there is something so hauntingly beautiful about the passing of time in the narnia series. what do you mean you found your way into a realm of magic, grew up ruling it, led it into a golden age—and then were suddenly forced back to your younger self, an adult in a child's body? what do you mean you have to learn how to live with the yearning, the emptiness; the knowledge of magic and the painful realisation of having left it—having left it all—behind, by no true fault of your own? what do you mean you start anew, growing pains the second time around with a wealth of experience to bear them, and you try to forget (you could never forget)—but then you get pulled back. you get pulled back to the only place that could ever welcome you as you are; where magic is a caress and sunlight dances golden across the crowns of sentient trees. and then you learn that it has been years—one, a thousand—and you are looking at the ruins of what used to be your home, and who you used to be in it
