Lucy feels like a kid dressed in Caspian's spare shirt, so large it falls to her knees, such a far cry from the tall skirts and elegant ballgowns she remembers. She fears, sometimes, that he's forgotten how old she really is on the inside, how much wiser and more experienced she is in all the ways that really matter.
But then he looks at her with those wide, worshipful eyes and for a moment, the world flip-flops; for a moment, Lucy stands before him as the queen-that-was, with Caspian as the boy petitioner kneeling at her feet.
Re: ahem, rthstewart and wingedflight
Lucy feels like a kid dressed in Caspian's spare shirt, so large it falls to her knees, such a far cry from the tall skirts and elegant ballgowns she remembers. She fears, sometimes, that he's forgotten how old she really is on the inside, how much wiser and more experienced she is in all the ways that really matter.
But then he looks at her with those wide, worshipful eyes and for a moment, the world flip-flops; for a moment, Lucy stands before him as the queen-that-was, with Caspian as the boy petitioner kneeling at her feet.