What Edmund does not know about Narnia until much later is that its magic spans across layers of worlds and eons of time with the ease of an exhaled breath; he sleeps and walks in dreams without knowing their significance, without knowing the brief fluttering touches of calm he settles on troubled minds.

In the depths of sleep he sees a girl with shocking red hair lying crumpled over a small black book; ink pools around her body, twining around her legs and hands and drawing her down into the never-ending black; she sobs out when she sees him, looking at him uncomprehendingly even as she whispers, I'm sorry I should have known I made a mistake, I only wanted a friend.

Edmund, without quite knowing why, falls to his knees beside her and takes her into his arms; hush, he tells her, it's not a mistake that kills, little one, but what we refuse to learn from one; and the truth tastes sweet on his tongue.