Rating: T (for angst, violence, gore, character death)

A/N: I wasn't content with Susan's ending in the books; if felt to me like Lewis was condemning her solely for the fact that she wanted to wear makeup and be a normal teenage girl, although I realize that was not the intention, so this fic is my attempt to give Susan some closure.

Chapter One

(It might have been a gust of wind, brushing cold against her skin and causing her hat to fly off, into the open street beyond the outdoor cafe.)

A trolley flew by a moment after her hat, nearly trampling the thing, but the wind picked up her stylish hat at the last moment and blew it out of harm's way.

Her companion, ever the gentleman, jumped to his feet and rushed after it, and she gave him a grateful smile when he returned and placed it almost daintily back on her head of black curls before Susan could so much as shiver from the cold.

"Thank you," she smiled at him, and he blushed under the praise. She was beginning to suspect, with every passing moment that she spent in his company, that her companion was not used to the candid attentions of a woman, which made him rather a bore.

"Anything for my lady," he said, grinning slightly, but Susan did not smile at the words.

Meant as endearment, they reminded her of a time, so very long ago, when she had been called the same as a title, as a form of respect...

A children's game, she thought sadly, and thought of it no more.

"I was hoping that you might accompany me to the Rivers' Dance," the man in front of her, boy really, spoke up then, voice a little shaky with the request, and Susan eyed him coyly.

The Rivers were some of the wealthiest socialites in London this year, Mr. Rivers a weapons manufacturer for the war who became extremely fortunate in the last few months of it, and Mrs. Rivers the type of socialite who enjoyed taking young, promising people under her wing.

As she had Susan, when she discovered "Miss Pevensie," some months ago, at a ball.

She was insisting that Susan go, if only to meet all of the eligible bachelors Mrs. Rivers could find for her, and to at least have a "taste of true society."

Susan did not mind. In fact, she was rather delighted.

The Rivers' Dance was to be one of the most lavish social functions of the year. She'd been putting a plan into motion, for the past several months, to trick either Edmund or Peter into going with her, in the hopes that they would find a suitable match while they were in London.

...And stop obsessing over a child's imaginings.

But that didn't seem plausible now, after their latest spat, and so Susan only smiled prettily and nodded.

"I would be delighted to attend with you, Mr. Collin," she replied, even if some part of her was still bothered by that gust of wind, even if she knew that she shouldn't be. "Though I shall have to ask Mrs. Rivers' approval, of course; I was planning on attending with one of my brothers, which she thought would be more appropriate for the occasion."

"Ah," Mr. Collin frowned. "Well, if my lady would prefer to go with them, instead..."

Susan leaned forward, placing her gloved white hand atop his own. "To be truthful, I am relieved that you asked. My...brothers decided to return home to Finchley quite early. I was quite mortified that I would not be able to find a partner before the dance."

They had decided to go back to Finchley early for the Christmas celebrations when they knew she would not accompany them, angered that Susan was no longer, as they had put it, "a friend of Narnia," as if she had ever been. Susan could remember their pleading words, begging her to come along with them and miss this "foolish dance," as Peter had put it.

Nothing less would have held Susan determined to stay, and by the look on Edmund's face after Peter had said the words, he knew it.

Mr. Collin grinned at her, taking a long, strengthening gulp of his brandy before saying, "You look very beautiful today, Miss Pevensie. I can't imagine how anyone would be unable to tolerate your company." Then he blushed. "Not that you don't always look beautiful, only-"

"You are too kind, Mr. Collin," Susan interrupted, quickly tiring of his nervousness. He was sweet, after all, but Susan had not been impressed by sweetness in a long time.

He smiled, a flare of red running up his neck. "Do you mind if I ask the color of the gown you will be wearing?" he asked, glancing around as if afraid someone would hear such an improper question. And just when Susan was beginning to find him interesting. "Only, I wish the corsage to match."

She nodded. Practical. That was a point in his favor. Peter would have never thought to ask, and they would have shown up in clashing colors. "Of course. Lilacs," she told him, and Mr. Collin nodded, bent down to kiss her hand.

Susan felt a bit sick, as his lips brushed against hers.

"Then I shall be honored to escort you to the dance, Miss Pevensie. Shall we say, I will pick you up at seven o'clock?"

Susan nodded, pretended to be a bit breathless under his attentions. "I'll be waiting."

(Only it didn't feel like wind at all. It felt more like a breath on the back of her neck. An icy, angry breath that only she could feel.)