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No masters or kings when the ritual begins

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

Only then I am human

Only then I am clean

Amen. Amen. Amen

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"Now let's get you back to your cage."

Wendy lets out a soft sigh. She hates that cage, hates it more than she hates the boy that put her in it.

"Don't make that sound. It sucks away all the happiness in the island," Peter's lips curl into a playful smirk.

"YOU SUCK AWAY ALL THE HAPPINESS IN THE ISLAND!" Wendy screams, slams her fists on the bed. One can only stay silent for so long, and a century is long enough if you ask her.

"Well," he tilts his head, smirk still in place and eyes practically aflame, "Don't hold back."

"Oh, Peter Pan you- you- oh! You infuriate me!"

"Oh, do tell, Wendy. What else do I do to you?" his smirk stretches cockily.

Wendy remains silent, her only strength in being weak, how if she were a boy Pan would play with her until he had her longing for something as sweet as pain—sick boy, lonely boy. The smirk drops from his face and he walks around the bed, drops elegantly down beside her, invades her personal space like it's his right.

He curls his hand around her neck, flexes his fingers, squeezes her pulse point, "You better hope little Henry didn't hear your outburst, Darling," his warm breath sends shivers down her spine, having gone so long without proper physical contact she allows it, telling herself that's the only reason it happened. Her heart quickens. That she doesn't even bother to start to explain. There is only so much she can lie to herself about.

"You really think he will help you?" Wendy narrows her eyes, tugs nervously at the laces of her nightgown, gulps down her fear knowing her courage will only excite him, "What you are doing is wrong. That boy is too kind, too loving, too—"

"Naive. He will give me his heart and then there is nothing that can stop me from getting what I want," Peter smiles cunningly, determination burning bright in his eyes.

She licks her dry lips, shakes a little, studies him, "I will."

He raises his eyebrows, smirks a little, challenges her, "You will what?"

"Stop you."

He laughs, sniggers, chortles, "Oh, I know you'll try."

She smiles, grins, beams, "I will stop you. And that, Peter Pan, is a promise."

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He tucks the covers tight around her, caging her in, not that it is a foreign notion to her at the stage. He glances at Henry, all mournful and longing (if only there was something you could do) and the poor boy falls for his false sorrow. Pan leans down to her, smirks, whispers in her ear, "I will be back for you. And that, Wendy Darling, is a promise."

He pets her with mock affection, strokes her hair gently, leaves to ruin the innocent. She wonders if being in this bed is more dangerous than being in her bird cage. Felix jumps down from his hiding place and she gulps realising that she's about to find out.

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