Tinkerbell, now old and frail, sits in a small wooden chair made for very small dolls. Fairies lived to be very old, over a couple hundred years if they play their cards right. Although fairies age very slowly, they do start to become aged after a while. She was looking out of her small but lovely house made out of flowers and the tree that Peter Pan had once lived in. Once again, and like most days, she was lost in her memories. Her eyes scanned over Neverland and she strained her eyes as far as she could see. She looked up into the sky and she knew he was never going to come back. It has been 80 years so far. Things have changed. She hated Wendy for it.
Why did she have to take him away?
He made his own choice.
She forced him. He didn't choose to go.
He loved her.
Ah, well there was no point in fighting with herself about it. She couldn't change anything if she could. A part of her had always loved the magical and mysterious Peter Pan, and a part of her knew that he always knew.
An shaken and aged voice called, "Wendy? Can you bring me my cane?"
"Yes, Peter." Wendy rounded the corner. Her eyes were surrounded by aging wrinkles and her hair was white. Her steps were slow and she looked like her time was near. Her eyes met Peter's sunken in eyes and both of their eyes lit up like they hadn't seen each other for years. "Do you want your hat, too, my dear?"
Peter took his cane and pushed himself up from the chair he was sitting in. He shook his head, "We are too young for matters as such. Let us go on adventure."
Wendy chuckled and stepped closer to Peter, putting his hat on him anyway. "We are 93 years old, Peter Pan. I wouldn't say we are young." They waddled towards their front door and stepped outside.
Peter put his one free arm around his beautiful wife and told her, "I've learned a thing or two in my years."
"What is that?" she asked.
"That you don't have to a child to feel young."
