❝yours truly, genevieve chen... sincerely yours, peter pevensie.❞
a heartbroken woman writes letters to her deceased fiancé... and a deceased king responds to the letters written by his grieving fiancée.
( post the last battle. )
New York City is so beautiful in winter. The snow lines the bare trees and there's a magical quality to how the streetlights shine at night in this season. You see footprints left in the snow from heavy winter boots, and everywhere you turn people are wearing heavy coats and scarves around their necks, trying to keep warm in it. But I think my favorite part of the winter season has always been Christmas. I've never felt better than at Christmastime wrapping presents for everyone I care about.
Yet this year is different. This is the first Christmas that you and I will not be together to celebrate.
I've wrapped presents, of course. For my parents and yours, and for Susan and Briar as well. I've also bought presents for some of our neighbors and I've already given those to them. We're all spending Christmas together, you see. We're going to be at my parents' home. I don't know how I expect for today to feel. Perhaps that is why I am writing this letter, even though it's going to make me late for the celebrations.
It's snowing outside. Some of the neighborhood children were just ushered inside by their parents after partaking in a rather rough snowball fight. The sight of them had me recalling a story you told me once. You said Lucy had started a snowball fight and you and Susan joined in, and Edmund was having none of it. I remember laughing so hard the first time you'd told me that because at that time, the last time I had seen Edmund he had thrown a snowball at Lucy and they had started a snowball fight of their own.
I never really had the pleasure of competing in one. I don't have any siblings and neither of my parents are very fond of the cold. They came out and played with me when it snowed, of course, but they were only out there for five minutes before practically turning into an icicle before my eyes. My friends growing up never really saw the same enchantment I did in the snow, so they never really enjoyed it either. But when I told you I'd never participated in a snowball fight, it was our second Christmas together, you dragged me to Central Park near our bench and you threw a snowball at me, therefore starting some of the best fun I ever had with you.
It's strange to think that you're all gone. This time last year you and I were finishing unpacking the boxes in our new apartment, the one I sit in at this very moment, and talking about our future together. We were using candles as light with no reason other than it was romantic. I have no candles lit today. There are no lights on in our apartment at all, actually. I was on my way out when I decided to write this letter. I didn't turn any of the lights back on to write it. The only light here is what's coming through the window I'm sitting at, but it's cloudy out and still snowing. It's dark. The world is dark without you, Peter, and sometimes I feel I haven't seen the sun since the day you left.
But I hope in time the light will come back.
Yours truly, Genevieve Chen
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PETER PEVENSIE. ASLAN'S COUNTRY.
My dearest Genevieve,
New York City was always a sight to see in winter. It's quite beautiful. Except sometimes, when I saw snow, it reminded me of the White Witch and the state Narnia was in when we arrived. I don't have many good memories from the time all the trees were lined with snow there. I learned how to separate my disdain for the Witch and my feelings about snow after a few winters in Narnia.
But Christmas — Christmas is probably one (and only) thing everyone in my family can agree on. Lucy used to wake us at four in the morning, shouting in our ears that Father Christmas had come and it was time to open presents. Edmund did it a fair amount, too, when he was young. He and Lucy were often what you might call partners in crime when it came to the holiday. But he grew out of it after a couple of years and started to call it childish, but after what happened with the Witch, he took it up again. Oh, and Susan, when she got tall enough to learn how to cook, our dad woke her up to prepare a very special Pevensie Christmas breakfast. Oh, it was wonderful. Although personally, I would have preferred to sleep in until the sun had actually risen, but apparently I was in the minority on that.
You and I spent four Christmases together. We participated in all the traditions — kissing underneath mistletoe, bought each other presents with price limits (that neither of us ever listened to, ha!), opened advent calendars. And like you, I am spending Christmas with family. Everyone I ever knew in Narnia is here, but you and my parents and Susan are not here. I've always been used to having a big Christmas. I did grow up with three siblings. After I met you, my Christmases got a little bigger with you and your parents. So that would be...nine people in total, and this number does not take into account the times Professor Kirke and Polly Plummer celebrated with us, nor does it take into account Briar (this Christmas would have been the first she would have been with us) or other relatives such as Eustace. It's always been a very large affair.
Snowball fights — my, it's been so long since we've had one. I remember once, it was the first time it snowed on Earth after we'd left Narnia, we buried Edmund in snow. I don't think I ever told you that. Our parents were not pleased. We were banned from playing in snow for two winters.
The light will come back, my love. It always does. You need only wait.
