#valiynt 003.

[petervel]

he  doesn’t  sleep  anymore .     not now that he is a stranger in his home ;     in his own body .     ( how  many  years  will  it  take ,     peter pevensie ,     for you to once again recognise the face that stares out at you from within the looking glass ?     ten ?     fifteen ?     or will your only reminder of your time in that bewitching ,     bloody dream be the presence of something ancient in your eyes ,     as  turbulent  and  restless  as the eastern sea in a storm ?     who are you ,     little soldier ,     without your sword   &   battle scars ? )     mum often berates him for it when she finds him dozing with his head cradled in his arms at the dining table each grey morn ,     questioning whether he plans to  carry  on  like this once his father comes home ,     once he’s back at school :     he will never tell her that a part of him     —     the part that is nearly older than his own mother     —     would die before allowing anyone to trap him within the four walls of hendon house for two more years .

he’s doing it again ;     haunting this somnolent house in finchley ,     wandering the halls with all the soundless grace of a ghost   ( this energy ,     this restless ,     agonising  energy ,     must go  somewhere )  .     only now ,     after an entire month ,     has the true grief begun to bloom within peter’s chest like a festering  weed  that he knows he’ll never be able to claw out from between his ribs     —     perhaps they aren’t going back ,     after all .     and perhaps he isn’t the only conscious mourner ,     even at this hour .     it’s quiet ,     but peter   ( ever the eldest ,     ever the protector )   hears lucy’s tears like a  heartbeat  in  a  hurricane ,     and he does not think twice before redirecting his aimless course .     ❛ lu ? ❜     he whispers ,     rapping twice on her bedroom door with two fingers before nudging it open ,     by just a fraction .

                                      plotted  starter  for  @valiynt​ !