𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝑨𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑, peter pevensie

𝒊𝒊𝒊 . . . the value of logic

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 the next morning, and she knew the opportunity or breakfast had passed. It had stopped raining sometime around 3 o'clock; she had still been awake at that time, mulling over the horribly illogical idea of a land in a wardrobe, but the doubt sat uneasy with her. Hopefully, the day she'd planned to have the previous day was able to finally happen. A day of solitude by the lake in the forest with Betty sounded simply delightful.

She'd left the room half an hour later, with her tangled hair tied up into two loose French plaits, and wearing an emerald dress, with a ditzy pattern, and short sleeves, and ending just above her knees. It was quite tight fitting to, like most of the clothes she owned, much to Macready's disappointment and horror. It defined the curves nicely, not too much, but enough for them to still poke through.

Charlotte had slipped on a pair of black shoes, with small heels, tall enough to make a soft 'click' on the floor with every step taken. She'd decided simply walking down the halls was quite dull, so when she got to the entrance hall, Charlotte slid down the banister leading to the kitchen, just like the last night, except there was someone in there this time.

"Oh, my goodness, I'm so sorry, I didn't think anyone else would be in here."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Charlotte, do you always come sliding down the banister like that? It was the noise of your shoes that shocked me more than anything."

"Again, I'm really sorry..."  Charlotte's eyes darted around the dimly lit kitchen for something else to talk about, "... It's Susan, isn't it?" Her hand was now raised and it was shaken by Susan's slightly smaller one.

"Yes, it's nice to meet you properly, Charlotte." Susan smiled before walking out of the door and into the garden. The girl's eyes left the door way, and travelled to a plate of cold toast, so she grabbed two slices. Cold toast had a rather acquire taste, but Charlotte liked it. And that was all she cared about. By the door, her small shoes were changed for boots, to keep her from breaking an ankle in the mud.

Charlotte walked, no, waded was the right word to use, her way into the stable, grabbing a brush as she passed the shelf, to see Betty. Maybe her day by the lake would have to wait for a while.

Shame.

"Hello, girl. How are you after the storm yesterday?" She neighed in response and made to walk to the gate. She wanted to do out for a ride. "Oh no, we're not going out today, there is no way we'd make it out of here, you'd sink right up to your knees. No way."

The sound of a window smashing and a coat of armour collapsing echoed through-out the whole of the estate, and then the voices of the Pevensies carried all the way around the house to the stables.

"Oh God, what's happened now?"

Charlotte groaned as she stormed out of the stables, her riding boots squelching loudly under her feet. Her boots were yanked off by the door step outside so Macready wouldn't have her head for muddying the carpets in the house again and slipped her feet into the black heels. Stalking up staircases and down corridors, she followed the sound of their voices to one of the rooms on the second floor.