A/N This is the first story I've published here so please enjoy! I would really appreciate any comments/feedback etc. (I apologise for any grammar or punctuation mistakes. I tried my best to find them!).

I never really liked what happened to Susan in the books and I thought there might be more to the story – or another side at least – so here it is. (If you want to listen to something while reading, it kinda fits well with Spiegel im Spiegel (Arvo Pärt). It's repetitive but it's very reflective (points if you get the pun).)

Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia or any of the characters. All belong to C.S. Lewis.

The truth is I never forgot. The others – Peter, Edmund, Lucy – they all thought I did. They all thought I was happy to leave behind our adventures and to pass them off as simply childhood games. I knew they thought I had lost Narnia and I knew it upset them. But I couldn't bring myself to correct them. I couldn't admit to the lies I had told them. I couldn't do what part of me longed to do and return to them. I knew it would hurt too much.

It broke my heart to leave Narnia behind. In the first few months after our first return, I pined after my country. I missed the sea, the mountains, the forest glades. I missed Cair Paravel and all our friends. I missed the music and laughter, the feasts, the tournaments and the balls. I found solace in the endless discussions and knowing smiles I shared with my siblings. They were all proof that we had really been there; that it hadn't all been a dream. And, of course, they were happy memories to brighten up my comparatively boring school life. But as time passed by with no word from Aslan, no promise of a return, I began to think about my own life here, in England. Perhaps I should make the most of it. Couldn't I love England as well as Narnia? Weren't they both my home? I tried not to contemplate the possibility that we would never return to Narnia. I refused to believe Aslan would abandon us like that. And I needed to keep that tiny flame of hope burning.

At last we did return. But it was bittersweet, for as Aslan explained, Peter and I would not be returning to Narnia again. You have learnt all you can from this world, now it's time to live in your own.

And then I was home again. Home. I have to admit that that is what this world is. The Narnia I knew and loved was gone. Hundreds of years had passed in the interval between our lives there, so even if I could return, there would be no assurance it would be the same.

So I did the only sensible thing I could. I moved on.

This was for two reasons, really. And together, they explained my actions and words to my brothers and sister. I hope that one day they might understand and not blame me for it.

The first reason was sensible. This was my home and this was my life. I couldn't change it so I had to immerse myself in it. I had to enjoy it. I wanted to enjoy it. Spending my days wishing and longing for something I couldn't have was no good. I had what I had and I had to make the most of it. And it wasn't as though it was an awful life. I was very lucky in many respects; I had two wonderful lives to live. And although that sounds like an incredibly virtuous and glass-half-full opinion, it was the truth.

Due to my solitude the previous year, after my first visit to Narnia, I found myself out of sync with the other girls my age. Friends I had known before had moved on, gossiping about clothes and boys and the upcoming parties. I realised I had unnecessarily pushed them away. And yet their interests were not dissimilar to my own. In Narnia, I had loved the social life: the balls; the parties. The same could be true here. Different people, different styles; same ideas. The trip to America with my parents offered up new opportunities and soon I found that I was no longer trying to enjoy my life: I was enjoying it. I was with people I loved, doing things I loved. And though I knew I couldn't go back to Narnia, I was happy.

The second reason for putting Narnia behind me was a little selfish. I'm not trying to say that it is possible to move on without looking back. In fact, I don't advise it. That was my mistake.

My siblings continued to talk about Narnia, to reminisce about the 'good old days'. Lucy and Edmund even went back again, although I gathered that it was their final time.

Maybe I should have joined in. Maybe I should have allowed myself the luxury of remembering. Maybe it wouldn't have been as bad as I feared.

But I was scared. I missed Narnia. I missed it with all my heart. I didn't want to remember; it would have made me too sad. I was scared of losing all I had built up in this life. I was scared to remember and open up my grief. There was probably some pride that stopped me admitting the truth to the others. But mostly it was fear of being hurt. Which was stupid, obviously.

I think that once I'm completely settled in this world, I may be able to open up, to join in again and enjoy the memories I have. And maybe I will return someday. Who knows? Although I've moved on, I haven't left anything behind. Haven't forgotten. Aslan; Narnia. They stay with you forever.

Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen of Narnia.