We get told that when someone we love dies, you'll get to see them again, when it's your time. That's not the case for me. You see when I was younger my little sister found a magical land inside of a wardrobe. A land her, Peter, Edmund and I went on to rule.

We grew inseparable as time passed, barely spending any time apart. That didn't end when we were thrust back into England as children again. If anything it made us all closer. We had just adjusted though when we were called back to our home. A place that had changed in our absence. None of our family was there anymore, having died many years before. I didn't think that the feeling of despair would ever leave me, but slowly piece by piece my shattered heart healed. All thanks to a prince called Caspian.

I knew when Aslan pulled me and Peter aside and told us that we would never return that I wasn't meant to have long living happiness. I had fallen in love, found the man I wanted to spend my life with and then it was all ripped away from me in the blink of an eye.

The idea of never going back was crippling so I just pushed it out of my mind time and time again. Every time I would think of Caspian or Narnia or Aslan, anything, I would go to another party, kiss another boy. I had started to push my family away too. Lucy and Edmund didn't understand. They could go back. Peter always was stronger than me, I guess. He could talk about it, but even a name would fill me with such despair I thought I would faint.

I cried the first time I saw Lucy's broken face after I told her I didn't believe in Narnia. I almost told her I was kidding, how could anyone forget Narnia. But then I realised that it would just make it harder forgetting. So I stayed quiet and watched as my siblings, the only people in this world who held my heart began to distance themselves. Even then I couldn't bear to tell them I remembered about Narnia, because at that time I had started to forget.

I had become what I hated.

I will regret for the rest of my life what happened on the day that they left for the beach on the annual family holiday. I'd refused to go, telling them I had more important things to do. I hadn't even seen them the day that they left as I'd been at Eric's. I figured that they'd be back in two weeks as always.

What I didn't know was that the train would crash killing over half of the people on it. My family included. I never cried when Trish told me, nor when I had to identify their bodies, not even at their funerals.

I cry now though. As I sit in this empty house missing the sounds of Mum and Dad talking about this and that. Seeing Edmund and Peter playing chess with Lucy sitting beside them a book in her hands. Memories of our lives in Narnia find their way back in my aching head. I stand and move to the wall clutching it so as not to fall as I try to blink away the burning tears falling from tired eyes.

I find myself in the bathroom, Peters shaving things in front of me as with a shaking hand I grab a razor running my fingers lightly over the sharp edge hissing slightly when it cuts my finger. With eyes closed I bring it up to my right wrist and quickly before I can change my mind, swipe it roughly down my wrist once before pulling it to the other wrist and doing the same.

The razor clatters to the floor as I sway my eyes starting to close. I put one hand to the mirror, leaving a bloody hand print before I fall, everything starting to shut down.

I imagine Caspian beside me holding my hand, my family standing behind him as I take my last breath. A small smile plays on my face; my eyes wide open forever staring but never moving.

That's how Eric finds me the next morning. My cold half drunken cup of coffee sitting on the table beside a tear stained letter with four simple words printed shakily on it.

For Narnia and for Aslan.