(This is my fourth fanfic. Like all my others, it's not great, and once again, the chapters are short. Sorry about that. I do hope people enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it, just like with all my other fanfics.
The characters in this story do not belong to me, they belong to JM Barrie and Great Ormond Street Hospital…the plotline, however, does belong to me. Unfortunately)
Prologue
Wendy sat writing a letter in the Nursery.
She was now seventeen years old and her parents were expecting her to marry. In fact, she was betrothed. But Wendy, who had never forgotten her adventures in Never-land, didn't want that life. She didn't want to grow up, marry, and have children of her own. She wanted to live forever as a child. If she couldn't do that, if she couldn't live forever as a child, then she wouldn't live at all.
She finished writing her suicide note and signed it with her name. She had explained her choice to die rather than grow up, and that she still loved her parents, but she no longer wished to live. Then Wendy put the note inside an envelope with the word 'Read' on the front, licked it, closed it, kissed it and set it down on the desk. She walked to the window ready to jump out of it into the garden below, to her death. She hadn't said in the letter how she planned to kill herself, so after reading it they most likely wouldn't immediately look out of the window.
They'd find her eventually though, and when they do find her, they'll probably wish they hadn't forced her to marry; because if they hadn't done that, she may not have made the decision to take her own life.
She stood, teetering on the edge of the large window, and closed her eyes.
"Oh Peter. If only you had come back. If only I could have returned to Never-land. I don't want to grow up. Oh Peter." She sighed into the night air, her voice rippling out over Victorian London. She could hear the voices of the city, the sound of horse-drawn carriages, the sound of bird singing their night-time songs and the sound the wind rustling through a ships sails.
Wait. That isn't right. Wind through a ships sails is not a London sound. Wendy opened her eyes and as she did, she fell forward out of the window. Instead of falling to her death as a result of hitting the ground though, like she had planned, she fell onto the wooden deck of a ship a few feet below, and was momentarily knocked unconscious.