CHAPTER ONE

I pulled away from him, sparks flying through my brain; my body was all electricity when I was with him. His kiss lingered on my lips, tingling, bringing heat to my cheeks when he brought his hand up to caress my face.

"I love you Wendy Darling…" He swept his fingers along my jaw line. "You've stolen something most important from me." His green eyes burned with something alive, yet undistinguished. I could never memorize them perfectly enough—so something about them felt flat in my memory.

I lay another kiss on his beautiful lips, hoping to delve back into the world only he could take me to, waiting for the birds to start singing, the fireworks, the music… waited for the sweet taste of his mouth to take me over.

But all I could sense was someone prying, something nudging me most uncomfortably. A tug at this most perfect moment, and jerking me back to reality.

"Wendy…. Wendy wake up, doll." It was my mother's voice. I blinked open my heavy lids, weighted with sleep.

I groaned. I wanted to go back to my dream. So delicious…

"Wendy! Up Now!" That woman would never quit. I sighed.

I rolled out of the sheets, untangling the duvet from my pinafore.

"I'm awake, mother," I called, finding she had already left my room.

Had I just had another dream about Peter? I could definitely say it was not growing old, it was only growing repetitive. I could only dream about his lips so many times. Not that it lessened any of my likings. But how could I expect not to go mad without the real, the tangible? Unattainable. I'd been dreaming about Peter almost ever since I saw him.

But why? He was not mine to think about that way.

Pushing it from my mind yet again, I decided to get dressed and ready for the morning, I was expected with the family, to come to breakfast. And later tonight, we'll be hosting a ball, and had invited the officers as a generous movement when they came into town. And mother had it, no doubt in her head, to marry me off to one of them. Such a silly idea. I would never allow such a thing for myself—a grown man! Ugh. All I had on my mind was Peter, and there was no confidence he was going to be there. So I wouldn't hope.

I called mother to my room to help me with my corset, having difficulty putting it on. I pulled the stiff thing over my bloomers, grudgingly. She cinched the laces tight, pinching my skin, severing all means to breathe in one pull. When she was finished cutting off my airways, I let my gaze stray to the mirror. I found myself suddenly surprised at my appearance. I awed yet again at how much I'd grown. It was only the other day I was out in the yard with John and Michael playing with wooden swords, catching dragonflies. Now I was the girl in the reflection before me, the corset over my knickers accentuating my curves, the pronouncedly grown breasts, and the face—only yesterday was mud being wiped from it after a hardy playtime with the boys.

Well, it seemed like yesterday, anyway.

What I saw in the mirror—was what was expected of a girl to look like when she grows up, to be happy she had, and want the things that came with growing up: breasts and a tiny waist— a pretty face to suit rich men's tastes. Something all girls were expected to end up as, strive to be, to want to be. Fashionable, elegant, beautiful grown women…

Was it bad, that I didn't want it?

PETER

The rolling hills before me, the grass under my feet, the sky and the air, it was all so beautiful, real, and present. The scents, the feeling of the cold breeze ruffling my messy hair, the crunching of the grass and rocky dirt, I loved it because it was so bona-fide, unlike anything else I'd been dealing with lately. The warm sun beating on my back felt good in contrast to the chill of the morning air.

I stood at the peak of the hill, overlooking the small town. There were houses spread out across the country, a mile or so separating them, lively pastures and gardens crowding their yards. The town square was most intriguing, in the middle of the village. Where there was a bank on one side, town hall on another. One end held rows of market sellers, dirty hands offering produce, fresh fruit, and sultry meat. And on another end was the richer part, the 'better' part of town, where the wealthy resided. Where there were abodes that sold all means of clothing, from ribbons to waistcoats. And many businesses lined the cobblestone roads. The two sides were far apart from each other, but you could neither leave, nor enter with out crossing the less wealthy parts. I hated the way society divided itself, thought it disgusting of someone to think of themselves highly, and better, without mercy to the lesser. I was sure since I came to develop these rebellious thoughts at a young age, always coming up here and looking over everything with the curious eyes of a child, judging something ignorantly. But I found I've always felt this way. About people. About everything. And I knew the rich who had to go frequently through the poverty almost everyday, were humbled by what they saw. Or were at least quiet when they looked.

The town was small, but held a large number of people since it lye so close toLondon. I liked all the people who lived here. I grew up with them. This town was family. I'd always have opinions about them, but it was his own society I was judging.

I pulled my gaze away after a moment, forgetting, causing me to miss a detail that I would have loved to watch more closely.

The Darling house.

The officers, including me, the general's son, were invited to a ball with the Darlings later that evening. The girl, Wendy, having been one of the things I was dealing with being the most unreal thing he'd beheld, would be there; and under all circumstances I would too, considering my place. Just another thing expected.

But Wendy was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I couldn't deny, but I didn't want to appreciate. Something new and unfamiliar hit the pit of my stomach at thinking of her. I didn't like the feeling at all. The sentiment, new and odd, was irrelevant, I rejected it with disgust.

But whispers of her laughter still rang in my ears.

I was mad to want her. Why should I? She was just a girl, a mere girl. And she was just like the rest.

And the party, I most certainly did not want to go to. What was to be expected of me if I went? Be a gentleman to the ladies? Make small talk with other commanders? Kiss girls' hands? Wendy's hand? Walk straight and tall, like a real man was expected to?

It was every boy's dream, of being older, growing up, being accepted by the older crowd, and being like them. Just like them.

Was it bad, that I didn't want it?

But there was one thing I knew, if not anything else. I wanted to be free.

And that I, a boy of fifteen, would not, hear me, not, fall for that girl.

I, Peter Pan, would not grow up.

And falling in love meant growing up. And growing up meant getting older.

Hello, readers. This is my first Peter Pan fic, and I'm working really hard on it. I've set it aside for a while, but I've decided to come back to it. Let me know what you think and if you think I should go on. Reviews are appreciated!

- Holly