The day, commemorative of my birth
Bestowing Life and Light and Hope on me,
Brings back the hour which was thy last on Earth.
Oh! bitter pang of torturing Memory! -
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(trigger warning: self-harm, attempted suicide)
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"Happy Birthday, child." Maude said sweetly, as her granddaughter came stomping into the room.

Shut up. Shut up. Sleep. Shut up. Shitty sunlight.
Those were the thoughts in Sanya's head, but she voiced none of them.
"It would've been happier if I wasn't woken up at nine-thirty in the morning." She said waspishly, sitting down. But courtesy and memories of etiquette lessons forced her to add, "Thank you, though."

"Well, I wasn't about to let you start your birthday at lunch-time! Besides, this way, you'll have an even longer day of celebration."

Day of celebration. For what? Her growing anger? Her insomnia, her nightmares? Her sorrow? Her rapidly splintering relationship? Her lack of being able to sleep in?
And she'd already been sixteen once before. It was not as sweet as made out to be- no age was.
"No party." She said, reminding her for the umpteenth time. "For aught it matters, it's not my birthday, it's a normal day."

"You can say that as many times as you wish, but I shall still spoil you. Ella, Sarah!" She called towards the kitchen, to the maid and the cook. "Have the cake brought out, please."

"It's nine-thirty." She yawned. Oh, she would sneak away upstairs, lock her room, and then sleep till evening. It'd be the best birthday, then. "Who cuts a cake now?"

"It's Rainsford tradition, to have two cakes. A smaller one, at the stroke of midnight on the day- and another one in the evening or night, what have you." Maude said, unable to help a smile. "You were asleep at midnight, which is why we are having it at breakfast."

Actually, Sanya had only been pretending to be asleep.

But that didn't need to be known by anyone but herself. She had heard the chime of the clock strike, signalling the midnight hour, and she had gripped her puppy plushie tight.

It felt bad.
There was no other way to describe it, though she knew a whole wealth of words to describe feeling bad. Everything felt bad, or foreboding, or reminiscent of old pain- and she knew her birthday would be no different. If anything, it would be worse. The feeling wasn't just in her heart, or her bones- it was in every inch of her, as though instead of 70% water, she was made up of 70% of those feelings. The rest of it was probably the urge to buy more books and sleepiness.

She hadn't even looked forward to the day- except for presents. Though she and Maude disagreed often, she actually gave wonderful gifts, and Sanya always loved them. She doubted she would get gifts from anyone else- though it was possible something could arrive by parcel, from Mina and Bonnie. There would be letters from them, at least.

"Thanks." She said, as the cake was brought to her and placed on the table. It was vanilla sponge cake, similar to the ones in school she liked- but larger, around the size of a loaf of bread, and 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SANYA' written in icing along it.

She couldn't help but smile. Her name, the only thing of her own she had- from birth, till now, she had had it. She hadn't given it much regard, back in her world- but now, it was so important.

She looked up at Sarah, who was looking at the cake like it was her child.
"Did- did you bake this?"

She nodded proudly, "I did, ma'am. I've more in the kitchen, too, it'll last this whole month."

"It looks wonderful." She said, because it was what a Princess ought to do and because it was the absolute truth. And it smelled great, too! "Please call me Sanya."
She'd said that to both Ella and Sarah too many times, but they had yet to listen. She really wished they did- especially Sarah, whom she knew had Indian roots. She had found mangoes for her one day. And even Ella always kept mum about her various rebellions, never snitching even though she had full knowledge of all of them.

But they still called her 'ma'am'.

Probably because they didn't want to get sacked by her 'grandmother', who did reinforce the boundaries between the server and the served too often.

Sometimes, she would imagine how Maude would react if she found out her shy, unruly, brown 'granddaughter' had been a Princess when she had truly turned sixteen- that is, when she had been sixteen the first time- and was actually a High Queen.

The imagining usually made her laugh, as she thought of Maude marching into the castle of the British reigning royals, demanding they give her a crown or throne. 

"It does get confusing, calling both of us ma'am." Maude reflected, before smiling at them. They both had been with her for years, and lasted much longer than most of her staff did. "Do as she says, both of you."

Sarah Dewan and Ella Omari looked very surprised, and they shared a look of that sentiment. The old lady had always made it very clear they were staff in this house, and they were to treat the two Rainsford women as befitting their station.

But- perhaps they ought not to have been so surprised, Sarah thought. After all, Mrs. Rainsford had given her work when no one else had, and it had been almost six years that she had been a cook here. Since coming to England from India in the last century, no one in her family had held a job that long- she frequently had to send part of her wages to her family in Duxford. When that happened, the lady would sometimes give her a few pounds extra- she never told her about it, but she somehow knew.

Ella, too, thought similarly. Mrs. Rainsford hadn't just given her work- she had let her stay here, given her shelter. It was almost unheard of. It was as difficult for Black British people to find a place of residence, as it was to find a job, and here the old lady had given her both- without so much the slightest sneer about how coloured folk were untrustworthy, an unfortunately prevalent stereotype.

And they had met each other, because of that. Cherry on top.

They would always be grateful to her, no matter how disdainful and haughty and downright irritating she could be.

Maude turned to Sanya again.
"And you, cut the cake." She scolded- did the silly girl want it to get all cold and crusty? "What in the world are you waiting for? That boy?"

"I don't even know if that boy- I mean, Edmund will be coming over." Sanya snorted, grabbing the knife and pulling the cake plate closer.

"Why ever not?" Grandmother Rainsford's brows rose dangerously high. "Is he away?"

"No, he's here."

"Then?" She asked impatiently. "What's he done, child?"

"Nothing. He's done nothing, I've done nothing."
They hadn't even had sex this month, which meant they hadn't made love since last year. The last time had been when they'd been caught out in the rain, a few days after returning from school, and they had had to seek shelter in a lonely tunnel.

He'd lifted her onto a dusty crate, pushing her skirt higher- she had knocked off his hat as she'd fumbled with undoing his trousers- and they'd been kissing all the while, their mouths open and gasping in their frenetic lust and wanton desire for each other. She had pulled off her cloak- er, coat, because she liked to not be overly burdened with clothing during sex- and then he had pushed himself inside her, her hands in his hair and his around her waist. She'd been up on the crate and he'd stood in front of her for hours, even after both of them had come, shaking and sweating and so satisfied. The world had been nearly blue, because of the rain outside, but they'd had eyes only for each other. Their fingers occasionally straying to the front of one's trousers or inside the other's blouse, they had kept kissing- and then they had fucked again after some time, and then once more, both moaning so loud and so often and so wildly that it was only the rain's pitter-patter that kept them from being discovered. They'd stayed there almost until nightfall, clawing at each other and grasping each other tight and calling the other's names as they reached the zenith of pleasure over and over again.

After that- it had been just chaste pecks and flimsy hand-holds, and they'd grown more chaste as well as even flimsier ever since the day at Brighton.
"Doesn't matter."

But Maude pressed on, "Clearly it matters, if the boy who's been professing his love very ardently for you for two years is skipping out on your sixteenth birthday."

"Grandmother, it's nothing." She kept saying that word, though she doubted whatever was happening was in any way nothing.
But she didn't know what else to say. She couldn't even explain to herself, in her mind- how was she supposed to explain to someone else, and that, too, verbally? She'd never been good at being verbal.
"Just a little- a- just a spat."

"About what?"

"Something personal." She said, her cheeks beginning to flame. Oh, she hated talking about stuff like this with people! "Can you stop-"

"If he's tried to pressurise you into anything, I shall call Scotland Yard myself-"

"What? No! He didn't- he would never." She shook her head, flabbergasted that her 'grandmother' could have thought of such a thing about Edmund- but she understood where she was coming from. If Selene or Seraphina had acted this shifty and muted about their relationships, she would have feared the worst. She had reasons to fear the worst, after all. "It's nothing, Grandmother. Drop it."

"Hmph." Maude scoffed. "Perhaps I'll ask that boy about it when I see him."

Sanya didn't think Edmund had any more idea about what was going on with them than she did, so she shrugged, "Go for it."
It would be hilarious for Maude to randomly accost Edmund on the street. He would be so taken aback and confused, and then utterly embarrassed.

"Cake, m- Sanya!" Ella, the maid, reminded her- Sarah had worked so hard on it, and it was being entirely ignored. "You want to have it when it's nice and warm."

Yes, true. Much better than cold and hard. Did cake get hard- crusty, as Maude said? She didn't know, she hardly knew anything about cooking. She would try to take Sarah along, when she had her own house.

She was just about to stab the cake- wait, no, one wasn't supposed to stab birthday cakes, they were supposed to slice them- when she remembered what happened during the cake-cutting.

Sanya looked at her grandmother, and then the maid and the cook.
"Please don't sing."

They sang.
--

The bell rang.

Sanya looked away from the television, startled and panicked.

She hadn't been watching anything on the miraculous contraption- because there was nothing to watch, on account of everything being suspended because of the war- but she had been listening to the static.

It annoyed her greatly, the infuriating sound of the static, but she refused to get up and switch it off. It was a bit masochistic, the act, if she was being honest, and she couldn't even find a reason for why she was forcing herself to listen to the static.

But she was listening to it, and had been for half an hour. If there was anyone else in the house, they would've destroyed the television and then smacked her.

The bell rang again, and Sanya growled- she hated answering doors! But she got up from the sofa, switching off the television- oh, sweet silence- and stalked to the door.

"Oh." Sanya said, as she opened the door to see Edmund. There was no giddiness or bursts of wanting to throw her arms around him. "Hi."

"Hello." He said, oddly formal. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you." She said. They were quiet, again, and she asked haltingly, "D-do you want to come in? It's just me- Maude's gone with Ella and Sarah to get my evening birthday cake."

"Er, sure." If he was being entirely honest, he had half-expected her to say 'thank you' and then close the door in his face.
He stepped in, closing the door behind him, instead of in his face.
"Hey- here." He held out a small package to his- to Sanya. He didn't know how long this cordiality would last- better sooner than never. "For you."

"Thanks." She took it from him, before beckoning him up the stairs. "Let's go to my room, alright?"
It was one of the few places in this world that she felt comforted- soothed. And her bed was very soft, and had many stuffed animals on it.

"Alright- er, it's warm inside." He said- quite different from the biting January cold outside- before nodding to the coat-stand beside the door. "Can I keep my coat here?"

"Sure." She answered, but didn't look at him- she was already halfway up the stairs.
She wished he hadn't come at all. She could've pretended better, then, that this was like her last sixteenth birthday- with family, at a place she felt comfortable in, and with nothing and no one else.

"Your wallpaper's changed." Edmund remarked as he entered Sanya's bedroom- it had used to be plain before, but now it had flowers painted all over it, and he couldn't be sure, but even the colour of the walls had changed. "Are those cherry blossoms?"

"Hell if I know. I know it's not tulips or roses." She shrugged, naming her favourite flowers. Perhaps Edmund had forgotten. "Maude had it done when I was at school. Probably because I scribbled on the walls so much, the old wallpaper looked like a graffiti-board."
The E+S was still there, though, and she had laughed in relief when she'd seen it- and then she had mentally thanked her 'grandmother'. It seemed Maude was a romantic- deep, deep, deep down.

He'd been looking at her bookcase, for The Book of One Thousand and One Nights she had said he could borrow- but at that, he looked at her, "You drew on the walls?"

"Yes. Why?" She could feel herself bristle. He was wearing bloody suspenders, which he knew full well she really liked, but she was still getting angry! What in the world? "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, not at all." He shook his head, staying calm. "I was just surprised that I hadn't noticed."
He suddenly smiled. He'd been practicing.
"Then again, I was always rather distracted when I was in here."

Sanya blushed, the anger starting to fade, "Yes, I suppose you were. Nice suspenders, by the way."

"Just an extra birthday treat for you." He smirked- suspenders for her were rather like the knee-socks for him?- before nodding to her bed. "In addition to the actual gift, of course."

She picked up the little package again- she'd dropped it on the bed as she'd entered, wondering whether it would hurt him if she didn't open it immediately.
Then she'd been shocked at her own thoughts. Why would she have such a thought? She didn't want to hurt him. She never wanted to hurt him.
"You didn't have to get me anything."

"I wanted to. I mean, look at your last birthday present for me." He held up his hand, and the silver band shone off his ring finger. He'd slid it on before leaving home- not so much because he'd wanted to, though he had, but to lower chances of whatever argument they were likely to have. "I hope you love your gift as much as I loved this."

He'd worn his ring. He was actually wearing his ring?

Was all this paranoia and fear only in her head, then? Were they actually completely alright?

"It's a bookmark-box, isn't it? That's what you'd said." Her words drifted into mutters, as she fiddled with the package- there was so much cello-tape, he'd definitely wrapped it himself.
Edmund was freakishly neat with paperwork and letters, but he was not very gifted at gift-wrapping.

Finally, she wrenched the wrapping paper off, and inside it, was a flat, rectangular box, barely the size of her palm.

That was definitely not a bookmark-box, and she peeled off the lid, her curiosity rising high.

"Oh." She whispered, staring at it. "This is not a bookmark-box."

"No, it is not." Edmund said, moving closer to her.
Oh, he hoped that was alright- they had not spoken, per se, about whatever was happening, and he had no idea about how to do anything in their relationship anymore. She had always liked his closeness- but she had changed, so how could he be sure if she still did?
"I saw it last summer, when Lucy dragged me off to do some shopping- and all I could think of was you, Moonshine."

"It's perfect."
It was a necklace, with a crescent moon pendant hanging off the silvery-golden chain. It was small and so sparkly, and Sanya felt like she couldn't breathe. It reminded her of the moonshine ring he'd given to her on her seventeenth- the one she had later braided into her horse's hair.
"I love it so much- darling, I really do."

"You do?" Good, one of his hopes had not been all for naught. He wanted to sigh in relief. "I'm so glad."
And not just because the necklace had cost a pretty penny. He'd wanted to make her happy, even for a moment- and he had.

She looked up from the necklace and to him- both so beautiful, but she knew which she would choose to stare at for eternity, if she was given such an ultimatum.
"Will you put it on me?"

He nodded, taking the necklace from her.
"This clasp is bloody difficult." Edmund grumbled, as his fingers kept slipping off and poking the back of Sanya's neck. How did people do it on their own, with no one to help? "Never take it off, I absolutely won't be able to put this on ag- aha!"

The clasp had been clasped, the chain shining against Sanya's golden-brown skin, and he stepped back, triumphant.

Sanya crossed the room to her mirror- her reflection looked drained and unattractive, which she was, but her focus was on the necklace, not looking at herself.

She'd done that on her first sixteenth birthday- scrutinising herself. She'd worn a violet lehenga, with patterns of golden birds on it, and she'd stared at her reflection in the mirror in her bedchambers.

Fat. Hateful nose. Bitten lips. Pimples. Dark circles.
She'd thought that, then, pointing out each of her numerous flaws. But she had realised she couldn't go down in a foul, self-deprecating mood, and she had forced herself to look at her eyebrows, and her silken hair, and the colour of her lehenga. She'd managed a smile, and had gone to her birthday dinner.

It was a sudden memory, one she hadn't thought of in years- but it was such a punch to the heart. Her dislike of her looks seemed perennial, no matter which world, no matter how she changed.

But it was the necklace she was looking at, she reminded herself.

"Beautiful." She whispered, fingering the little moon. And now she couldn't help but remember Selene- her little girl, named after the Moon.
Sel had always preferred the stars, though.
She walked away from her vanity, and to Edmund again, smiling. Should she kiss him? If it had been last year, she would certainly have kissed him.
"Thank you, husband."

"You don't have to keep thanking me." He said bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. She sounded so much like she had when they had first married, with the same quiet restraint and forced politeness. Even when she had been drowsy, she had held back from being genuine. "The necklace was made for you, as far as I'm concerned. I only just put it where it belongs."

"That's what everyone always said about us, you know." She said softly. "After you disappeared- whenever someone came up to me to offer condolences, they said something to that effect. That we belong with each other."
How terrible, to lose the love of your life, the one you belong with- and at so young an age.
"I never corrected them, because they were right, weren't they?"

"That we belong together?" He forced his voice to remain steady. Couldn't they have stayed without speaking of togetherness, just once? That topic of conversation kept leading them to feeling like shit recently. "Of course they were, my darling. We may not have been destined or fated, or any of that- but after we married, as we fell in love, we became meant to be."

"A fairytale."

"Sorry?"

Sanya was smiling a little, as she looked at him. She knew there was adoration in her gaze, and she was glad, because that was how she felt- full of love for the love of her life.
"We are a fairytale."

"A fairytale?" Edmund looked pleased, and there was humour in his tone- he wished this moment lasted forever. He felt- happy? "That's a lot of pressure to put on two incredibly romantically inept individuals."

"That's the most apt description of us I've ever heard." She laughed. "Our babies called us that, though. A fairytale."

He smiled again- their babies. Aslan, how he loved them. As the Just King, he had- and as Edmund Pevensie, he did. He forever would.
The reason he still remembered how he felt- why all of his siblings remembered how they had felt in Narnia- was because of Sanya. He didn't know how or why- or even why he was saying it- but it was. He just knew it was.
"Our babies had very high expectations, then."

"They were romantics, what can I say? Even callous little Selene- she wanted to believe in love."
She thought they had got it from her forever daydreaming self- but then, her husband was quite enamoured and tender as well, with her.
And he was definitely better at romance than she was. Her ideas for dates were woefully bleak, compared to stargazing on the castle rooftop, and the like.
"I think they got it from both of us."

"It's Sel's birthday soon." He said, rather quietly. He wasn't smiling anymore. How could he, remembering their lost children? "The thirty-first."

"I know." She had already decided to bury flowers in the park, next to one of the trees. She had had a mad urge to take a train back to St. Finbar's and bury the flowers there, like always- but she knew the chances of that happening were less than likely. "Eleven days."

"Do you know when she died?"
He didn't even ask it to know about how Sanya's life had been. He asked it to know if his daughter had had a long, happy life. She deserved it- Jem did- Seraphina did.

When she was twenty-four, after her mother had abandoned her and doomed everything.
Sanya shook her head, "I never saw them, after I went into Neráida."

It was so believable, her lie. Edmund even wanted to believe it.
"Truly?"

Her heart hurt again, even worse.
She wanted to tell him- but how could she? How could she tell him that she had seen them after she had gone into Neráida- but not them alive? That she had been forced to see their corpses? That she had wept as she had seen their dead, broken, burnt bodies? How could she cause him that pain- especially knowing that she was the cause of it all?
"I would never lie to you."

And there the moment was ended.
"Me neither." He said- but he was lying, too, wasn't he? If he truly never lied to her, he would talk to her about her lies and about how everything felt like it was breaking, and their love was no longer the everything it had been.
It was her philosophy- an eye for an eye. A lie for a lie.
"Good birthday so far?"

"More or less." She nodded, her fingers on the pendant again.
Perhaps her paranoia was not for naught, and she was right that Edmund did not love her anymore- but she would always be his Moonshine. No matter what.

Seeing that Sanya no longer knew what to say, Edmund asked, "Do you want to go for a walk?"
Even if the moment was over- even though it was snowing- even if she lied to him- it was her birthday, and he loved her.
"We could go to the park-"

"Did you know my parents had a playground made for me in our spring palace?" She said suddenly, looking at him. "You've seen it-" they'd gone there on their honeymoon, "next to the lotus pond."

"Yes- I remember." It was the only playground he'd seen in Narnia- well, Rihaaya. He hadn't thought playgrounds existed there. "I thought it'd been there for centuries."

"No, they had it made for me. I don't remember them making it, of course- but I think it was for my third birthday."

There had been a swing hanging from a rose-trellis- and a slide, on the sides of which were painted animals hugging- and there had been more, but she couldn't remember.
Sanya remembered laughing, as she swung on the rose-swing- she remembered hugging her brother, as they slid down the slide- but not much else.
"I don't know why I'm saying that right now- I just- I-"
I wish they were here.

"It's alright." He said softly. "I understand- you miss them."

"More than anything."
As much as I missed you. As much as I'm starting to miss you again.
"You're lucky you have your family with you."

Not all of them.
But he only grimace-smiled, "Yes, I suppose I am."

"A walk doesn't sound bad." Sanya said, finally answering his question. Perhaps they could get ice-cream- and play on the swings- and kiss, if Ed wanted it- and it would take her mind off everything bad. She would be alright- she was alright. "Is it snowing?"

He nodded, "It's settled a fair bit, but yes."

"Great." It would be cold, but she liked to see the snowfall. "I'll be a moment, you can go down- I just need to get my coat. Don't leave without me."

"No." Edmund said, wondering if it was a lie. "I would never."
--

Sanya locked the door of her room, and pressed her back to the door.
Her heart beat wildly, much faster than the chimes of the clock on her desk.

She wasn't running away from anything, as might have been the case in Neráida. No, she wasn't hiding- from socialising or otherwise, as she would have in Rihaaya.
She just needed to be alone. She badly, desperately, excruciatingly needed to be alone.

I'm alright, she had whispered to herself the entire day. From on the walk with Edmund, to when she felt a headache budding in her temple, to during the small get-together downstairs, with the Pevensies and she- it had been another of her mantras, spoken over and over and over like a dua.

It wasn't quite as effective as 'Queens don't cry', but it had helped her survive the day.

But, eventually, as the ache in her head worsened- the mantra had stopped working, and she had needed to get away. She had needed to be away from people, even if the people loved her, and she loved them- she had to be alone.

Sanya sank to the floor, holding her head in her hands.

She wasn't alright, and she stifled a sob. She wanted to die. Good Heavens, she wanted to die.

It would be preferable to the pain her heart was constantly in- and her soul, too, if anything existed of it.

Nothing had even happened. It had been alright, the day. Edmund had been distant, as was becoming the norm- but still so wonderful, and sweet as always, too, and they'd held hands and kissed as they had wandered around Finchley.

The Pevensies, too, were as they always were- gracious, pleasant, intent on spreading laughter, and their gifts- a framed photograph of her from Lucy, a collection of Oscar Wilde's short stories from Susan, and a book-shaped charm from Peter- had been great.
Even Maude had not made any comments, or said anything that would have angered her- on the contrary, she'd been almost fun.

The cake- Black Forest, because Maude had remembered- had been delicious, too, and she'd even enjoyed the medley of Happy Birthday.

But Sanya was spiralling all the same.

It was the worst thing- feeling like this, while having a headache- but even worse was not knowing why. Why? Why was she like this? Why was she like this?

She had been fine, for the past two years. Not the picture of health and well-being and sanity, perhaps- but she had been fine.
She- she had adapted, as well as she could have. She had been with Edmund again, after practically forever.
She could eat properly, and her knee didn't click much.
She had made friends- the first friends of her life, barring Lucy.
She'd even had truly happy days, which she'd thought she would never have again.

But now- now all she could feel was bad.
All she could think of- all she could remember was what she didn't have, what she'd gone through, what she'd walked away from, what she'd lost.

She rose suddenly, going over to her desk.

Next to the book of Arabic poems, there was a pencil-box, and next to that, there were a pair of scissors. They were plain scissors, bought at a stationery shop before lower fourth was to begin, because if she couldn't have a sword or a dagger or a knife, she would bloody well keep scissors.

Her hands were quite steady, as she picked up the scissors, clenching her fist around the blades.
She felt sharp pain flare through her palm, and she squeezed it tighter.

She sat down on the floor again, holding the scissors in her unharmed hand and looking at the blood on the other. It spilled out of the uneven cut, and it was so bright. It didn't seem right, that the sting of pain came with something so luminous.

She turned her eyes to the scissors.
In a different world, a different prison, a different grief, she had had a shard of glass.

She had thought of how easy it would be. Just to slide it over the thin skin of her wrists, and it would all end.
She'd even brought the piece of glass to her wrist, pressing it against her skin. She'd bled, too. It really had been too easy, and she had been so ready.

She had just wanted it to end.

Like she did now.

"Born on the twentieth of January." Sanya murmured, grazing the twin blades of the scissors against her wrist- she could see the veins, faintly green and so very vulnerable- as though using them to draw mehendi on her skin. "Died on the twentieth of January."
A poetic date to die.

They'd find her in the morning, she supposed, continuing to trace the scissor-blade over her wrist- they were slicing through her skin, but they weren't deep cuts, and far from fatal.

She wondered if she'd have a clumsy moment and her hand would slip.

They'd find her body. Ella would, most likely- Maude would no doubt send her to check why she wasn't coming down. Ella would scream- cry, if she was emotional- and tell Maude. She didn't know how her 'grandmother' would react, but she thought perhaps she'd be sad.

Then the news would spread around Finchley- and rumours. The Rainsfords' adopted child, taking her own life.

Would Maude tell Edmund, or would he hear it from the rumours?
And how would he feel?
Like she had, when Orieus had told her that Edmund was gone, perhaps forever? Would he feel as much grief as she had? Would he go to hell and back to bring her back to life, like she had to find him- would he the Orpheus to her Eurydice, just as she'd been the Psyche to his Eros?
Or would he accept it, and move on, like she never had been able to?

According to the faith that had been followed by her family, killing oneself was a sin. If there was an afterlife, as that faith stated, and if her family- her dead parents, her dead grandparents, her dead brother, her dead children, her dead horse- was in the good part of it, she wouldn't make it there.
That was fine. She'd never cared for faith, anyway.

At least everything would be over, she thought, and pressed the silver-grey blade harder against her golden-brown skin. Tiny droplets of red spurted out, a bracelet of blood over her wrist, and she felt a little ache.

She'd no longer be alive, which meant no more pain.

"No more pain." She said, before dropping the scissors and starting to cry.

There was so much pain. There had been nothing but pain for so long.

Tears came, over and over again, no matter how much she violently rubbed at her eyes- and that made her head hurt more, and she cried harder-

"Queens don't cry." Sanya whimpered, rocking herself back and forth. Her head hurt so much, she would start banging it on the wall. At least in the tower in Neráida, she'd never had headaches. The poppy air had kept her from as much physical pain as it could. "Queens don't fucking cry, they don't-"

She was hardly even a Queen anymore, though.

Her name here wasn't Reza- her country was destroyed- who knew where her crown had been buried or lost- and her family, the reason why she'd been born royal and whom she loved so much, was gone. Had her leaving been the cause for the end of the Reza dynasty, too? Sameer had had a child, but she had been High Queen. She had killed her children, her babies, the future of Rihaaya and Narnia.

"My children are dead, buried, and dust-" and she had seen their corpses, and been wrenched away before she could have held them, "all because of me."

Because she'd been weak then, too. Too weak to realise she was being manipulated- influenced- controlled.

Damaged doll.

And she wasn't even pretty as dolls were.

She wished she was a child. She wished she was a small child, playing with leaves and roots and old cutlery in the garden of the Azraq palace, making 'potions' and 'brews' as she'd read in storybooks. She wished she was the little girl who had shrieked in pure delight when Moonlight had been presented to her- the little girl who'd jabbered unendingly to her mother in carriage rides- the little girl in whose life the only pain was when she accidentally knocked into walls or hit herself with a book.

She wanted to go to the playground in the spring palace- she wanted to see the lotus float on the clear green surface of the pond.

She wanted to go home, she wanted to go home, she wanted her family.

"Amma, Abba." She cried softly. Could they hear her, wherever they were? Were they stars in the sky, or were they looking down at her from Jannat? "I miss you."
And Sameer- oh, her little baby Bhai. Her heart contorted even more with pain. She hadn't even told him goodbye.

Why hadn't Rhiannon killed her? She should have killed her. Whether while they had sex, or after, in the meadow- it didn't matter, as long as she did it.
She didn't even care anymore that that would have meant she would not have found Edmund- at least it would mean that there would be no more of this.

Instead, she'd cursed her- not literally, but it may as well have been- with unending pain.

Torment will never leave your side.

Sanya looked down at herself- at the necklace. She bit her lip, and touched the little moon again- her touch left bloody spots on the silver, and she immediately wrenched her hand away.

She had thought finding Edmund would have helped. She had thought being with Edmund would have healed her. It had, for some time. It truly had- there was no one who made her feel as light and happy and radiant like Edmund did, and there never would be.
But it wasn't enough anymore. Was it? Was he?

He was still all she had. He was still everything. She could never let him go. Even if it was the best thing for both of them, she couldn't. She was too weak to do it, she wasn't brave enough.

She looked at the scissors again, lying on the floor, her blood staining the steel of it. She didn't even have the courage to kill herself. Too weak for that, too.

Sanya wished she was the little girl who had enjoyed birthdays.

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-✧･: °*✧*°:･✧-
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Ritu Arya as Sarah Dewan

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Gugu Mbatha-Raw as Ella Omari

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(The fact that you are so incredibly romantically inept just adds to the appeal of the fairytale, ngl)
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(How they have changed and grown- yet, somehow, they were in a better place in the first slide, at least when compared to the bottom slide)
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(Pain.)

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Well, we got the 'we are a fairytale' scene AND WE GOT THE ~ICONIC~ EDMANYA NECKLACE!!! Back while writing 'Alliance', I had thought that the moonshine ring that E gives to S on her seventeenth birthday (the one she later braided into Moonlight's hair) was the necklace of this version of Edmanya, but four books in, my previous thought was wrong. Every version of Edmanya will have a Edmund-giving-Sanya-a-crescent-Moon-necklace, NO MATTER WHAT.

Edmund is trying, he really is- and Sanya is, too. We'll see soon if it's in vain or not.
But they really are a fairytale. Sera, Sel, and Jem agree with me, so I cannot be argued against.

But- we also got something really, really bad.

Sanya tried something like this at the beginning of 'Moonshine'- but it was different, then. She was absolutely and entirely alone. She had been imprisoned for so long. And her attempt was stopped before it really began.

Now- she has the person she'd suffered the imprisonment for. She has freedom now and the lack of duty she had always craved internally.
But she still wants to kill herself. She goes pretty far with it, too, this time.

And, ironically enough, it's not someone else that stops her- it's her own grief. Her own sorrow. She has to feel it, and to feel it, she has to force herself be alive.

I'm sure that part must have been difficult to read- especially if you, like me, eye the sharp cutlery every time you pass it- so if anyone wants to talk, I'm here.

The sad part is, she won't tell anyone about it. She won't ask for help, or support. She'll just keep on wanting to hurt herself, and just stopping at the last possible moment. She'll keep missing her family and her home so painfully much, but she won't tell anyone.

Birthdays are really hard. Maybe I used to like them once, but now they're just tedious. Only thing I like about it now are the presents, and I don't really get any anymore.

But to talk about Sanya and birthdays- she's a child and not a child. She's at an age where birthdays are meant to be so much fun and so much good chaos, but she can't have that, because she's almost incapable of that now.
And birthdays remind her of her childhood- her first childhood- and, consequently, of her family. Of course she's sad.
Add all the additional shit- new world, distant Edmund, suffocating silence, miscarriage, racism- no wonder she reached for the scissors.

'Shut up. Shut up. Sleep. Shut up. Shitty sunlight.' is very much mood, though.

And Peter did give Sanya a present, though he said he wouldn't- what a great honorary brother, considering her actual brother is dead.

I also really love the "We may not have been destined or fated, or any of that- but after we married, as we fell in love, we became meant to be."
It implies that, though the Fates had not made them to be soulmates- they had made themselves that. Their love was so deep and so true, it transcended their bond to a soulmate bond.

But a soulmate can't be everything, as both Sanya and Edmund are finding out.

Also, today is the eighteenth of November. Three years ago today, I made a gif of Edmund and a fc (who was not Naomi Scott) and from there, was born the idea of 'Alliance'.
Three years, and it's- been crazy. Thank you to everyone who has read and supported and enjoyed, it means the world.

Okay, it actually was Naomi Scott in that gif, not any other faceclaim, it was her in Aladdin, I just forgot. Anyway, yes, birth of 'Alliance'!

And, yeah, have a very depressing chapter on Alliance's birthday.

And, as always- I humbly and unashamedly ask you to vote on the chapters, and perhaps comment, too :)