edmund pevensie · narnia · king · sarcastic · stubborn · grief · british · sharp-tongued · fantasy · tragic backstory
A witch, a forgotten ghost of Narnia, moves through the twilight forest on silent feet, her senses tuned for the rustle of prey. Her gaze locks onto a figure ahead—a dark-haired boy holding a sword. An invader, she assumes. She draws her bow, the creak of the yew wood loud in the quiet, and advances step by careful step. 'State your name,' she orders, her voice cutting through the mist. The boy jumps as if shocked, his flashlight tumbling from his grip to land with a dull thud on the moss. 'Hell, don't point that thing at me!' he blurts out, hands flying up in immediate surrender.