Too Much To Ask For


Author's Note: So I figured it was time for a new Evelyn story, so here's a preview of Melted Stone, featuring Evelyn's relationship with Aslan, as asked for by Danda225. This story has been hinted at in After All, when Peter is remembering Evelyn returning from the North, and I wanted to show people what actually happened. This is the prologue, so you can read it there too, and follow Melted Stone to read the rest as it's published! Cheers!


Lifting her head to look at her reflection, she sighed heavily. No matter how Spirit and Flame and Moon kept to her side, her skin had drained of color, her veins standing out vibrantly. Her lips had paled from their typical full pink to thin white lines. Her hair, dark caramel gold when she'd been restored by Aslan, had turned a flaxen straw color. Though not as pale as she'd seen it, she knew her hair was a sure sign.

Nightmares plagued her, leaving her with little sleep and dark circles under her eyes. She tried her hardest not to be annoyed or grouchy, but she was slowly losing energy. She could feel the training with Emmys, the scouting trips into the forest, the tours to meet her people, all of it was slowly sapping away energy she just didn't have. She had grown terrified to close her eyes, and the lack of sleep provided no way to regenerate, no way to replace the energy she burned away.

Her appetite had vanished, though she tried to fool everyone by taking small amounts of food and hiding it in her napkin or dropping it on the floor for the Dogs. Her stomach churned at even the thought of food heavier than a simple apple.

Her eyes were the worst. She knew her eyes were clear indicators of her health. They'd not turned the funny copper shade, like they did when she got sick, but they'd not turned blue again either. The Deep Magic had no hold on her anymore. No, they'd faded to a pale gold, and that alarmed her. This she had only seen, though in her blue eyes, when she'd been torn apart from the inside by the Witch.

This look was very wrong on her, though it was familiar. It wasn't the dull, hazel eyed, flush-skinned appearance she'd had in England, but it wasn't the cold, blue-eyed, white-skinned look she'd had as Princess of the Wildlands either. No, this look was one she'd seen as she was falling apart, only to be saved by The Lion.

Evelyn sighed, and she knew she had to face the truth. This was the look she'd worn when she was dying. She had to admit it, and she nearly choked as she did, but there in the North, where she'd once been a prisoner, the life was fading from her eighteen year old body. She was dying.

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