"One day I'll fly away // leave all this to yesterday // why live life from dream to dream // and dread the day when dreaming ends." – Moulin Rouge
Perhaps it was the way the stars twinkled at night. Or maybe it was the moon, how it mysteriously hung in the sky. Maybe it was the way the curtains would flutter and slightly twirl – like a dress sweeping across an invisible ballroom floor, dancing to the silent tune of a slight wind.
She didn't quite know what it was, the magic that slipped into her dreams – the magic that gave her the gift of a storyteller. Thoughts of a beautiful princess being swept away by her prince charming, pirates and mermaids living in bitter harmony, faeries that danced to enchanting music, and flying, flying high up into the cotton clouds.
Night after night, she would narrate the dreams to her little brothers before lights out.
"And there was a dashing prince that fought his way through pirates, much like this!" And she would fight an invisible pirate from the Jolly Roger, sounding out clashing swords all the while, swinging her wooden sword with faux ferocity.
"Take that! And that!" she stabbed and poked at her younger brother. He blocked them all of course. But alas, she had defeated him, and he would admit hiw downfall with a cry: "Touche!"
They enjoyed the pirate adventures the most, eyes shining with curiosity. And they gagged at the 'happily ever after' ones, though she honestly believed that it was after their biggest pretend, that they too, wished someday to be someone's dashing prince.
Sometimes, the younger boys would fall asleep to her humming, a thune coming from the magic, a tune that her dream faeries danced to every night.
Of course, she couldn't stay like that forever. No, no. According to the grown-ups, it simply wouldn't do, for her to go on telling stories of mermaids and fighting pirates. And so it happened that they decided that she had to grow up. Especially since a sweet kiss had mysterious appeared at the corner of her mouth.
Coincidentally, he had come to her window the next night. He, who represented childhood fairy tales and youth. He, with his childish grin and innocent bright eyes, much like hers. Peter Pan. The name itself sounded mythical.
And when he had spoken to her, with the voice that she could hardly resist, Wendy had given in. And plus, it was absolutely lovely the way he spoke of girls. He had lured her, charmed her, and drawn her to the edge of her window.
"Come away with me to Neverland …" he whispered into her ear, presenting a rather seducing way out of growing up. Pirates, mermaids, and Indians. How could she refuse?
"And you'll never … never have to worry about grown-up things again." He finished the proposal, knowing he had her wrapped around his finger. She had tried, really, telling him that never was such an awfully long time.
She had awakened her brothers, not wanting them to miss out on the fun. They had quickly accepted and flown out the window without a third thought (for there was a second: what about mother? And Nana?) And all but one Darling child was left in the room.
And so he smiled at her. She breathed.
His eyes sparked mischievously. She was drawn in.
He smirked, knowing that he had won. She appeared beside him, looking back once, and only once.
And they flew (oh, how they flew!) through the stars, waving at the moon, and cutting through the whip cream clouds.
Perhaps, it was the way he smiled. Or maybe it was the way his voice was so irresistible to such a naïve, fairy-tale dreamer. Or it could have been the way he looked at her, eyes shining so brightly with curiosity, that they almost mirrored her own. Or maybe, just maybe, there was something about the way he whispered into her ear … with magic settling upon them, as he was close, so close to her.
She didn't know quite what it was, the magic that had graced her as he held her hand – the magic that dared her to dream … of a princess being taken away by her prince charming, mermaids and pirates, and faeries that danced to enchanting music.
FiN