's eyes, her heart overflowing with a sense of belonging and peace as her mother enveloped her in a comforting embrace.
Imira clung to her mother as she soaked in the familiar embrace. It felt as if a lifetime had passed since she had last seen her mother, and now, here she was, in this ethereal realm of reunion.
"I never thought I would see you again," Imira managed to say.
Her mother pulled back slightly, her hands resting on Imira's shoulders as she gazed into her daughter's eyes.
"My daughter," her mother spoke, her voice carrying a soothing cadence, a melodic harmony that washed over her, calming her every fiber. "I have missed you so,"
"Am I dreaming?" Imira asked.
Her mother tucked in a strand of hair behind Imira's ear. "Darling, you are dead,"
Imira's mind raced, the memory of her fall and the impaling pain flooding back to her. She looked down at her body, half-expecting to see the remnants of her mortal wounds, but to her astonishment, she appeared whole and unscathed. And dressed in a beautiful blue Datramite dress she did not remember owning.
But that wasn't the only memory that returned to her. Years flashed through her mind, years of living with her mother and father and grandparents and relatives long dead. Here.
Imira looked around, the ethereal room becoming familiar. "I've been here before," she realised.
"When the witch killed you," her mother said.
"I came here when I died the first time," Imira remembered. "I lived here with you. And then Aslan brought me back,"
"He said you wouldn't remember us," her mother said.
She had been living on borrowed time all along. She could not go back, not again. And, despite wishing to, she felt at peace.
"My sons," Imira looked at her mother. She didn't mind being dead in Narnia, she liked being here, she didn't want to go back, but there was a war going on back home. Narnia was her home.
