You— the daughter of the White Witch. It was no wonder you held quite the reputation in the land of Narnia, with every inhabitant of the land fearing your mother more than their own shadow. You followed the rules, but it got lonely at times.

You were raised your whole life to learn and become your mother’s heir one day in the future, which was heavy weight on your shoulders— given the fact you were nothing like her. Quite the opposite, actually.

She had made it clear as you grew up that she was disappointed in you. You’d heard it all, the comments on how she wished she had a different daughter, or how she had hoped that you grew up more to her fit— but it wasn’t your fault that her ideal of torturing the innocent and destroying the kingdom didn’t appeal to you. It wasn’t simply the way you are, and it would take a lot more than a frozen heart to get it out of you.

—

It was new when news spread of the Pevensie siblings’ arrival into Narnia— how? No one knew, but your mother had a rough idea that it was due to that bloody centaur, Mr Tumnus. He had a certain kick for breaking the laws of the secret kingdom, and it was no surprise that your mother was now out for his head.

But you found them first, unknowingly of course. Aslan had made sure that they were well hidden, and wore the strongest armour he could’ve mustered for the innocent, powerless humans from the real world. Now the choice was up to you— hand them over, or keep them a secret and risk your own life.