Note: Obviously I don't own any of the Peter Pan characters...trust me, if I did, Wendy would be replaced by me :)

A murky combination of mist and fog swirled in the cold London air one November evening, the ice-cold light of the stars hidden by stormy clouds. All was quiet, except for the occasional rattling of a carriage as it was pulled along over the frozen cobblestones. Suddenly, a round ball of light could be seen flitting around several chimneys and lampposts, dodging trees and bushes, then finally swooping down towards a particular rooftop.

The light hovered a few feet above a softly lit window, darting about as though waiting for something. Abruptly, the tiny glowing sphere froze, and an unusually warm breeze blew through the streets of London, followed by a dark shadow. This shadow, more graceful and acrobatic than the darting light, also hovered by the window. Whirling around the dark shadow, the light emitted what sounded like several tiny bells being smashed together, obviously disapproving of what the shadow was doing. Ignoring the sparkling light ball, the shadow drew closer to the lit window.

If anyone had been inside the room at the time, they would certainly have been immensely startled to see the shadow, now finally illuminated by the light, in the form of a young boy of about eleven years old. Peter Pan. The legendary boy who never grew up; raised by fairies in a far off land created by dreams. Clothed only in lush green leaves from his navel down to his shins, one wondered how he could survive the harsh London winter. Wide, gray-blue eyes stared in fascination at the empty room, his blond hair curled loosely and hung in his eyes. He pressed one grubby hand against the glass, as if longing to be inside. Without warning, the glowing light lunged forward and seized a lock of the young boy's hair, then tugged sharply. The boy casually reached around and snatched the light out of the air and held it firmly in his fist.

Now that the light was still for the first time, it was revealed to be a tiny woman, clothed in some sort of colorful flower, and the same leaves as the boy's trousers. Her long red hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her brown eyes burned with a surprising rage. Huge, translucent wings, like that of a butterfly, were attached to her shoulder blades. A torrent of musical, bell-like sounds were heard coming from the delicate fairy's mouth, her eyes still burning with anger.

"Stupid boy!" raged the fairy in her native tongue (for that was what she was speaking; the fairy language). "You have tried to come before, and we found the window shut! Let us leave this dreadful, cold place."

Peter turned his blond head and stared at the fairy in his grip, his beautiful eyes fierce.

"No, Tink. I will not leave!" he whispered furiously, turning back to the empty room. "I must stay until I see her."

Tinkerbell's temper softened almost instantly, for she could never be angry with the boy for long. "She has gone," the fairy said gently, placing one tiny hand on the boy's fist. "I have come here without you before; another family is coming now."

"My mother would not leave!" Peter whispered again, though the fairy could tell his confidence was fading rapidly. Muttering to himself, Peter unexpectedly thwacked his head against the glass, startling the fairy in his fist. "She wouldn't, "he mumbled, his nose pressed again the cold glass. "She just…wouldn't."

These jumbled sentences dwindled into silence, and Tinkerbell relaxed, becoming absorbed in her own thoughts of mothers.

A loud thumping noise suddenly jerked the two out of their separate thoughts, and causing the boy to release Tinkerbell as they flew up towards the safety of an icicle-laden tree.

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"George! Oh, George dear, come look at the nursery! It's absolutely lovely…" A young mother swept into the empty room, twirling about in delight as she gazed at the empty fireplace and bright, patterned wallpaper. Her name was Mary Darling, and she was slender and rosy-cheeked, with warm brown eyes and a caring nature.

"I'm coming, Mary, coming…" Staggering thru the doorway and carrying a heavy box came a man by the named of George Darling. He was a stern, but gentle man in his thirties; a man who liked to know his place in the world. Panting, he set down his load, then moved over to where his wife stood and kissed her cheek lightly. "Lovely indeed, and quite a bargain…"the man called George said, eyeing the huge window apprehensively. "Shouldn't that thing have a lock?"

"Oh, the window? Of course not! Think of it…when summer comes round we can open that window to let in a nice breeze, and that tree out there will be covered in green. It will be so wonderful!" Mary said, crossing over to the window to peer out into the frosty night. George sighed and turned towards the door.

"Liza! Liza, bring the children up to see their room…" George called downstairs to their faithful (and only) servant. Liza obeyed, and the next minute, the sounds of two pairs of feet racing up the stairs could be heard. A small girl and an even smaller boy entered, both of them immediately began to race about the room, exploring every corner. A few seconds later, the maid entered with a third child in her arms, fast asleep. Liza handed the slumbering child to Mary, who kissed his forehead tenderly and began to rock him gently, humming.

"Wendy, John, behave or you'll wake Michael up," George Darling commanded sternly.

Both children obediently ceased their exploration and went to stand by their father's side, though their eyes continued to wander about the room.

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Peter floated cautiously towards the window, trying hard not to breath too loudly. He stared at the family with a mixture of curiosity and intense jealousy, his beautiful eyes alight with a sort of tortured anguish. Then, he spotted the girl, and felt the most unusual fluttering sensation in his stomach; he flew higher above the window, touching his finger cautiously to his stomach, as though afraid it would burst. Nothing happened, so he floated back down towards the window to peer at the Wendy girl again. As soon as he caught sight of her, twirling happily, her bronze hair catching the light in the most attractive way, the fluttering sensation came again. Confused and slightly fearful of the Wendy's effect on him, he flew high into the stars, determined to forget all that he had seen.

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Wendy Moira Angela Darling was a thin, blue-eyed girl of ten. She had an intense curiosity, a trait that was forced to be subdued, but would get her into a great deal of trouble in the future. John Rupert Darling was a thin boy of seven, with shaggy brown hair and a logical disposition. Though his sister was older, it was he who often rescued her when her curiosity got her into a situation she shouldn't have been in. And Michael James Darling, being only two years old, didn't have much of a personality yet.

All in all, they were a fairly content family. The children got along well, the parents never quarreled, and almost all of them were satisfied with their daily lives. Almost all of them. As I have said before, Wendy had an intense curiosity. And someday, in the future, it would bring her the most exciting adventure beyond anything in her wildest dreams.

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Editor's note: I know, possibly the lamest of all lame story beginnings. But it gets better, I swear! I try to inject some humor into my stories, but it's a little hard to be randomly funny when you're trying to write in J.M. Barrie style...so I think Peter is going to have to be my outlet for random, hilarious moments...:)

Reviews and critiques are EXTREMELY WELCOME! In fact, you'll get a cookie!

Well...no, there's really no cookie in it for you...but you'll have my gratitude! And that's almost as good as a cookie!