Princess Lost | Narnia *on hold*

Chapter One

(A/N) Hey guys! This is my very first story on Wattpad! Yay aha. Anyways, feel free to comment your opinions and if you see a mistake (I'll edit the story once I've finished it). Also I own NONE of the characters other than the ones I created! So, I hope you enjoy my fan fic!

I carried my bags to the door of my new home, my mother and sister by my side. I sighed. Vines crept around the edges of the house. Weeds covered the rose garden. The mansion felt as if it belonged in another time and place. I knocked on the door. I guess it is real. My mother really is leaving to find a job.

"Clara Williams?" a stern, middle aged woman asked. I nodded shyly, trying to smile. "Is this all you've got?"

"I'm afraid so, ma'am." I answered referring to my bags. I looked from my bags to my mother and then to my younger sister, Eliza. I smiled weakly at her dreading the next few months away. My mother insisted that Lily join her to find work. She thinks that she is "too young to stay with strangers". Yeah right, Eliza is 9 years old! I'm only a few years older. Plus she'd have me there to protect her. My mother is just afraid of losing her youngest child.

"Clara, you will listen to Mrs. Leonard and Professor Gregor, right?" Mum's soft but sad whisper snapped me from my thoughts.

Our eyes met and I started to feel the overwhelming sadness that I tried so hard to ignore. I nodded and whispered, "I will," before falling into her tight embrace, "I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, sweetie," she said before letting me go. I felt a lone, salty tear roll down my cheek as my mom and sister turned to leave. Lily kept looking back in my direction, worry filled her bright blue eyes. She seemed to be telling our mother to come back and get me.

I turned towards Mrs. Leonard and smiled softly before following her inside. Mrs. Leonard, the head maid, worked for Mr. Gregor for 30 years now in his rather large home. After stepping inside, she sent me up to my room with a few simple directions.

"Thank you, ma'am," I mumbled before walking up the spiral, wooden staircase. I looked at the multiple paintings and statues in amazement. My old home was small, but comfortable. This place could definitely take some getting used to.

At the end of the hall, a wooden door was all that separated me from my living quarters. As I stepped inside, a wave of cinnamon washed over me. The scent instantly took me back to the last Christmas with my father. We sat by the fireplace playing an old family game my father and I created. My mom splurged for the cinnamon candles because she had known they were my favorite. I smiled as I remembered the fun times we used to have.

Cold wooden floors and stark white linens filled me with disappointment. I had hoped my room would be as welcoming as the rest of the house. Still, the room was as big as my old, two bedroom home. As I unpacked my bags, I came across an old, handmade quilt my grandma made for me. The soft fabric brought a sense of comfort and a longing for home. I crawled under the quilt and surrendered to the tears.