"Nothing like it, actually," she says, wry amusement coloring her words. "I'm afraid I can't remember what details I've told you now, but when we left Narnia, we emerged back in England the age we were when we left, barely a minute after we'd departed. So I was twelve again, not twenty-seven. And by the time I grew up again, I'd quite forgotten about Narnia and that I was ever any different." Mostly, at least. Sometimes things had felt wrong, but always in ways she never fully chased down. "Save for occasionally feeling, I suppose, superimposed upon myself - like I did not properly fit some mold I was meant to fill."