"My little Wendy, you're getting so big," Mama spoke quietly, rubbing my cheek with a soft hand. I smiled up at her.

"I'll be seventeen soon, Mama. I'm very excited to grow up." She gave me a sad smile, and took her hand from my face.

"Oh, Wendy, don't say that. You stay young while you can. Growing up is difficult, and it comes with stress that you'll soon have to deal with."

"What kind of stress do you mean?" She took me by the hand and sat me on the bed. She placed her other hand overtop mine, the other resting underneath it.

"Wendy, you've turned into a beautiful young lady, and I'm so thrilled about it. But, boys will start to look at you. You're older now, and soon someone will want to take you as a wife."

I frowned at her and played with the ruffles of my nightgown with my free hand.

"Mama, I don't want to be married. I want to go to school, and live by myself. I want to be like you, Mama." I complained. She chuckled quietly.

"My dear, school is a very big responsibility. I didn't go to school, your Papa did. He's why we live in such a lovely house," she looked around the room we were in. I followed her eyes, looking at the fine wardrobe, the expensive curtains, the finely tailored carpet. I frowned more.

"Mama, why can't I do things like Papa did? Why can't I go to school, and have good work? I don't want to be a nurse. I want to be something more, a lawyer, like Papa, or even-" She placed a finger over my lips.

"We women have certain rules that we live by. If you wanted to be a lawyer, do you think anybody would hire you? I'm sorry, Wendy, but people just won't like it."

I took my hand away from hers and crossed my arms.

"It isn't fair, Mama. If I can't go to school, then I never want to grow up!" I pursed my lips and squeezed my arms tighter around myself. My mother sighed at me and rubbed my shoulder.

"I know it isn't, Wendy, but it can't be helped," I looked up at her in time to see her smiling. "Your bothers are waiting for you. I believe you promised them a story tonight?"

With a weak smile, I nodded and stood up.

"I nearly forgot. Goodnight, Mama. I'll see you in the morning." I left her room and walked through the hall. On the way to my room, which was also my brothers' room, I looked at the walls. I looked at the fine little tables that held portraits. The paintings on the wall, the brand new telephone. I felt myself grow angry. This wasn't the product of women. This was all my father's hard work. It was like a strike to my cheek, seeing it all. Why couldn't I be like him? Why was I cursed with being a woman, never to amount to anything in the society I lived in?

I was sure to rid myself of my frown before I entered my room. I didn't want Peter and Michael to see me upset. I set a hand on the door and pushed it openly slowly, just in case they were already asleep. It was a silly thought, because they weren't. Immediately after I opened the door, Michael wrapped his arms around my legs, nearly tripping me. I stumbled to regain my balance and laughed.

"Michael, I'm going to fall! Please let me go!" Michael stuck his tongue out at me.

"Never, ever never! You're my prisoner!" The little blonde headed boy held onto my legs tighter, squeezing with all the might the five year old could muster.

"Now now, Michael, if you don't let go, I'll never tell you another story again!" Michael gasped, and let go of me quickly.

"Never?" He stuck his thumb in his mouth and looked up at me with big eyes. I gave him a serious nod.

"Never." I reaffirmed.

"Wendy, don't tell him that. You know you'll give us a story anyways." Peter called from his bed. He had his glasses perched on the end of his nose and a map in his hands. I scowled at him.

"Peter, if you say things like that, then my threats won't do any good."

Peter looked over at me and smiled.

"Sorry, Wendy, but you say it nearly every night." I opened my mouth to retort, but he was right! I did say it quite often. I sighed and shook my head.

"Oh well. Are you guys ready for your story?" I asked them both as I made my way to my bed. Michael scrambled after me, but not before he grabbed his teddy from his bed. I settled myself down, crawling under my quilts and rested against my pillows. Michael sat next to me, his head laying on my shoulder, and Peter sat on my other side. He, unlike Michael, sat against the wall. Peter was nearly twelve years old, and thoughts of cuddling his older sister vanished his mind.

I waited until they were properly settled before launching into one of my stories.

"Deep in the forest of Neverland..."

A boy dressed in tattered, green cloth. Dark blue eyes, and dark reddish-brown hair. He was tall, taller than the other boys, and well muscled for his age. He had been seventeen for a long, long time. Years, in fact. He never grew up. He was still young enough to be a boy, but old enough to command the respect of others.

In fact, he had his own group of followers. A pack, a gang, a clan, perhaps. All in all, he had his friends. They were all Lost Boys, who had somehow found their way to Neverland. And, for some reason, they made Peter their leader. He guessed it was because he was the biggest, and he was brave. Maybe it's even because he had caught the attention of a very special fairy, who he called Tink.

Or maybe it could be because Tink had taught Peter how to fly? It could be a number of reasons. Regardless of them, Peter led the Lost Boys.

Of course, they weren't the only people on Neverland. There were grownups, too, but Peter loathed them. Something inside Peter's mind told him that grownups were bad, that they had hurt him, and deep inside the other Boys, they felt the same. Somewhere, some way, grownups hurt each of them. They all hated the grownups, especially the pirates.

The pirates were the worst adults on Neverland. The Indians, Peter could tolerate. They left each other alone, and hardly even spoke. But the pirates liked to bully the Lost Boys. They'd find them on the beaches, sometimes kidnap them. They stole their stuff, and when the Boys started to fight back, the pirates got angry. One of Peter's boys had lost his life to one pirate, and from that day, many years ago, Peter vowed to kill them all. That boy, his name was Lumps, was one of Peter's closest friends, and they had gutted him on their ship, and stole his coins and his clothes, then dumped his body into the sea.

Peter found his body on the shores, partially devoured by the large fish that made the bay their home. Peter and the other Boys buried him in his house in the roots of a tree, so that he could be with them forever, even in death.

"Wendy, what's 'devoured' mean?"

"Hush, Michael. Let her tell the story."

Peter flew through the trees, laughing loudly as he dodged them. He was very fast, and he loved showing it off. For some reason, the other Boys couldn't fly, even after Tink tried to teach them. It just wouldn't work. But, the Boys were alright with it. They liked jumping through the trees, and swinging on vines. Sometimes they would try to race Peter as he flew, but they all lost.

"Peter!" one of the boys called from down below. Peter looked down and stopped in the air. It was Skunk. Peter let himself descend back to the earth, and felt the soil touch his leather covered feet.

"What's up, Skunk? Need somethin'?" Peter asked, putting his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, we're gettin' hungry. Think we can go huntin'?" Skunk rubbed his stomach to accentuate his hunger. Peter laughed.

"Of course! Get Fox, the Twins, and Rock to go and find some rabbits. If you want you can get some roots or something to put in the soup. I'll go steal some bread from the pirates."

Skunk looked at him with a worried look.

"Are you sure you should do that, Peter? I mean, the pirates are mighty angry 'bout you stealin' their coats a while back. Don'cha think we've done enough for now?" He shuffled his feet nervously.

Peter glared at him, and leaned down to look the smaller boy in the eye.

"Did you forget what they did to Lump? How they killed him? We still haven't got revenge," he stood upright and smiled. "Besides, they won't miss a little piece of bread."

Wendy let out a sigh. She was never able to finish her stories before the boys fell asleep. Each time she thought of new adventures to excite them, they would nod off before the rising actions. John was much too big for her to carry to his bed, so she prodded at him gently.

"John, you must wake up and get into bed." She said gently, so her voice wouldn't hurt his tired ears. John rubbed at him eyes from underneath his glasses, his fingers pushing them further up his nose. He smacked his lips and got up from her bed and scratched his shoulders. Wendy smiled softly at her brother. He was very dear to her, as was Michael, whose sleeping body was cradled against hers.

Wendy scooted around him, keeping her arm in place as she did so, and scooped him up in both her arms when she was standing firmly on the carpet. She walked over to his bed and bent back, so that she could pull away his covers with one hand and keep him steady with the other. He was getting quite big, she thought in the back of her mind.

After Michael was tucked away in bed, and the lights on the walls turned low, Wendy sat at her small desk. It was rather fancy, she noticed. She had seen it and sat at it every other day, but that night it seemed to be the first time she really saw it. Her father bought it, no doubt. She sighed. Her anger had left, but she was now filled with disappointment. She shook her head and scolded herself.

'Nonsense, Wendy. It is not fair to hate the things you are so lucky to have, simply because you did not buy them.' She opened the drawer of her desk and took out a thimble, thread, and a needle. Earlier in the week, in a very exciting game of pirates, John had torn the skirt of one of her nightgowns. The nightgown in question was already on the desk, the tear exposed and ready for stitching. Wendy measured out her thread, threaded the needle, and placed the thimble on her finger. Another sigh was building up in her chest, but before she could release it, Wendy pushed it down. She straightened her back, took her needle, and began to stitch the hole in her sleepwear.

As she stitched, she thought. Wendy thought of her fantasy world, her Neverland, where she could be free. That's how she thought of it. A place where anybody could be and do what they wanted, without the pressures of society dictating what she, or anyone else for that matter, did.

Peter was on the ship, now. He was crouched behind a pair of barrels, which reeked of the stench of rum. Peter scrunched his nose and crawled past them. Sure, he could have flown in at out in the blink of an eye, but this made the game fun! He loved teasing the pirates, who were so slow that they couldn't even catch a boy that couldn't fly!

He could smell the galley, and hear the talk to the pirates. The moon was now high in the sky, and the waters were calm. Firelight shown through the galley door, and shadows danced on the walls. Peter scoffed silently. Shadows, who needed 'em? He snuck closer to the door and pressed his back against the ship. Inches away, now, and Peter knew where they kept the bread.

He had been here too long, and Boys would be getting worried, if they already weren't. Peter needed to get in there, but he refused to fly. It would be cheating if he did, at least, that's how he saw it. While the minutes went down, Peter thought. He could distract them, somehow, but what could he use? He looked around in the dark. He could hardly see across the ship's deck, the galley lights only shone so far. Peter frowned, but grinned not a moment after. The barrels, of course! He pressed a palm to his forehead and shook with silent laughter. He would push one of the barrels so that it would crash, or better yet, fall into the water!

Peter quickly made his way back to the barrels and selected the one furthest from the door. He didn't have much time to spare, so he pushed the barrel so that it lay on its side. He then pressed his back against the wood and pressed his feet to the barrel, giving it a strong push. The barrel rolled forward, making 'clacking' noises on the planks as it did. Right after that, the barrel hit one of the rails of the ship, and fell into the water with a loud splash. The sounds from the galley stopped. It was quiet. Slowly, the sound of wood rubbing against wood sounded as a great number of chairs and benches moved away from tables. Peter moved back to the door. The pirates, as expected, checked the place where the barrels had been, and began yelling at the disappearance of the other.

Grinning to himself, Peter ducking into the galley, not caring if there was only one pirate in there. He ran past messy tables and spilt pints and into the kitchen area, which only consisted of a dirty water basin, a stone oven, and a large pot of soup. The bread, which was still fresh, sat inside the cool oven, waiting to be taken. Peter laughed aloud and grabbed it in his hands. It was too easy! He started making his way out of the galley when he noticed something. He looked down, and moved in a circle. His head shot up and his eyes flashed to the walls, under tables, in the rafters, everywhere in the room. He was running out of time, why did this happen now?

Peter's smile fell, but the bread stayed in his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it! He lunged after the fleeting form of his shadow-

Wendy hissed with pain. The thimble had started aching her finger, and she had taken it off a long while ago, only to just then be pricked by the little needle. It wasn't bleeding, thankfully, but it was late and Wendy was frustrated enough to want to go to sleep. Her nightgown was nearly finished, but it could wait for the morning. She set her needle down, her finger tip now resting in between her lips, and rose from her desk. She looked around the room to see if the boys were still asleep, and they were. John had removed his glasses and was sprawled out in his bed, an arm slung over his chest. Michael had curled himself in his blanket and held his teddy to his chest with the ferocity of a mother bear. A bit of drool trickled out of his open mouth, and Wendy stifled a laugh.

She loved her brothers dearly, as any older sister would. Wendy was almost like a second mother to them, she liked to think, and it made her happy. She sighed. Her birthday was just short of a month away, and that meant she would be of age to marry. Wendy had, of course, dreamed of marrying and having a handsome husband. When she was little she would stay up into the late hours of the night and imagine what he would look like, how he would act... But now, Wendy dreaded it. Surely her father had found potential men for her to marry, as was his duty. Wendy felt herself scowl, a frown forming on her face. She wouldn't marry, no, nor would she have children. Not for a long time.

Wendy crossed her arms and huffed. She tapped her foot angrily against the floor, thinking. How could she convince her mother and father she didn't want to marry? How would her father react to her wanting to go to school? Wendy threw her arms down to her sides and went to her bed. Easily, her sheets were pulled back, but when Wendy lay down she couldn't get comfortable. She was too upset to even try to sleep. Her sheets had started to tangle around her ankles, only frustrating her all the more. She kicked her feet, letting her anger fuel it, and freed them from the sheets.

After her outburst, Wendy sighed. Her body sagged with exhaustion and tears welled in her eyes. To stop them, Wendy clamped her eyes shut. She refused to cry over as petty a thing as growing up. She was strong, she would endure. Maybe she would even grow to like it... Her pride now dictated her reasoning, and she pushed all thoughts away. She would think of nothing more that night, nothing but her stories and a place where she didn't have to grow up.

AN: A bit short for the first installment, but I wanted to get a sort of feel for the story before I continued. Anyways, read, follow, review, enjoy!
-Jinx
THIS JUST IN! I had mixed up the names, but it's fixed now!