wis·dom
/ˈwizdəm/
noun
the quality of having experience, knowledge, and good judgment; the quality of being wise.
Narnia had always been a free country, until she came along. Jadis was the devil in disguise, and she brought to the kingdom an eternal...
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"In the end, when it's over, all that matters is what you've done." - Alexander the Great
Narnia, 2318
Olivia blinked awake, lying helplessly in the bank of sand. Everything felt odd and out of place, and since when did waking up feel so wrong? Maybe it was a hangover.
But the memories were shoved harshly inside her head, pounding like a hammer without stopping. Everything hurt, all of her worse things coming at once. Being frozen, impaled, losing, realising every single friend of hers had died.
It was like her energy was being drained, like she could taste the death on her lips and smell the rotten scent of her own corpse.
At first, she thought the mist was the nightmare she had always dreaded, the abyss governing her mind, made of doubt and failure and fear. But she realised that she was her enemy.
But she couldn't accept that. The girl tried getting up but failed miserably as she ended up falling to her knees, hurting like she had fallen over the glass and the little pieces connected in her skin.
She looked down and saw the mirror once again. It looked simple, reflecting her dry face, her eyes too tired to even cry. Your enemy said the words just above it. She threw a weak punch to the glass, making it shatter, and the shards collect on her knuckles.
For the first time in her life, she had an enemy she couldn't defeat.
Olivia was tired, tired of the pursuit and the nightmares and the constant vigilance. Tired of the pressure on her shoulders, the weight warning her to tread lightly.
"The battle will be won, but the path will make you wish for death." And that was true; Olivia was already wishing for death. And it wasn't even referring to this battle yet.
But, a long time ago, Olivia swore she would die with her spear in hand, armour in body, and covered in the blood of her enemies. She would do justice. She would not allow herself to die a pathetic death, lying in the sand of the dark island while desperately gripping her sanity.
So when she climbed up that mount near her, holding her spear in her hands with an ignited spark of defiance encrusted in her core, she called out to a greater challenge.
Tormented by the past and the images that followed it, Olivia would never forget what it was to see her father commit suicide or to feel the sensation of being frozen in place. But what if, instead of running away from the past, Olivia embraced it like an old friend?
The spear felt heavy in her hands. She tightened her grip, knuckles turning white as she looked at the mist surrounding the tallest mount inside the dark island, the crew of the dawn treader much too busy with another issue entirely.
