Stars twinkled in the dark sky, sparkling like a million tiny shards of glass as the moon shed it's surreal light on the deserted streets of London. The Clock Tower chimed twelve in the distance. Most people were abed at this late hour, but the soft glow of a lamp from the second story of a fine Victorian home was evidence otherwise.
Wendy Darling sat at her desk, head in hands. A pen, some ink, and a sheet of paper lay in front of her untouched. What had happened to her gift of storytelling? She used to be able to make stories up on the spot if asked. Now no matter how she tried, the words would not come.
It had all started when she had returned from Neverland. Her stories had been centered around Peter Pan and Captain Hook. Guilt of the part she had played in sending the latter to his death still tormented her.
Sighing, Wendy arose and started undressing for bed, her mind dwelling on thoughts of Hook. She closed her eyes and pictured his raven black curls, his deep, forget-me-not eyes...Why did he haunt her every living moment? Hadn't he deserved death?
A jingling sound shook her from her reverie. She let her dress fall to the floor, and stood listening. The jingling sounded again from her open window. She dashed to it and shoved her head outside. Peering through the darkness, she listened. All that was to be heard was the trees rustling in the wind.
Disappointed, Wendy sat down on the window seat. All these years she had kept up hope of returning to Neverland, even when her brothers had long since moved on. Maybe she had grown too old and could never return. The thought saddened her. She lay her head on the windowsill and closed her eyes, feeling suddenly tired.