A Peter Pan Fanfiction

Me : konnichiwa! hajime mash'ta?
sorry, i've been talking to some of my anime friends too much. this is my own story. i had a dream after watching the mocie, and i felt inspired to write it. jessica helped me alittle, but it was mostly me. i know my other stories hadnt been reviewed yet, but i kno things take time

Full Summary What to do? 14-15 year old Aroura doesn't know what to do when she finds a crying 5-year-old Lost Boy in her basement when doing laundry. After helping him calm down, she tells him a story about Peter Pan and Wendy's adventures. What they don't know, is that Peter and the other Lost Boys were listening to her story, when they planned on saving the youngest Lost Boy. They figured they would come back after the girl was sleeping.

The Lost Boy asks Peter a few weeks later, if he could go back to thank Aroura. Peter comes along, watching. When they arrive, they find her, beatened and bloody, begging God to kill her or let someone take her away.

Peter convinces her to escape to Neverland. At first, Aroura's hesitant, but agrees. Gathering her most precious and obvious possesions with her, for she planned to never return unless it was absolutely neccessary, she escapes.

Becoming the Mother, Aroura is faced with the jealousy of TinkerBelle, even if the fairy has a new husband, indians who think Aroura's a Goddess, flirty mermaids, evil pirates, and an unrequired love for Peter. Her past is dangerous, and she doesn't want Peter to know about it.

Does Peter weasel his way into her heart, having her steal his as well? Will Peter find out about Aroura, and why they found her bloodied and weak? Will she return to her world, or stay in her favorite child fantasy?

Rate and Review, and I'll marry you! *~3~*

Aroura's Point of View

Chapter 1

I grab the basket of dirty clothes, and head towards the basement of my grandparents' 4-story mansion in Northern California, to put the load in for my dad.

I pass many of the corridors, and before getting lost, I find the basement door. A pale cream/beige shade, matching the rest of the walls in this house, with the exception of the suites and master baths.

The basement is old, and smells like mildew. I wrinkle my nose, then giggle at myself on how funny I must look when I do that, which is why my friends probably laugh harder when I laugh, because it happens there too.

I sigh inwardly. I miss my friends. Life without them isn't life anymore. I'm not me woithout them either. Why. . .?

Anyways, I start the water for the washer, and toss the clothes and detergent in, then set the timer. I wander over to the drier, take out the clothes, and put them on the ironing board to be folded. That's what I do all day. Laundry, laundry, laundry.

I don't understand why there's so many dirty clothes. There's only 6 of us living in this giant house, with the exception of the home-doctor and my nurse-maid, and everyday, there's enough dirty clothes as if 16 people were living here. Rich people suck, don't they?

As I start folding, I hum a few songs, from all sort of Disney movies, from Aladin to The Little Mermaid.

I think back to before my mother died from pnemonia on my 8th birthday. Not a happy year. We were watching Peter Pan, my all time favorite, when my mom started telling me a story.

"Did you know I met Peter Pan, Princess?" A red-headed, sickly pale woman murmured to her child. Said child shook her head. "Well, Mommy did. He was magnificant, Princess. He was tall, red-headed like Mommy, but really pretty blue eyes, like just after sunset. He was strong, and he could fly, just like in the movie."

"Why didn't you stay in Neverland with him and TinkerBelle?" The soon-to-be 11 year od girl chimed curiously. "Surely you must've loved being there. I mean, he is Peter Pan."

"THat's why I had to leave. Peter Pan is real, don't let anyone tell you other wise, but people don't want to believe there is someone who doesn't want to grow up. All the icky adults want to be adults, and don't want to have fun. Plus, I missed my mommy and daddy."

"But Grandma and Grandpa aren't nice. Why would you want to go back?"

The red-head sighed, and looked at her daughter. Her black/brown hair braided down her back, same way she wore it. Her chocoalate brown eyes shown with sadness because her mother was sick, and she couldn't help. "I can't tell you now, but I can later. But you have to promise me something."

"What?"

"When you turn 10, you have to read this." The mother took out a letter, sealed with a heart-shaped sticker, and pefumed with the scent of lilies, her and her daughter's favorite flower. "Only when what I said happens, can you read this. And you must not let Grandma, Grandpa or Daddy know about it, ok?"

The child nodded, and she took the letter, darted into her bedroom across the hall, and hid the letter. When she returned to her mother's side, the older woman was panting.

"Mommy?" She asked. She didn't stirr. "Mommy?" She tried agin, lightly shaking her mother's shoulder.

The sick woman opened her eyes slightly, and weakly smiled at the 7 year-old. She put her hand on the back of her head, and brought her daughter's forehead to her lips, kissing it. "Mommy loves you, alright? And, always, keep believing in Peter Pan. I'm sure you'll meet him sometime, if he's anything like I remember he is. . . Never give up faith, Princess-Aroura Rose Moon. Never-"

She closed her eyes, letting her hand fall away from her daughter. Her chest rose with a deep breath, sighed deeply. She never opened her eyes again.

"Mommy?" The little girl's voice was frantic, raising an octive each time she called out for her mother, and when she didn't answer, she spilled tears. "DADDY! DADDY HEEEELLLP!"

Thunderous footsteps, and a frantic man stood at the door way. "What on Earth is the matter, Aroura?" His face was red from running.

"It's Mommy. She won't wake up!" The child turned to her father, who ran scross the room, slightly pushing the child out of the way.

"Dianne? Dianne!" The man stood there, shaking his wife's shoulder helplessly. When she didn't respond, he gave up, and turned to his daughter. "Why didn't you get help earlier? You COULD HAVE SAVED HER!" he roared, only causing her to cry harder, without making a sound. The child glanced from her father, then to her mother, and ran to her bedroom, locking the door. She knew her mistake.

I shake my head. No. I say to myself. No. It wasn't my fault. I didn't make that mistake. It was going to happen, anyways.

I finish folding the laundry, the proceed to put it away in the designated baskets for the nurse-maid, Mary, to bring each basket to the correct room.

I head to the stairs, to run to the safety of my bedroom, when I hear it. A soft, whining sound, coming from behind the closet door on the other side of the basement. It's soft, faint, but I can hear it.

Against my better judgement, I slowly walk to the closet, grasp the handle, and slowly open the door.