Greetings everyone, Delirium is finally here!

Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me from the beginning, I hope this was worth the wait :) Enjoy and please share your thoughts!

(Important note at the end)

We are forlorn like children, and experienced like old men, we are crude and sorrowful and superficial – I believe we are lost ~ Erich Maria Remarque

The stench of blood hung, putrid, in the night air. Fire, torched and untamed twisting together, sinisterly mimicked the light of day, so that she could see everything, the tears being the only hindrance, burning all the worse. A pair of arms hauled her away, shouts and cries ringing in her ears yet she could hear nothing within beyond her own heart.

He had been the kind of man found in songs and lore, in the tales read to children, her bother.

And now that was where he would reside.

She could no longer tell if there was any life left in him, and nearly hoped not so that he would not have to endure what she could see. Thick booted brutes descended upon that once comely form, their mouths pursed in cruel dog-like howls. Her great hound was fallen. Now, there was only her, still nothing but a teething pup.

All became still. Any screaming or the clanging of metal was now far away, and he too.

"Look at me," someone shook her violently, a gruffly shattered voice grating on her hearing. "Look at me! You look at me. Listen to me. You do not fill your heart with grief; you fill it with fire, with vengeance. That is the only way to peace. Take what is owed to you in blood. Take revenge and restore balance. You may be bloodied, but you will not be broken. Never broken."

Sabre woke with a sharp jolt.

Sluggishly, she lifted her head to see if she'd kicked anyone by accident but found herself quite alone. Her body slumped, still not free from the tenacious grip of exhaustion that had clawed its way down to her very bones, and it took all her will not to close her eyes and drift off again.

The freshly kindled fire danced before her glassy eyes though it was not yet nightfall, and with a low groan, hoarse in her throat, she rolled onto her back. The sky above was simply blots of slowly dwindling light through the looming canopies of trees and vines. And apparently sleep hadn't been enough to calm the muscular aches from the vigorous training early that morning either. Probably her own fault, though, going against Rune and Alfonso at the same time.

For uncounted moons, she'd lived without pain or draining fatigue from training. Those days were in the past, for all of them.

"Bad dreams again?" the comfortable drawl of Felix's voice descended on her ears.

"Oh, get fucked," she grumbled, finding the energy to sling a forearm over her eyes.

Nightfall couldn't come fast enough. With the others retired for the night, she might get a little peace and rest. She nearly scoffed at herself. You never did learn quick enough.

"Not a bad idea," Felix replied easily, a playful smirk on his lips that she could hear in his voice. "Perhaps you should do the same. Might lighten you up a little."

Sabre now did scoff, letting her arm flop down by her side so she could turn her gaze on him, the corners of her mouth lifting a fraction. "Yes, because we all know you as the embodiment of carefree delight." She watched the tall boy slink past her, with an empty, half-smirk of her own. It was a weight she could only hold for a moment or two.

He paused, leering down. "I'm still much closer than you. Pan hasn't gone off you again, has he?" The toe of his boot connected with the muscle of her outer leg.

"Sod off, cunt," the girl grunted, but with the tiniest edge of a grin – a heavier weight – even as she did flinch on the inside, and for once he did as she said.

From head to toe, her muscles slumped into the ragged pelt under her back. The air had grown colder since she was last awake but couldn't find the strength to go in search of another. Glancing over to her hut, which lay half hidden by a great tree, Sabre hoped that Vasha was at least getting some rest. In the gap left in the entrance, which was no more than a strung up rug, lights flickered and a shadow that belonged to Nibs moved within. For almost three good decades, sickness and malady had been such rare visitors in Neverland; now, they were everywhere. In the cuts of jagged blades, in the wrong berry or piece of meat, in the poison air.

With the edges of sleep at last creeping away, Sabre was powerless to the thoughts which were swift to overrun every corner of her mind, going round and round in their endless circles, as they had ever since Pan offered the deal that had proven just compelling enough to keep the full extent of her conscience at bay, heard like the voice on the other side of a door which had lost its key, shouting and pounding upon the wood. The ability to recall everything had proven to be a blessing of no bounds, or who knew what sort of madness she would have strung herself into. She sighed and rubbed her face tiredly, unsure of how much longer she could wait; every conceivable way forward had been contemplated a hundred times at least.

Inwardly groaning, Sabre compelled her body to rise and drag itself away from the safety of the camp, leaving the pelt on the ground as it was. Someone else's tired body could collapse there.

How long had she waited? How long had they all waited?

Time was such a peculiar thing in Neverland. One might say it travelled faster; where in the rest of the worlds a year gone by, several would have passed in Neverland. But then it could be said that it went slower, managing to stretch time and making it last longer. No one was entirely sure of how time in Neverland worked in relation to the rest of the creation, only that the ratio was weighted in Neverland's favour. In frankness, no one had any reason to care, save one. All Sabre could be sure of was that it had been a long, long time. Far too long. The things we must do to keep our sanities intact.

Her feet carried her without need of conscious thought. She glimpsed down at the blue ribbon tied around her wrist, worn and faded, remembering the day it, again, became hers. After his execution, Curly had been taken to a quiet clearing and buried at her pleading behest, the first body of what would become Neverland's graveyard for the lost. She was the most common visitor to that dark glade, and knew where all the bodies and ashes lay buried, their names marked into the trees like headstones; boys she'd known well from her earliest days on Neverland, boys like James, and Pips, and Ted.

There had been no new arrivals for quite some time, yet something was irreplaceable about the band of Lost Boys with whom she'd first joined. She'd been the stranger and the outsider. The boys Pan had later brought to Neverland's shores found the rogue girl held a higher status, on par with Pan's two favourites, while still wearing the cloak that kept her, in some ways, as the outsider. But now, like the wild boy, there was now a distance between her and the Lost Boys, one that hadn't always been there.

Sabre did miss the old days, being a true Lost Girl, safe in the position of Pan's trinity yet running within the ranks of the Lost Ones, training them, playing and fighting with them, sleeping besides them. But things have changed now. I'm more than a Lost One, and always was. It's time I woke up.

Everything had changed the day Rufio died.

She came to stand before Curly's grave, fingers grazing the silken ribbon. I'm sorry, old friend. I would take it all back if I could. Be at peace, wherever you are.

A chill descended like a sighing breath.

Sabre lifted her head.

"It's not long now, pup," Pan spoke from behind her. Sabre, with years of practice, calmly looked over her shoulder before turning to face him despite the lurching of her heart; even though he was at the other end of the clearing, it was as if he'd spoken right in her ear. "They'll be coming soon. You know what you need to do?"

"To the letter," she replied steadily, even as the knot tightened sickeningly in her belly. "The boy will die?"

Helplessly, her gaze swept over the concealed graves, piercing deeper in a forlorn search for the bodies beneath, rotting away in the land that held them in a limbo between time. Would the corpse of the Truest Believer join them there, she wondered.

Lost Ones had died in both honour and disgrace, and she remembered them all. So many deaths had passed her by that a relief had evolved for the times she could mourn them publically. Those who mourned for traitors, those that Pan wished dead, were punished; her grim countenance had saved her hide each time. The Boy-King cared not for how his thralls mourned each other otherwise, so long as it didn't deter their reverence or use to him, and if his heart did stir when death betrayed him, Neverland felt it to the very bones.

"You hold up your end of the bargain, and I'll hold up mine," the Boy-King prowled closer, tilting his head as he drew close. "Don't look glum now, Sabryna. This is a good thing, for both of us. You've waited so long, after all."

Sabre cast her eyes away, held her features still, tight lipped and observant. She didn't like it when he used her name.

Closer still, and towering over, Pan silently commanded her gaze to flicker up, cooing in mock concern. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts? Or am I going to get the chance to play out all the punishments I've conjured over the years?"

"Have I not done enough?" she ground out, unable to keep the fear fully at bay. "I've done everything you wanted."

I've played your games, I've fought your battles, I've killed on your orders, I've endured every torture and torment you put upon me, I've defied all I hold dear.

"I turned against Killian for you," the girl spoke as if having recited all that she wished to, but never would, say.

Pan smirked but his eyes were cold, piercing her like a shard of ice in the chest. "Not that it was good enough to save Rufio, was it?"

"It was difficult to do much with this," Sabre near trembled as she touched the left side of her throat. The long scar was fainter now but stark against the natural hue of flesh in the right light, and nothing would ever keep her from being able to know of its presence. Whether Killian had missed out of inaccuracy or misplaced sentiment, Sabre had no way to know but it had allowed her to get away with her life. That hook was sharper than it looked. "Not that anything I did could have saved him. It's not as though you were there to keep him alive."

A resounding crack ricocheted through the clearing. Tangled coppery hair was strewn across Sabre's face, blocking her sight as her skull was sent spinning and she crumpled to the ground. Breathing out slowly, she righted her head, able hear the distant retreating flaps of wings, and flicked her locks back over her shoulder, hands remaining still. As much as it hurt, that slap proved what she'd been sure of for a long, long time.

He could love, but only brutally, fiercely and callously. In his own terrible way, he'd loved Rufio. And it still hurt.

The threads between them were not as strong as they once were, but she had long known how to feel his rawness.

"Careful now," Pan exhaled, eyes wild and alight, yet icily cruel. "It would be an awful shame to have come this far, and all for nothing."

Knowing better than to push the limits she'd similarly long learnt, Sabre nodded obediently, biting back the tears as she looked up. It came so naturally now. "I know what I need to do."

Pan gripped her jaw to pull her up, the bones nearly grinding. "Good dog." His mouth descended before she managed to gasp, capturing the point of her pulse under her jaw with a punishing ferocity.

Clenching her fists, Sabre fought to remain steady and poised, knowing all too well what would happen if she allowed herself to crumble under Pan's affections. She had to stay sharp, not sate the addiction; she now had a role to play. Failure could not even be thought of, now more than ever.

Fang-like teeth sunk into tender flesh, eliciting a stifled whine. The hand at the back of her head clenched viciously, and she trembled at the knowledge that, with just those fingers, he could crush and crack open her skull.

Pan drew away, leaving her cold and to nearly stumble with her own weight, and by the time she'd opened her eyes, panting for air, he had vanished as though never there.

Deflating, Sabre sighed out, running a hand over her furiously reddened cheek. There had been times when he too had been so close, so dissonantly, distantly intimate. She found that she missed that more than all else.

It's not long now.

Darkness had fallen. Tonight was the night the game began.

Indigo hood drawn up over her mask, Sabre moved through the jungle with the swiftness of the creature it depicted. The leather jerkin she'd donned was firm, binding her body securely, fur lining the shoulders and collar, becoming much finer down the back, thick enough to shield from the cold. The clothes beneath, exposed on her arms and legs, were a deep grey hue, the whole attire prime to shroud her in the shadows. An instinct, she long knew better than question, or deny, had drawn her towards one of the bays, for there had been no forewarning of the circumstances under which the Truest Believer would arrive – how truly ironic it would be if the boy were to be brought by the very same means as herself – and she found a spot to crouch and hide, overlooking sea and sand.

Her blood and soul thrummed in a way she had not known for a long time. Far away, she was certain Pan felt it, also. The pieces were set, awaiting the first move. The army would be on the move.

Now it begins.

Not long now, my love, I'll come home to you soon.

The silence was suffocating, deafening. Life had held its tongue. The ocean dared not lift its head, casting the silver moon in a seamless reflection. On any other night it would have been a beautiful sight to behold. The girl drew a deep breath, fearing the break of silence.

A flash of blinding light cracked open the fabric of the air before her shoulders could descend in exhale, whirling just above the ground. Sabre jolted, the air hitched in her throat as what could only have been a portal materialised from nothing.

Just as swiftly, the light was extinguished, leaving behind three figure who were not meant for her world. The smallest, a mere slip of a boy with his hands bound at his chest, collided to the sandy ground, his dark hair and face wet as if he'd surfaced from water. The face she'd only ever seen on the faded parchment.

Sabre exhaled, breath hot under the mask. So you're the one. Good luck to you, boy.

Die well, and not in vain.

The boy scrambled to his feet in an attempt to flee, barely making a step before he was snatched back by a man who had followed in the portal. It had been quite some time since Sabre had seen someone fully within the bounds of adulthood – Hook and his pirates being the last – set foot on Neverland and now there were two, who did not belong. Her presence remained undetected as she watched events unfold.

"Uhh, uh, slow down, pal," the man said, taking the boy by the scruff, speaking nearly as if to placate him. Sabre examined the elder – pale skin, peculiar clothes, a receding hairline and an odd pack over his shoulders. He crouched a little to adjust to the boy's height. "You got nowhere to go," he spelled out before pushing the boy forward with enough force to make him stumble.

Sabre quickly turned her avid eyes to the female, the third and final – soft brown skin, dark hair straight as straw, and also with a pack of sorts at her back and strange attire that reminded her of nothing she'd ever seen. She'd been well aware that Pan had… contacts, a greater collective of pawns to satisfy his whims and wishes, beyond the bounds of Neverland, but she'd never been sure what to anticipate. Certainly not this.

The woman exhaled. "We made it," she glanced to her companion, a look of satisfaction about her. "Mission accomplished."

Sabre could not begin to imagine what Pan had promised them, what lies and promises had been told to buy their obedience.

"Are you sure about that?" the boy questioned with a tint of petulance. His voice was soft, still light, implying to her he'd yet to enter adolescence. "'Cause my mom's coming to get me. Both of them."

Their voices shared the same lifts and tones as several of the Lost Boys, Sabre noted fleetingly.

Her features immediately sharpened in focus as the odd man stepped closer to the younger. "You know, I'm gonna take a look around, kid. You see any clock towers?" he gestured to make his point; "You're a long way from Storybrooke."

"Storybrooke," Sabre found herself mouthing beneath the mask before she could stop herself, watching the two adults look around the strange, wild land. She had been very much the same upon her own arrival.

"It doesn't matter," the boy protested. There was something in his voice Sabre recognised. The certainty, the earnestness, the faith. The child had no doubts at all, and she didn't know whether to look on in fondness or displeasure. "My family's been to the Enchanted Forest before, and they can get here again."

As he spoke, a distant howling whistled on the air. It could have easily been mistaken for animal howls, as the newcomers probably believed it to be. Completely still, Sabre watched them look around again, more frantic than curious.

"Well, we're not in the Enchanted Forest," the woman corrected with a mocking edge to her tone. "This is Neverland," her eyes and smile lifted assuredly. Sabre's face altered in scorn, yet felt more pity than she was prepared to admit. Poor bastard fools.

A little confidence was shaken from the boy, his eyebrows left raised, eyes widened. "Neverland?" he repeated, the name somehow familiar on his tongue. "You're here to destroy Neverland?"

"It's the mother lode of magic," she looked back tensely to her male counterpart, who was rummaging in his pack. "Oh, where's the communicator? We need to signal the Home Office."

What in the Red Hell did Pan tell these people?

Her eyes squinted as he handed the woman a strange black device – whatever it was – "Here you go, T."

So, they must be familiar.

Gods, they really believe this.

"An office in the jungle?" the boy questioned incredulously, self-assurance restored. "Huh. Who works there?" A tiny smile pulled at Sabre's lips.

The man hauled his pack over his shoulders, getting ready to step over Neverland's threshold. "Who we work for is not your concern, kid," he barked backed. "Just know that they take care of us."

"Do they? Can they tell you how to get back home after you destroy magic?" the younger challenged.

"We don't ask questions. We just believe in our cause."

Bastard fool.

"Greg?" the woman's voice trailed as she poked at the odd communicator device, brow now furrowed.

Greg looked over. "Yeah?"

She sighed irritably, "I'm not getting a status light on this thing," and held it out to her partner.

Sabre watched him fumble around with it, still having no idea of what it was or what purpose it served. "Did you check the batteries?" he pulled it apart, and Sabre had no inkling if it was supposed to do that or not, and a fine grainy substance poured out and scattered to the ground. Sand. The creasing of Greg's brow was enough to inform her that something had clearly malfunctioned.

The woman stepped closer to examine the faulty device. "What the hell is this? A toy?"

"It's a good thing you guys don't ask any questions," the boy said, not sharing the growing confusion of his captors.

Greg turned sharply to the woman, "Let's go," then to the boy and barked, "Walk."

The boy knew better this time and did as he was told though Greg still shoved him nonetheless, following close behind. However the woman lingered, and Sabre had seen the look on her face a thousand times over, far too many times. Believing she was unseen, the woman betrayed the festering of doubt that there was something beyond their righteous conquest against the forces of magick, and it all showed, painfully clear to Sabre's eyes, in the soft contortion of her features. Hesitantly, she followed her two companions, and Sabre shadowed.

Light on foot, no better than a shade, the Lost Girl crept along the jungle paths, moving more alongside the party than behind, shielded under the cover of darkness and twisted foliage. She tracked their every move, and knew that her path couldn't cross with the boys' who would, undoubtedly, already be on their way. The Truest Believer and his captors didn't venture too far before deciding to make camp in a small clearing. Sabre found another safe spot to watch from, thinking them rather wise for such a decision. They knew nothing of the land they had entered. Neither did they have means of protecting themselves.

Greg gathered stones into a circle and piled sticks and dry grass and leaves in the middle. He then pulled an odd-looking box from his pack and pulled what looked like a match from that, striking it along the side of the box to light it. Holding it against some of the grass, he waited for a flame to start and leaned over to give air to it.

"We making s'mores?" the boy asked derisively, standing with his hands still tied.

Unimpressed, Greg sat up on his knees and brushed his palms together. "No. Building a signal," he angled his head to address the woman, who had lagged a little behind the entire way; "Help me gather some dry leaves. We need to let the Home Office know that we're here."

Oh, they already know. Sabre knew that, to Pan, these souls were inconsequential, and therefore their use would be outlived before long. While, to her, nobody was truly inconsequential. It mattered not how easily she could supress the urge to unveil herself and help them to safety, but that it still lived within her.

You people should never have come here.

"What if that's not enough?" the woman sighed, arms folded anxiously over her chest. "What if the empty communicator wasn't an accident?"

"Don't let the kid get in your head," Greg's reply was firm.

From behind them, almost ahead of Sabre, came a rustling. It was purposefully loud, alerting the newcomers instantly, and Sabre's jaw set.

Felix was the first to emerge, as she knew he would, that inelegant, ugly club slung over his shoulders, hood worn up, and the rest of the pack wasn't far behind, all making themselves known. Defenceless and outnumbered, Sabre knew well of the panic the newcomers must have felt. She thought about moving so she could see both sides equally well, however decided the risk would not be worth it.

"Who are you?" Greg demanded unevenly.

Felix's smirk was signature; "We're the Home Office. Welcome to Neverland."

"The 'Home Office' is a bunch of teenagers?" the woman spoke in disbelief, and Sabre could only imagine her expression as one of unnerved confusion, as everything unravelling around them.

"They're not teenagers," the Truest Believer spoke up. "They're the Lost Boys."

Sabre's brow furrowed heavily under the mask. Now, how do you know that? How could you know?

Felix dragged his gaze up and down the boy's stature. "Look at that."

"Why do the Lost Boys want to destroy magic?" he demanded imploringly.

"Who said we wanna destroy magic?" Felix inclined his head, darkness in the edge of his voice, feigning ignorance.

"That was our mission," Greg said, stepping towards Pan's right-hand as if trying to reason with him.

But Felix only shrugged. "So you were told. Yes," like a hawk, his gaze shifted. "Now the boy. Hand him over."

"Not until you tell us the plan – for magic, for getting home," the woman moved to stand in front of the boy, placing herself between him and the Lost Ones.

The smile Felix responded with was wry, and the way he glanced down briefly only testified his mocking. Edging closer, he stared Greg right in the face, and spoke slowly; "You're not getting home."

There was a moment of silence; clearly the newcomers were weighing their slim options.

"Then you're not getting the boy," Greg's tone lowered, evened out, as though he honestly believed there was a choice, or a way out somehow.

The silence that followed made Sabre's skin crawl.

Any second now…

A cold bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face, under the mask. Run, just run.

Felix scoffed, inching a little closer. He exceeded the grown man in height and liked that he could look down at him, down on him. "Of course we are."

Something shifted in the winds.

Sabre knew it was all too late as the air plunged into ice. Descending from the night with a ghost-like roar, a black and faceless entity swooped down almost too quickly for the human eye to see. With a distorted growl, the creature grasped at Greg's back, grasping at something intangible to human hands, and wrenched.

As if deaf to the man's screams, the shadow – his shadow – ripped the humanoid silhouette that was Greg's own shade with the ease of tearing wet parchment yet with a sound like cracking bones and tearing muscles. The breath that fuelled his cry was severed, and the body, a cold husk, thudded to the ground. The fire blazed with a malice of its own and, despite the distance from it, Sabre flinched violently.

Holding its newest prize, slumped in its arms, the shadow looked down on the mortal form, as if to admire their work, before ascending with the same swiftness into the night.

"Run!" the woman cried out to the boy and they both spiralled to flee, heading in polar directions; Sabre had to press herself into the darkness so the female wouldn't discover her as she ran past, while trying to keep the Truest Believer in her sight.

"Get the boy," Felix spoke, so unnervingly relaxed in the face of chaos and death.

One of the boys with him, Kiko, drew his bow and with not an ounce of hesitation loosed an arrow that struck the woman in the centre of her back. Sabre's fingers curled, body cold and rigid as the woman was taken to the ground. If the arrow itself didn't kill her then the Dreamshade will. It took all her will to not move an inch.

The two pawns were dead, their minor significance was reduced to nothing, and the patrol of Lost Ones left the corpses where they were, setting off in pursuit of the Truest Believer.

Under her suffocating veil, Sabre's skin burned feverishly yet her blood remained cold. She stepped out from her hiding place, not allowing even a moment to look properly at either of the bodies. With suddenly too much energy to dispel, she took off after Felix's party. She couldn't stay back any longer. So long as she didn't get in the way and the boy didn't run into her. Her companions were easy to follow, not that they were employing much stealth – they wanted to the boy to know he was being hunted – but she only pursued a short distance. Pan will intervene soon, and then the Lost Boys would be left following a cold trail, meanwhile Pan would put the boy to the first test.

In this preliminary stage, her task was simple – stay out of the way until the boy was secured.

Sabre backtracked to the small clearing when the hunting party began shouting, signalling they'd lost track of the boy. The fire was still lit, the bodies still there, and the air still bitter cold.

She went to the woman first, and no longer fought the pang in her chest; she hadn't even known the poor soul's name. Blood stained her overcoat, yet the arrow was gone, leaving the wound open to bleed, and there was a tiny pile of ash not a yard from her head.

But she was growing cold. Sabre put her fingers under the woman's jaw and found only silence. Someone else has been here.

A little twig snapped. Behind the mask, Sabre's top lip lifted as she spun to face the noise, pulling her dagger from her belt without a thought needed. "Oh, Tink," she sighed in relief as the familiar face made itself known, shoulders slumping heavily and sheathing the weapon. "Don't sneak up like that. I get enough of that already." She lifted her mask, the pale scars on her face dimly reflecting the firelight, and drew in an unhindered breath of chilled air.

"Sabre, your face," the fairy gasped when she looked up, silently demanding an explanation for the violent splash of red on her cheek.

She shrugged almost too unconcernedly. "Made the mistake of playing the Rufio card. Although, he did start it," she then paused, passing a fleeting glance to nowhere; "D'you think I'll leave the same mark on him?"

Tink shook her head, a crease forming at her brow. "What are you talking about?"

Sabre glanced away, lips pursed. "Hm? Never mind."

"It's started, then," Tink said after a pause, stepping slowly around the clearing, examining the two bodies.

"The sooner begun, the sooner done," the other sighed wearily.

"But how many more dead bodies are there going to be?" Tink opened Greg's pack and started rummaging through it.

"Really?" Sabre slumped against a tree, and pulled off the mask completely. "After everything we've seen?"

Their eyes met tensely and they tried to breach the other's mind. Tink never completely relaxed around Sabre anymore, not that Sabre could truly blame her, yet was still more at ease with her than any other inhabitant of the paradise-clad hell. Keeping as far away as possible had always been her protection, and it had allowed her to witness the transformation of each Lost One. She's seen the girl take on a hide that she'd not carried with her in the early days, and now Tink was afraid to know if it could still be removed, if it was still to protect all that lay within.

"Do two more dead bodies really cap the limit?" Sabre resumed, fingers running absently along the ridge of the one of the mask's ears.

"No, I think it was capped quite some time ago," the rugged fairy snapped.

"If one dead soul doesn't exceed the limit then no number will," the tired girl sighed. "We both know full well that Pan doesn't abide by limits, and soon he won't have any. All we can do is work quietly and stay in his good graces," Sabre's curiosity perked and she crouched to examine the dead woman's body again, as if in hope that she'd missed something.

"Yeah, well I'm staying out of it," Tink stated as she knelt down on the other side of the corpse. Her dainty fingers brushed over the arrow wound. Sabre knew that she too was wondering where the arrow had gone.

"I wish I had that option. Would be better late than never," the girl turned her attention to the bundle of grey ash before she could be drawn too far down another path. "Now, what is that? Because I'm guessing this wasn't you."

Tink leaned over and took a pinch of the ash between her thumb and forefinger. She lifted it to eye level. "It's her heart. Or it was. I think this is what killed her."

"Her heart?" Sabre parroted, mouth agape.

"Some magic users can pull your heart from your body. They can use it to control you, or to kill you by squeezing it to ash," Tink explained, brushing her hands off.

I hate magick. "Do you think it was Pan?"

She shook her head. "He can do it, but no, I don't think it was. I don't think you need reminding of his favourite ways to murder a person. Someone else is here."

"Though, I admit, I wasn't quite expecting the shadow. The boy," Sabre paused for a breath, forcing the next word onto her tongue, "Henry said his family were coming for him. If that's true, my bet is on one of them. Though I didn't see anyone, did you?"

"No, not yet. If anyone is coming then Pan will know about it. Then again, I think you would know too," the fairy rose to her petite height and brushed herself down, watching as Sabre averted her eyes with a tightened jaw. "Are you really going to help him kill that boy?"

Sabre followed suit in brushing herself down, taking one last look at the bodies before staring Tink right in the face. "You say that like I have a choice."

Tink folded her arms, expression stern. "There's always a choice."

Brushing off the sting at the other woman's demeanour as best she could, Sabre kept her features neutral as she tilted onto one hip. "You know I've never held with that sentiment." There may always be a choice, but sometimes there's only one way forward.

"You didn't answer my question," she pressed when Sabre said no more. "I've known you a long time. You're the only Lost One that never lost themselves to him completely. So, are you?"

Looking to the fire, Sabre let out a resigned sigh, much like the one Valdemarr had given as he apologised for what he was about to do. Her soul was already going to burn. "I'm going to do what needs to be done."

And then perhaps I can begin to forgive myself.

Hope you liked it!

Before this story goes any further I wanted to ask you, my lovely readers, if you would like me to continue Delirium beyond the end of season 3a where we'd see Sabre getting her side of the deal to avenge Rielus?

This would be a big break from the series and take us into almost 100% original material but this is because this series has been an amazing opportunity to practice writing and test the waters with ideas, characters and plots etc. I've been working on for a number of years for an original novel series, which was actually the reason I chose OUAT as the fandom to write in because I have a very major character who was rather like Pan in his inspirations and that was why I've drawn more associations from Pan as a mythological figure than as Barrie constructed him. That and I loved Robbie's performance as Pan.

And of course, this would mean taking down this whole series once it's completed when I go on to fully write my original novels, though it wouldn't be for a fair while. So, if you would like to see the arc of Sabre's revenge or would prefer to leave it around the end of the 3a mark, let me know. Seriously, this one is on you guys. If it's the only review you ever leave me, let it be this one.

Thanks again everyone!