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[called_lioness]

Lucy feels quiet.

She didn't know she could feel quiet, but she is, as she sits under a tree and picks at her skirt, pull threads and lint away.

She's made her choice, whether she told Caspian she'd wait or not, but in the meantime--

She's alive.

And she still doesn't know what she thinks about that.

Comments

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

Lucy is not very specific.

"How," Mary asks, reasonably, "is it different?"

[called_lioness]

"Because you are supposed to be alive right now. And I'm not."

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

"It is the end of the universe," Mary says, puzzled.

"Everything is not supposed to be alive."

[called_lioness]

"But you haven't died yet, Mary," Lucy says finally.

"And I did already, once."

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

Mary's face is troubled.

"Wellard," she says, "is dead.

"But he almost died again too."

[called_lioness]

"Yes, you told me," Lucy murmurs, and sighs, rubbing the back of her neck slowly.

"I like life, Mary. I love it," she corrects, looking at the little girl. "But it's not right, still. It's not what's supposed to be. And I want other things more than I want to live. And those two facts--it's enough that it was a mistake to make me live."

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

Mary is only ten; and imagination is not her most prominent trait.

"I have read about martyrs," she says, a little dubiously. "They wanted God more than they wanted to live. And Romeo and Juliet - but they were only stupid, because it was all an accident."

[called_lioness]

"Yes. They were. And it's not romantic," and she's earnest, "to throw your life away. It's not. Because you have no idea what you're throwing away. You can't. But sometimes--sometimes you're not supposed to be alive anyway. And you're in a position to know what it is you're giving up. And then it's a little different."

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

"So - you are saying," Mary says - still dubious, but trying very hard to understand - "that because you have been both dead and alive, you know that being alive is not so much to give up?"

[called_lioness]

"No," Lucy says softly. "It's nearly the hardest thing to give up, still. It's nearly everything. But it's not quite the hardest, and not quite everything. And because I've been dead and alive, I know that. It still matters. It matters very much. But other things matter, too. It's hard. But it's not the hardest."

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

Mary's face is very intent - almost absurdly so, as if she's taking notes for some future exam.

"What is the hardest?"

[called_lioness]

"The hardest thing..." She stops, and then says, "The hardest thing isn't giving anything up at all. The hardest thing is watching someone you love be hurt. The second hardest thing is the hardest thing to give up, and that's what you love most."

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

Mary takes a moment to wonder if she would die rather than give up her garden.



It's a long moment.




"But," she says aloud, frowning still, "you can plant a new garden if you are still alive to do it;" though still she's not quite sure.

[called_lioness]

"Yes," Lucy agrees. "I could. But I couldn't walk with the people I love best in it. So I'll plant one here instead."

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

"Here makes it different," Mary allows, ducking her head.

"Ghosts can act like real people here. But not everyone who is dead is here."

For example: there is a conspicuous lack of Lennoxes. (Which Mary is totally okay with. However.)

[called_lioness]

"No. My parents aren't, for one. But some people who are dead are here. And...it's enough, Mary. Not because it has to be. It just is."

[mistressmaryquitecontrary]

Mary is quiet again, for another very long moment.





Finally: "I am glad you will still be here."

[called_lioness]

"So am I, Mary," she answers. "And I'll be here for a while yet."

However long that is.