How little one feels
For the waltzes and reels
Of our Dance-loving friends at a Ball!
-

22nd March, 1944
6:27 P.M.
Boston, United States of America

Dear Diary,

I know I've barely written in you. I mean, I flipped through the first and last few pages and every entry is about being sick or wanting to die or missing Edmund or hating every single thing in the world.
Not anymore, though.

I mean, I still want to die and I miss Edmund inhumanly much and I hate every single thing in the world, but since we reached Boston today morning, I'm no longer sick and I actually have things to write about, apart from heartbreak. My back hurts A LOT, but does that count as being sick? It always aches.

Oh, by the way, I got round to reading that book of Arabic poems on the last day on the ship. Honestly, the only poem I actually liked was 'Layla and Majnun'- mainly because I've been both Layla, hindered by her noble status in society, and Majnun, whose love ends up making him obsessive and lonely and wild. Also, Layla/Leila/Lailah/Laila (there are many versions of it) is a beautiful name.

You're probably not going to read it, so I'll tell you the ending- Layla dies of heartbreak in the end, and Majnun dies near her grave. There are three verses of poetry, written by him to her, carved on a rock next to the grave.

I don't like poems.

Anyway, back to what's been happening.
There was a lot of fervent checking after we disembarked from the ship, at the Immigration something. They spent minutes on all the identification- they said it was to check for Nazis, but they spent a lot of time looking at my papers, and I certainly don't look like a Nazi. It's fucking sickening they thought of comparing me to a NAZI.
Anyway, I just spent most of that check-up thinking of the novel ideas I had on the journey- I'll have to keep that in my head, some of them are rather interesting.

Susan (my sister-in-law- it's a long story- well, not long as much as f̶a̶n̶t̶a̶s̶t̶i̶c̶ unbelievable, if you happen to be someone who doesn't believe in different worlds, Diary) kept going into restrained raptures over everything. I don't see why. Apart from different accents, America doesn't seem very different from England. It has tall buildings and people wear hats and there are a lot of c̶a̶r̶r̶i̶a̶g̶e̶s̶ cars.

Oh, there is another difference- more women wear trousers here! I'm definitely buying a bunch of trousers whenever Su inevitably drags me out to shop. I wish they sold kurtas here. I miss wearing them.

To be honest, only thing these dresses and skirts are good for is easy access when you want a quick moment with your husband (same not-long-but-unbelievable story as for Susan) to get up to stuff.
(I meant sex and fingering and all that, if you didn't get it.)

But that's obviously not going to happen, because Edmund (you already know Edmund, I've mentioned him in the few times I've written in you), broke up with me.
HA. HA. HA. NO SEX FOR YOU, SANYA. NO LOVE FOR YOU, SANYA.
ONLY LONELINESS AND GUILT.
And a photograph of the love of your life, who broke your heart, stuffed into a shell of the suitcase.
And touching yourself at night with the door locked.

But I can't even do that now, because in this- I think it's called an apartment, Mr. Pevensie rented it or the university rented it for him, or something (Mr. George Pevensie would be my father-in-law)- place, I share a room with Susan! I can't do anything when she's right THERE.

At least it has double, separate beds. I couldn't share a BED with Su. The only person I've ever felt comfortable sharing a bed with is Edmund- and that took a good few weeks and a lot of excellent sex to make happen. I mean, I didn't even like to share a bed with Sameer when I was younger and he wanted to sleep in the same room as his Aanya.
(Sameer is my little brother- he called me Aanya, for he was unable to pronounce the 'S' as a toddler- and he's dead. My parents are dead, too. So are my children! Basically everyone I loved and cared for is dead. Except Edmund and his siblings, and Bonnie and perhaps Mina, too, I haven't decided. I've lost every single person important to me that wasn't born in THIS world.
Wait, I had a miscarriage- last year, in October, which isn't a long OR unbelievable story- which is a loss, too. And the fetus would've been born in this world...
Exceptions to every rule, as they say.)

Anyway, coming back to Boston.
Music plays a lot here. They play on the street and in pubs- are they called pubs here?- and all that. Most of the musicians who play on the street are black- African-American, I think they prefer- and they play jazz. I think I have the right word, but I'm not sure. What an odd name, na?
The musicians play really well, but I don't think jazz is a genre I like.

Also, I think I spotted a bookshop nearby, when we were driving to this apartment- I'll go in there when I can, see how the collection is- I wonder if there will be different books than in England-

Oh, for the love of- Susan just walked in and she's talking about some tea party her mother (Helen Pevensie, my mother-in-law) has been invited to. ALREADY? We haven't even been here a DAY.
This stupid visit to this stupid place better not be just going from one party to event to dance to get-together, because that's absolutely not why I'm here.
I'm here to a̶v̶o̶i̶d̶ m̶y̶ h̶u̶s̶b̶a̶n̶d̶ n̶u̶r̶s̶e̶ m̶y̶ b̶r̶o̶k̶e̶n̶ h̶e̶a̶r̶t̶ t̶h̶r̶o̶w̶ m̶y̶s̶e̶l̶f̶ i̶n̶t̶o̶ t̶h̶e̶ r̶i̶v̶e̶r̶ write in my diary and read new books.

There's also some film palace- I think the newspaper described it as a movie palace. It's not an actual palace- unfortunately- it's supposed to be an enormous cinema hall. I want to go there. But I don't know if I will- I do have money, but going alone...
Well, I'll ask Susan about it, when she stops chattering about this tea party. I don't see why she's so excited- there's tea at home, and she hasn't been one for socialising in this world- much different than she was in Narnia (again, not long but certainly unbelievable story).

I should see the sights and get out of the room- I can't believe I'm saying this, ME- as I am also here to travel, after all.

I'll write to Lucy and Bonnie tonight, before sleeping- not Mina, since she's still in Portugal, and I'm not sure where exactly. I'm wondering whether to put in my letter to Bon about how Susan asks about her often- I should, right?
And I'll write to Maude tomorrow, when I can be somewhat formal.
There's not much to write, but I'm starting to miss them- and I want to know how letters work here. I don't know how long it'll take the letters to reach, though.

It's warmer here, than in Finchley. I like that, but I'm going to miss the rain.

Love, Sanya

•

23rd March, 1944
9:44 A.M.
Cambridge, England

Dear Susan,

How's America!? Can you believe you've been there for one day at the time of this writing, but by the time you'll get this, you'll be there over two weeks? I hope time flies- I say that because it's said that time flies when you're having fun. I do want you to have fun. How is Boston? It's not as bleak as England, hopefully. Are you enjoying? And Mum and Dad and Sanya? Are they well and happy? Are you?

Things are alright here. I'm not being optimistic- well, not VERY- because it actually is. Cambridge is really nice, and it's fun to walk around here and see all the new places. You know how I always liked to explore, even before Narnia, and new places give so much scope for that!

Uncle Harold doesn't bother us at all, and the only time Aunt Alberta does is when she needs either Ed's or my help in chores. Eustace, predictably, is never needed. And did you know he calls his parents by name!? Frightfully odd, don't you think? But I suppose that's part of their 'modern' ideology. Is ideology the right word? I think so, but who can be sure.

Oh, and the Scrubbs are vegetarian, you know- it's fine so far, for both Ed and I, but I'm rather sure we'll start missing meat really soon. No chance of sending over some of that fried chicken America's famous for, I suppose?
(I know that last sounded like Ed, and that's because he’s the one who was talking about that yesterday. I think he misses meat more than he cares to admit.)

There are always so many couples loitering around the marketplace, and they're so very lovey-dovey. I have a worry that Ed's going to snap one day and try to throttle each and every single one of them.
I hope he doesn't. The couples are adorable- and they look very in love.

Speaking of Edmund- I think he is going to try to call you. I'm not even sure if that's possible- but he'll certainly try.

Eustace came in my room and spoke a lot, as he usually does, most of it not very nice- but he did mention something about Edmund taking over the paper rounds for this neighbourhood. I had no idea about that, and I asked him- Ed, I mean- and he looked very shifty and said something about wanting to have some money of his own, and it was only temporary, for a couple of weeks.
That made sense, but he has to wake up at half past six to deliver the newspapers- and the only reason he'd do THAT is for Sanya. He told me he really misses her. You could tell her that? I'm sure she'd like to know that.

He won't write any letters to her, though. I suggested it to him, and he just shook his head.
I think he's afraid she won't answer.

I hope Sanya's alright.
I hope you are, too.

I meant what I said- have fun, Su. FUN. I know America isn't Narnia, and the parties there are not the Balls we had- but I want you to enjoy yourself. Not sit in a corner by yourself, forcing all your radiance to dull.

Peter calls almost every day. Did you know Macready used to cry over her roses? Fancy that, and we all thought she was emotionless, except for anger!

He seems to be having a good time there- not as fun as roaming around in America, he said, but certainly good for his future. He said he applied to Cambridge again- and that he's sent you a letter last week. It should reach before mine- or perhaps it'll reach at the same time, and you'll have two letters from your beloved siblings to read.

I should go now- need to get groceries. Aunt Alberta comes with me sometimes- I wish she didn't. If not with you or Ed or Pete, I'd rather wander around alone.
That's not true. I just don't want to walk with her.
Tell Mum and Dad I love them, and Sanya, too- goodbye!
All my love and hugs,
Lucy

•

16th March, 1944
11:23 A.M.
The English Countryside

Dear Susan,

It is so strange to write letters. I don't like writing letters. It's too much like paperwork.
But you're my sister, and I feel bad that you'd be sitting there and waiting and waiting and waiting for a letter from your beloved big brother. How could I cause you such anguish?

It will be a short letter, though- the Professor has some appointment with the bank, and I'm going with him, because he's going to some physician after that. He said he hopes that the physician will be willing to give me some tips and advice for a career in medicine.

Can you imagine, me working for a career? Me? I know what you'll say, that I was always hardworking in Narnia- but it's different here. I never thought, after Narnia, I'd care about anything in this world that much anymore.
But I want to be a doctor, you know. I truly do, and I'll work as hard as when I was High King to be it.

Dad must be working hard, too- it's odd how much effort went into giving lectures at universities. I always thought it was an easy job, but- well, not the first time I'd be wrong. (Do not point out the other times I've been wrong. I know there are many.) How's Mum doing? She doesn't do very well in new places, you know- she gets nervous.
But at least she has you, and Dad, too, when he's not at work.
Enough heavy stuff, yeah?

Gone to any parties or events yet? Heard you can't get into any pubs- bars, they're called there- before turning twenty-one. Unfortunate- drinking is very fun, as we both know. But it's you, you'll manage to get your hands on alcohol soon.
Don't give any to Sanya, though- she's unstable enough, without being drunk.
Also, don't tell her I said that. She's liable to come back here the moment she hears and punch me. She punches really hard.

Don't be too uptight there, Su. You're not a Queen, or a big sister, or anything to do with responsibility- well, except being the eldest daughter- so loosen up. Perhaps you can find a̶ p̶r̶e̶t̶t̶y̶ g̶i̶r̶l̶ someone who'll help you loosen up.
Got it? Loosen. Up. Remember how you got used to England last time? All isolation and unsociability? Don't do that again.

Ah, I can imagine your scowl so well, Su.

Don't hit me when you return- well, I know you won't, you'd have missed me too much.

Your beloved big brother,
Peter

•

24th March, 1944
12:24 A.M.
Cambridge, England

D̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶S̶a̶n̶y̶a̶,̶
D̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶M̶o̶o̶n̶s̶h̶i̶n̶e̶,̶
M̶o̶o̶n̶s̶h̶i̶n̶e̶,̶
S̶a̶n̶y̶a̶,̶
D̶a̶r̶l̶i̶n̶g̶
M̶o̶o̶n̶s̶h̶i̶n̶e̶,̶
S̶a̶n̶y̶a̶,̶
M̶y̶ ̶w̶i̶f̶e̶,̶
B̶e̶l̶o̶v̶e̶d̶ ̶M̶o̶o̶n̶s̶h̶i̶n̶e̶
D̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶S̶a̶n̶y̶a̶,̶

I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶,̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶.̶

I̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶l̶e̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶g̶o̶.̶ ̶ ̶

M̶a̶y̶b̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶f̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶g̶o̶o̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶?̶ ̶W̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶?̶

H̶o̶w̶'̶s̶ ̶B̶o̶s̶t̶o̶n̶?̶ ̶I̶ ̶h̶o̶p̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶'̶r̶e̶ ̶e̶n̶j̶o̶y̶i̶n̶g̶.̶
I̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶r̶e̶a̶k̶-̶u̶p̶,̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶s̶i̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶g̶i̶r̶l̶!̶ ̶I̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶a̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶b̶r̶e̶a̶k̶-̶ ̶b̶r̶e̶a̶k̶s̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶T̶E̶M̶P̶O̶R̶A̶R̶Y

I̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶ ̶I̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶c̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶v̶o̶i̶c̶e̶,̶ ̶d̶a̶r̶l̶i̶n̶g̶.̶

W̶e̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶ s̶o̶ u̶n̶h̶e̶a̶l̶t̶h̶y̶. Y̶o̶u̶ a̶r̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ o̶n̶e̶ f̶o̶r̶ m̶e̶, b̶u̶t̶ w̶e̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶ w̶r̶o̶n̶g̶ f̶o̶r̶ e̶a̶c̶h̶ o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ t̶h̶e̶ l̶a̶s̶t̶- I̶ d̶o̶n̶'t̶ e̶v̶e̶n̶ k̶n̶o̶w̶ h̶o̶w̶ l̶o̶n̶g̶.

I̶f̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶r̶e̶p̶l̶y̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶l̶e̶t̶t̶e̶r̶,̶ ̶d̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶l̶i̶e̶.̶ ̶B̶u̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶p̶r̶o̶b̶a̶b̶l̶y̶ ̶w̶i̶l̶l̶.̶

I̶'̶m̶ ̶s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶.

T̶h̶e̶r̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶ ̶e̶n̶l̶i̶s̶t̶m̶e̶n̶t̶ ̶s̶t̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶n̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶m̶a̶r̶k̶e̶t̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶k̶e̶e̶p̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶I̶ ̶g̶o̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶L̶u̶c̶y̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶g̶e̶t̶ ̶g̶r̶o̶c̶e̶r̶i̶e̶s̶.̶ ̶T̶h̶e̶ ̶J̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶K̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶k̶n̶e̶w̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶d̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶'̶v̶e̶ ̶f̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶r̶,̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶h̶e̶?̶

I̶'̶m̶ ̶s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶l̶a̶c̶k̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶l̶e̶t̶t̶e̶r̶s̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶w̶r̶i̶t̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶s̶t̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶d̶o̶n̶'̶t̶.̶

I̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ ̶a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶.̶

B̶l̶o̶o̶d̶y̶ ̶h̶e̶l̶l̶,̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶I̶ ̶d̶o̶i̶n̶g̶

T̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶c̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶s̶e̶l̶f̶,̶ ̶p̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶,̶ ̶M̶o̶o̶n̶s̶h̶i̶n̶e̶.̶ ̶D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶h̶u̶r̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶s̶e̶l̶f̶.̶

A̶l̶w̶a̶y̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶s̶,̶
L̶o̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶E̶d̶m̶u̶n̶d̶ ̶

•

30th March, 1944
Boston, United States of America
4:46 P.M.

Dear Diary,

Helen and I went to the Franklin something Zoo here. The animals were great, but it's really fallen in disrepair- especially compared to the zoo in London.
Anyway, speaking of animals, I got into a fight today. Not with an animal, obviously- but I promise there's an animal link to the story, have patience, Di.

There was a man whacking his case at a dog who was following him- it was such an adorable dog, with those round ears and his fluffy tail wagging- well, all dogs are adorable, right? RIGHT?

But that man didn't think so. The poor dog obviously wanted some petting and he assumed the man would like him- the little thing couldn't understand what he was doing wrong, and he kept going after him, even after being hit.

I was just coming out of the bookshop- they prefer to say bookstore here, I think, but I'll stick to bookshop. I wasn't even looking at the street, I was thinking of Edmund- as usual, like the heartbroken teenage idiot that I am.
But then I glanced ahead and I saw this, and- I swear, Diary, you know how people say when they get angry, they see red?

I saw the fucking rainbow of red colours. I think I saw such red in a dream once.

He was an older man- I don't know how old, but old enough to carry a briefcase- and I literally shoved him back when I reached him. He didn't notice I was a girl, and he swung the briefcase at my head- good, because he shouldn't not fight just because I'm a girl. Women are just as worthy to be fought against.
He tried to apologise, when the suitcase hit my tits- but I shoved him again and I think I shouted something- whether it was in English, or the Rihaayan tongue, I don't know- and he started shouting about 'this crazy bitch' and a few other boys ran up and I started hitting them, too. They hit me, as well.
They stopped when the police showed up- but I wish they hadn't. Yes, I was outnumbered and going to lose- but I was getting some really good jabs and punches in!

Anyway, I didn't get in trouble- the jazz musician the police asked to describe the scene said I did nothing wrong, and the boys didn't want to admit they got beaten up by one girl.

HAHA.

The dog was still there when the crowd left- I had biscuits in my coat pocket, and I fed him, and he followed me all the way till the apartment. I hope he waits downstairs for me again. He reminds me of Laash.

Speaking of laash- that is, a dead body, not the wolf- I have a few bruises and a black eye- nothing too bad. I mean, I have a headache, but I doubt that's because of them. They didn't break anything, I'm pretty sure- and at least they didn't try to touch or rape me.
Bare minimum, huh?

I feel a little bad that I broke the promise to Edmund that I wouldn't fight- but he broke the promise of never leaving me again, so it's alright.

I'll write to Bonnie and Lucy and Maude now- not to Edmund. I have to keep forcing myself to not write to him.
I wish he writes to me. If he even thinks of me. He probably doesn't. Except to be grateful that he's far away from me now.

But before sitting down to write the letters, I should go try to see if I can cover up this black eye with some powder. I DO NOT want Susan, or Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie asking questions.

Bye, bye.
Love, Sanya

•

30th March, 1944
Boston, United States of America
5:38 P.M.

Dear Lucy,

How are you? I know that's a very basic way to start a letter, but I have a really bad headache.
Which is why this letter is so short. It's actually unpardonably short- you can sentence me as you see fit, you deserve a much better l̶e̶t̶e̶t̶e̶r̶ letter.

How's C̶a̶n̶ Cambridge? There's a university there, there must be really good bookshops there, right? H̶a̶s̶ E̶d̶ Have you gone to any?
There must be a lot of new places for you to take photographs of- that's fun, right? I've seen pictures of the place- of Cambridge, and Oxford, too. (Between you and I, I liked Oxford more- there's something almost o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶w̶o̶r̶l̶d̶l̶y̶ magical about the university buildings.) You'll probably be able to take even better pictures.
Susan told me your cousin is a right twat. Well, she didn't use those words exactly- since she's SUSAN- but that was the gist of it. I hope he's not treating you too badly- H̶e̶a̶v̶e̶n̶s̶, h̶o̶p̶e̶ i̶s̶ s̶o̶ s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ - but if he is, just call upon that old warrior Queen spirit, my friend, and he'll be c̶o̶w̶a̶r̶d̶ cowed very soon.

H̶o̶w̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶E̶d̶m̶u̶n̶d̶?̶ ̶P̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶ ̶t̶e̶l̶l̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶I̶'̶m̶ ̶s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶.̶ ̶H̶a̶s̶ ̶E̶d̶m̶u̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶a̶l̶k̶e̶d̶ ̶a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶m̶e̶?̶ ̶I̶s̶ ̶E̶d̶m̶u̶n̶d̶ ̶d̶o̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶e̶l̶l̶?̶ ̶H̶a̶s̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶b̶e̶e̶n̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶s̶a̶d̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶I̶ ̶a̶m̶?̶ ̶W̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶t̶e̶l̶l̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶I̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶m̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶s̶o̶,̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶?̶ ̶T̶h̶a̶n̶k̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶g̶i̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶p̶h̶o̶t̶o̶g̶r̶a̶p̶h̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶E̶d̶m̶u̶n̶d̶,̶ ̶I̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶I̶ ̶s̶l̶e̶e̶p̶

I can't really think of anything else to say, and my headache is getting worse and worse- I'll go look for medicine for that. P̶o̶w̶d̶e̶r̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶h̶e̶l̶p̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶b̶l̶a̶c̶k̶ ̶e̶y̶e̶,̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶w̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶h̶e̶l̶p̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶d̶
There were medicines for that in E̶n̶l̶ England- paracetamol, my love- there should be some here, too!

Oh, and I don't think my first letter has reached you yet, but hopefully it does very soon.
I miss you, Lu.

Your friend,
Sanya

•

14th April, 1944
10:14 A.M.
Boston, England

Dear Peter, Edmund, and Lucy,

I am really very sorry that I could not write to you all individually- I promise, I will the next time, but I just haven't the time today to write three completely different letters! I'll be copying all this on two different letters- one to Professor Kirke's and the other to Cambridge.

The reason I haven't the time today is because there is a luncheon at a Miss Amanda Colefield's, whose friend group I met at a dance last weekend- and then there's a tea party I'm going to with Mum, and then I believe some of Father's colleagues are coming over for supper.
Things aren't usually so busy- it's just today, for some reason. I'm not complaining, though- it's fun to go out and keep busy.

I'll be honest, the first couple days I was very loathe to go out. I did rave on about this one tea Mum and I were invited to the first day to Sanya, but that's because I wanted to entice her into coming- I wanted company there.

Sanya refused to come, as you probably guessed, and then Mum said the tea party was just for 'us older ladies', and so I was stuck in this flat.
And I disliked that. From Peter and Lucy's letters, I garner you both assume that I would like that- since I was all about, to quote Pete's, 'isolation and unsociability' in this world- but I didn't. I wanted to go out dancing, to luncheons and fancy suppers, to parties, to everywhere that this city had to offer.

And I started going the next day. It's surprisingly easy to fit into this society, you know. I'm rather sure Americans hear a British accent and automatically assume the person is a classy sort- but I am a classy sort, so that works out in my favour.

Ah, I've to get ready soon...there's to be a car to pick me up, and I cannot be late.

I've to wrap this up, hence-

Yes, Peter, Father is working hard and Mum is doing well. Truly, things are going very well here, more than I thought they would be. I wish you were here- I think you'd have enjoyed Boston. It's very much a city suited to your personality, I think, and there's so many medical centres.

Yes, Lucy, I am enjoying myself, I promise. I'm actually going out, I'm chatting and gossiping and making- not friends, perhaps, but acquaintances- and it's like being part of society! And there's supposed to be a dance soon, and I am eagerly waiting for that. I haven't danced since Narnia- which seems like forever ago.

No, Edmund, Sanya has not spoken to me about you. She hardly speaks to me at all, she does nothing except look out the window or scribble in her diary. I think she's also gone out to a nearby bookshop a few times, but that's about it. I did get her to come to one of the parties a few days ago- I mean, she sat on the steps outside the whole time, but she did come! I ask her to come every time- but she almost always says no.
I think she's alright.
S̶h̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶ h̶a̶v̶e̶ a̶ b̶l̶a̶c̶k̶ e̶y̶e̶ a̶ f̶e̶w̶ d̶a̶y̶s̶ a̶g̶o̶
As can be.

And I think she sent you two letters, Lu. She apologises that the second one was a bit short.

I must end this letter now- I hope you're all doing well, too- and working hard, in Peter's case! I'm very proud of you, big brother- and you, too, little siblings.
I love you all so, so, so much.

Love,
Your sister,
Susan

•

29th April, 1944
Boston, United States of America
5:24 P.M.

Dear Diary,

There is a dance tonight. I think it's to raise money for some war effort- but I doubt anyone cares about that.
Susan is going. She asked me to come, too, like she does with every other thing she's invited to. She's invited to a lot of things- mostly by boys, college students or army officers, or whatever. I expect her to decline every time, but she never does.
I didn't tell her no, like I have almost every time.

Have you read that short story, Diary, called 'The Yellow Wallpaper'? I read it the week we came here, it was in a collection of short stories I bought.
It's about a woman who's put on rest- forced into it, in fact, after having a child. She's confined to one room, and almost never leaves it. Her husband is the one who does this. She's imaginative, like I am, and he's practical, like Edmund is.

I'm not comparing us- Edmund is nothing like him, he's among the best men I've ever known- but that just occurred to me.

The room has yellow wallpaper- a sickly yellow, not like the yellow my Jem liked- and the longer the woman stays in it, the wallpaper seems to mutate and come alive. She's descending into madness, you see, and she begins to think there's a woman trapped in the wallpaper, just like she's trapped in this room. By the end of the story, she's entirely insane, and believes SHE is the woman in the wallpaper.

In one part of the story, she tried to scrape off the wallpaper to free the woman. I tried to scrape the walls off, tearing my fingernails off, when I was kept in Neráida. How did I not become as mad as her?

Maybe I am that mad- or even more, and it's just not visible? Do you think so? I know we haven't known each other very long, but you're the only one I confide in, Diary. You can diagnose my psyche better than anyone else.

Do you think Edmund thinks I'm crazy? Not just bad- but insane? Do you think he'd still love me, if I was crazy?
W̶e̶l̶l̶, h̶e̶ p̶r̶o̶b̶a̶b̶l̶y̶ d̶o̶e̶s̶n̶'t̶ l̶o̶v̶e̶ m̶e̶ a̶n̶y̶w̶a̶y̶.

At any rate- the madness in me lessens when I am among people, or something outside. It's replaced by anxiety, nervousness, fear of crowds and interaction- usually not any good feelings, but they're better than insanity.

I think I'll go to the dance, and sit in the corner. I'll watch Susan- not that she needs any more eyes on her, she's easily the cynosure of every event. She's been so kind and gentle to me, you know- I know that's her Title, but it's truly aweing. I've turned her down so many times, and asked her to stop talking- very rudely, too- but she hasn't got angry once.

Do you think she noticed the black eye from a couple of weeks ago? Is she being nice out of pity?
Well, whatever the reason, I̶ c̶a̶n̶ s̶e̶e̶ w̶h̶y̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ s̶o̶l̶d̶i̶e̶r̶ f̶e̶l̶l̶ i̶n̶ l̶o̶v̶e̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ h̶e̶r̶ I'm grateful to have her here.

I know I sound really somber, and that's not you- it's me. I'm the model of melancholia today- that's a good phrase, right? I came up with it while brushing my teeth.
If I ever end up writing a novel- seems unlikely, I know- I'd certainly use that phrase.
You know, my handwriting's quite illegible. But it doesn't matter in a diary. I don't have to strike off words and rewrite them again like in letters- my writing may look like scrawls and ants, but at least there's no cuts and all that.

I dreamed last night. It was about Edmund. I don't remember anything else, but I remember his eyes- and the stars and constellations on his skin. It'll be so long till I see that again. See him.

It's fucking pathetic I want to see him again, isn't it?

Susan said that Lucy wrote to her that Edmund told her that he misses me- but I think she's just trying to make me feel better. If he'd have missed me, he wouldn't have encouraged me to come to America- and he DEFINITELY WOULDN'T HAVE BROKEN UP WITH ME. HE BROKE UP WITH ME. HE WANTED TO LEAVE ME. HE LEFT ME.
Again.

But I still love him. I think I always will.

I sound like a broken record.

Maybe going out will take my mind off not just my madness- but off that love, as well. The love causes me more pain than anything else.

I hate dancing, but- I'll let you know if I go to the dance.
Love, Sanya.

•

29th April, 1944
Boston, United States of America
11:16 P.M.

Dear Diary,

I went to the dance!
I wore one of the polka dot dresses that I bought with Mina, and PEARLS, and Susan fixed my hair with a clip. A barrette, I think it's called.
And there was a dinner after the dance- I went to that as well. So much socialising- though, granted, I didn't talk to more than three people, and not for more than five minutes- and I'm spent, truly.

AND do you know what!? I danced, too. I KNOW, I'm not even joking! Last time I danced was literally a thousand years ago, and I didn't even want to dance- but two boys asked me to. They asked out of pity, because I was the only girl sitting, and they assumed that the reason I was sitting was because I was without a partner.
I mean, I am without my partner, but in a different way than they thought.

I remember their names- Aiden and Roger- but nothing else, because I was too confused about my feet and their hands and the general discomfort of dancing. I didn't really care to know them, either. None of them could ever be Edmund, and I didn't want them to be- I know I say and think this a lot, Ed will forever be the one. No matter what.

I did tell the boys my name, I think, and that's all- we didn't have much time to chat. They didn't come up to me after the dance, though Susan said that most dance partners stick together till the end of the night. They probably found better partners- good for them.

I don't care. I've always known I'm undesirable.

I have to say, though- as I looked around the room, so crowded and so full of laughter- I wished Edmund was there. I wished I could- I wish I had seen him sitting on a chair there, and then coming up to me when he saw that I was alone (I'm always alone, but you get what I mean).
But he wasn't there, obviously. He's in another country, and I don't even know how he feels about me anymore.

Susan danced the whole night, with a different partner every few minutes. I was always too caught up in looking at Edmund during the Balls in Cair Paravel (not-long-but-very-unbelievable-story, remember), and I never noticed just how in demand she was during dances. It was insanity- I don't think even Jane Bennet was that sot sought-after.
But I feel bad that she couldn't dance with a girl, like she deserved to, like she wants to- but she seemed to have had a good time. I can hear her humming in the bathroom right now.
I'm already in bed- I have my puppy plushie right next to me, Milkshake. Of course I had to bring him! I did have to take out some sweaters to fit Milkshake in- but the blanket here smells like mold, so it's a good thing that I have the plushie to give me the solace the sheets can't.
I̶f̶ E̶d̶m̶u̶n̶d̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶'̶t̶-̶ ̶w̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶n̶e̶x̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶m̶e̶,̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶l̶e̶a̶s̶t̶ ̶M̶i̶l̶k̶s̶h̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶w̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶b̶e̶.̶
Yes, I cut that out. That's too pathetic for even my DIARY.

I don't know if you're worrying, but I haven't got into any more fights since that one. I want to punch people as much as ever- but I haven't, since. Mostly because of lack of opportunity, I guess. That dog comes down to the front of the apartment building some days. I can see from the window, and I go down to feed him. More dogs have started coming- yesterday, there were four. They're all so cute and they lick my hand to thank me- I don't even mind that the smaller ones try to eat my shoes.

Anyway, I think I DID have fun tonight- though there were some hushed whispers and weird stares when I came in and took off my coat. Yes, obviously because I have brown skin- there are always stares like that. Even at the salon Susan and Helen dragged me to yesterday- I just had my nails painted, the rest of the time I was sitting and daydreaming- though I thought for a moment that that was because I was wearing trousers. You’d think America, the ‘Land of the Free’ would be free of racism- but it seems rampant here. More than England, even.

I don't miss England, but I was right about missing the rain.

I really miss Edmund, too. I liked dancing with him.

Love, Sanya

-
-✧･: °*✧*°:･✧-
-

(I just found this on Instagram, and just- damn.
First one is both Edmund and Sanya in basically any book.
Second is Edmund literally rn and third is Sanya in this book.
I cannot.)
-

Again, like I said, a transitory chapter. Gives you the overview of the first few weeks/months in Cambridge and Boston, and gives details of many instances during the times- without me having to write twenty different short-short scenes just so I can include all the things I want.

I like writing the letters- but, by Hestia, the formatting is PAINFUL.

Lucy is so sweet. She knows what her siblings- yes, Sanya is her sister- are going through, and she keeps hoping and helping the best she can.
And Peter, finally finding something worthwhile in this world- quite a change from beginning-of-PC!Peter. Character development, mate, we love to see it.
Susan, there is such a thing as too many parties. Your feet will get sore from all the dancing, and you WILL get annoyed, because the dancing was all with rando guys instead of pretty girls. I'm glad she's having fun, though.

Edmund scribbling letter after letter (oh, there were for SURE more of them- he must have written so many and then he probably struck all the words and then he must have torn the letters, never once sending them to Sanya), and Sanya alternating between being angry and missing him so much in her diary entries (can't believe Edmund breaking up was the push she needed to write somewhat-regularly in her diary).
(Wait- JudeCardan vibes???????? I- might be wrong, bUt-)
Those two are so fucking pathetic and absolutely fucked up- I love them so much.

And Sanya comparing the wife and the husband in 'The Yellow Wallpaper' to she and Edmund- oof. Now that is nOt a good sign.
Hella good short story, though, I'm just about to reread it.
(Yes, I'd rather reread creepy short stories than read the books or notes for the exam I have in a day and a half.)
The way the woman talks about John, her husband- is kind of how Sanya talks about Edmund, actually. The dude even calls her 'little girl' and 'darling', like how Ed calls Sanya 'silly girl' and 'darling'.
Huh.

Good thing she went out, though. Obviously I do NOT advocate socialising- but it takes her mind off her pain, being outside. Isn't that what everyone wants, to forget the pain?

SANYA ALWAYS PROTECTING DOGGOS, WE LOVE TO SEE IT. I mean, she started this series while having a fun day out with Moonlight, her horse, and the palace dogs at Azraq, all of whom she had named and went on a whole paragraph about. It's continuity, babe, just in a dog-lover font.

Since this isn't a normal chapter, the next chapter will be up in the next two days :))

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