INCIPIENT ➵ EDMUND PEVENSIE

22 | Only Fools Reject Salvation

22 | ONLY FOOLS REJECT SALVATION

Edmund approaches her in worry, only to be yelled at by the tearful girl to stay away. He kneels beside her, a defined margin between their bodies, "I won't touch you, all right?"

    She nods quickly, as if the slightest movement would spark a suffering.

    "Look at me," instructs Edmund, softening his tone at the terror in her eyes, "I need you to breathe. Think happy thoughts."

    She concentrates on the king's tranquilising words - 'Trust me, Elliott, do those and everything will turn out just fine. Breathe. You're going to be all right,' - she hears him say beyond the pain that deafens her. 

    Composure returns to mind morsel by morsel.

    And the ache dwindles with each heartbeat.

    But when she buries her hands into the grass in an effort to get to her feet, she is crestfallen to see the cutlasses wilt to their deaths instantaneously. Her knees give in, and if not for Edmund's assistance, she would have plopped to the ground.

    "Stop touching me unnecessarily," says Elliott, weakly. She shrugs his hands from her shoulders, "You could've got yourself killed."

    "'You almost killed me' would be more appropriate under this circumstance," he admits in a repentant manner, "I thought it worked, I mean, it did work. I lived. But w-what occurred?"

    Elliott shuts her eyes and presses her palms to them to dry the tracks of her tears, "It was a success for a few seconds, then- I don't know. There was a piercing pain. A monstrous bout of it, from within, originating from my chest, my heart. Then it began to diffuse, like a disease - or all the more like uneven smithereens of fractured glass - suspended in my bloodstream, abrading me from the inside. And my skin, before I could react, it felt like it was in flames, fire cackling on my legs, my arms, my face," she shudders as the memory clogs her mind, "Burning and acute pain. I-It hurt to move, to speak, or to breathe. I thought I was about to- die."

    He converges her vision sheepishly, "I am deeply sorry. How do you feel now?"

    "Peachy, I guess."

    Edmund shoots her a look of dubiety, "Positive?"

    "Yes, I'm fine, Edmund. But-" she begins, and the king furrows his brows at the conjunction, " I assure you, Edmund, I'm completely all right. But I- I well, I think I may know how to not-kill now."

    Edmund folds his arms, a smile overriding his once anxious expression, "I guess taking risks do have their upsides!"

    "Do you hear what you're saying? The both of us could have lost our lives!" reminds Elliott, gritting her teeth, "And it's not so much of an upside if I have to go through all that," here she gestures to herself, "To rid my 'victims' of the consequences."