Chapter 1

Wendy Darling, though always a particularly pretty child, had turned into an absolutely beautiful young woman. Her golden locks now hung at the middle of her back in delicate curls when let loose and her pale skin was without flaw. Her lips were full and a dainty pink color, her bright blue eyes shiny and large.

Roughly four years after Peter Pan had dropped Wendy and her brothers, new and old, off back at the nursery room window, she had gone from the mature, mother-like, child to a childish adult.

The reason for this drastic change is because every bit of her, conscious and subconscious, wished for Peter to return to her. And for that to be possible she must remain a child.

But it had been four years since she had last seen or heard from her elusive Peter. Wendy began to lose faith. She began to think Peter had forgotten about her and their promise. Wendy began to think of aging.

Peter hadn't been to Neverland in a long time.

His curly auburn hair hung in his eyes, which had lost some of their spark. Though he himself did not notice it, he had grown and defined more.

He had aged.

Rolling onto his back, he floated, staring up into the blue sky above him.

Tinkerbelle had long since forsaken him, muttering angrily that Peter had been too easily irritated and too easily angered. Peter sighed as he felt lonelier than he ever had before.

After the boys had left him, he thought that the Indians might give him some company until a new Lost Boy found its way to his shores.

But Tiger Lily had been too clingy, wanting to be near Peter all the time, her attraction to him all too evident. He got the drift and was disgusted by her motives, so he distanced himself from her.

She should know most of all that Peter did not want to be like an adult. And love was an adult thing.

Besides, Peter thought, she isn't very pretty. Wendy was much-

He stopped himself from thinking such thoughts by shaking his head and internally chiding himself.

His mind had been returning to her more often than it usually did. Each time, he would scold himself, saying that she had made her own choice and since he cared for her (strictly as a friend, he would add) he had let her do as she wished.

Only, now, he was doubting his decision.

What Peter didn't understand, since he had never been shown or seen such a thing nor had it been explained to him, was that he felt for Wendy more than any of his friends. Perhaps it isn't love as Wendy felt for him, but it was more than the like of company or a dear acquaintance.

Peter suddenly sat up and with an urgency that did not quite fit him, he hurriedly flew off toward the star that separated Wendy's world from his.

Just one little look won't hurt right? Peter thought to himself.

He wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed and he did not want it to seem as if he was exceptionally eager to return to Wendy.

Unfortunately for him, more time had passed than he thought he would allow. And Wendy, sitting back on her bed in the nursery, was praying for the final time that her Peter would visit her from outside her dreams.

Wendy climbed from her bed to open the window to the chilly night air for the last time.

It sure became cold, didn't it? Wendy thought to herself as she leaned against the sill looking out at the few stars that poked through the clouds. Ah! Tonight is the anniversary of when we went to Neverland with Peter.

With the thought of his name, tears welled in Wendy's eyes and she bent her head to wipe them. The only thing that had matured in the years she had been back other than her features was her love for Peter which had grown stronger with each passing season.

She just couldn't let those green eyes or golden auburn hair fade from her memories like she knew was best. She held onto them, her lifeline, and she prayed hard to God each night that she'd wake to find them staring at her with the kind warmth she had known when she was "Mother" and he was "Father".

She felt the tears flow thick and heavy as a heartbroken sob attempted to push its way out of her chest into the night below it. Wendy covered her mouth with her hand so as not to wake her brothers who were sleeping in the next room, thought that only served as to stifle the noise as her soul escaped from her lips.

Though quiet, if you listened hard, you could hear the pleas of her heart floating out the window into the frigid night.

None of her family heard. Nor did any of the neighbors, or the boys who claimed to love Wendy from the bottoms of their hearts.

The only one who heard the desperate cries of the beautiful girl was the one who had caused them.