“You see,” Edmund began, and all leaned in, visibly listening, “it wasn’t just romance that kept Lucy in Narnia. She is with Caspian, now, but she also had a – a vision isn’t quite right. She was shown a prophetic image in a magical book, and Aslan vouched, later, personally, for its truth. She acted as she did to attempt to divert what she saw, and I think we’d better do likewise, on our end. Here’s what you all need to know.”

“You know most princesses are probably quite horrible people,” Lavinia said, because she couldn’t help it – her mind went to the worst possible interpretation, and then couldn’t dislodge it. “I think most of them must be spoiled rotten.”
“Not in stories. In stories they are kind, pretty, and helpful,” Sara said. “And if I can pretend to be a princess, I can choose to pretend what kind of princess I am.”
“This isn’t a story.”
“Sometimes I feel like my life was a story,” Sara confessed. “The kind of things that happened to me – don’t they seem a bit like a story to you?”
Maybe that was the difference between Sara and Lavinia. Horrible things happened to Sara, but also wonderful things, like in a story. Like she was the heroine of some grand tale. Lavinia was nothing special.