The delicate rustling of the leaves lulled them, making it hard not to fall asleep. They were surrounded by dark – night had fallen hours ago and there was no way to tell what time it was. The girls, however, knew better than to give in to their exhaustion and allow themselves to doze off, unbeknownst to anyone but them. Somehow, She always knew. There was no hiding anything from Her. One of them moved her weigh from one food to the other but this movement alone made a lot of noise in the middle of a tranquil night. The girl to her left gave her a worried glance and it seemed to wake them all up. No, they couldn't fall asleep, they had to keep an eye open and watch camp for the night. Once a week the camp's safety was in their hands, they could not disappoint Her.

"Report."

It was an all too familiar voice, one that sent shills down the girls' spine and inspired a mixture of awe and fear. She was as nurturing as she was fierce; no one in their right mind would consider getting on Her bad side.

"It's been quiet all night," one of the girls said, her voice a little raspy. They hadn't uttered a single word in hours and the stiflingly hot air of the jungle had them suffocating and thirsty.

"Night's far from being over. If a Lost Boy so much as steps on our land, I want him to run back to camp with an arrow through his leg," She told them, leaving no room for argument. She had trained them for this. "They came raiding our camp one too many times lately, methinks they need a little reminder who rules this part of the island."

"We won't disappoint you," the girl who moved earlier spoke up, looking up at their leader with glowing eyes, sweat trickling down between her brows and feet unsteady on the humid ground.

She turned towards the brave girl and stood before her a long while, minutely watching her, scrutinizing her.

"I expect not," She eventually said before disappearing in the night.

A collective sigh fell from the four girls on watch and suddenly, they didn't feel too hot anymore – cold, fear induced sweat now covered their back.

Mercy reappeared on the highest spot of her territory and scouted her surroundings, squinting her eyes to try and see if the Lost Boys' campfire was still lit. Everything was eerily still – she didn't like it. The island was fast asleep for the first time in what felt like forever, yet she found herself unable to get any shut eye that night. Be it because she wanted to savor that peaceful night or because her own paranoia prevented her from sleeping, that was another question. For now, all she could do was to help her girls make sure the camp was safe.

Peter Pan. His name, although she hadn't pronounced it in ages, always left a bitter taste in her mouth – after a while she figured that this must be what hatred and contempt tasted like. There was something else too, that feeling lingered on her tongue whenever she talked with her girls. The tangible terror she inspired to all of them – even though it was one of the things she most despised about Pan, she realized it was a necessary thing to make sure her soldiers stood in line and remained loyal and obedient.

All the power this authority gave her was exhilarating and more often than not, Mercy had to remind herself not to turn into the monster He became. He still had tremendous power over her – more than the power he was actually deploying to keep on her Neverland. Sometimes she wondered why he didn't use more of it, because she knew he could, she knew she left before he could teach her how to use all of her power. What was holding him back? Was this a part of a bigger scheme? All these unanswered questions were probably the reason behind her insomnia and paranoia. All the more reason to have the girls take turns to watch over the camp at night, when they were the most vulnerable.

There was only one thing her girls couldn't fight off. One lurid thing that was too incorporeal for them to combat. The Shadow.

From the corner of her eye, Mercy saw its moving silhouette fly between the trees, silently making its way toward her. Her hands clenched into fists each side of her body – she hated this, she hated herself for this. It felt like a betrayal – towards her girls, who trusted her, and towards herself.

"What do you want?!" She spat at the dark form floating in the air a couple meters in front of her, out of arm's reach and over the precipice.

It didn't answer. It never answered her harsh questions or colorful curses. She knew who sent it – over and over again, almost every night, for the last eternity. Because that was how long she had been there - an eternity.

Its ghostly hand pulled a flower seemingly out of nowhere and it stretched its arm out for Mercy to take the gift. She remembered in vivid details the first time this happened, she remembered she screamed and attacked the shadow relentlessly for hours until she was too exhausted to keep going, she remembered that the flower didn't suffer any damage from her fireballs and still glowed its gentle blue color, she remembered reluctantly accepting the offering and crying for the rest of the night.

She was alone back then, none of the Lost Girls had come yet. Now she wasn't alone anymore, so why was this oppressing loneliness weighting on her shoulders? An eternity later nothing had changed. To this day she still did the exact same thing – she reached out, took the splendid flower from the Shadow and waited until it disappeared into the night before collapsing on the rocky ground and crying, just crying.

000

She was the one exception – the only one in centuries, the only one in forever. Peter Pan didn't make exceptions, he was known to be a treacherous, ruthless leader and showed cruelty rather than mercy. His army was solely composed of young clueless boys - young enough for him to mold and shape the type of person they will become, and clueless enough to do it without them realizing it. Soon, his Lost Boys became cruel too, in their own way, even if his own viciousness could hardly be topped. Like any power-thirsty king, Peter Pan wanted more and more, always more power. There was never enough, never enough authority, or power, control, never enough enemies to defeat or magic to learn.

Neverland, as practical and symbiotic it was, was limited. It was surrounded by gallons and gallons of water, going as far as eye can see. There was no land to conquer, no enemies to challenge his authority. He was bored – like any child who had grown tired of their toys, he wanted new ones.

Peter Pan regularly left Neverland and wandered from village to village in the Enchanted Forest, searching for more innocent souls to corrupt and lure on his doomed island where everything and everyone stood still – frozen in time and space.

He was known under another name in the Enchanted Forest, though there was whispers about the identity of the boy who took kids from their parents, stole them right out of their little beds. The Pied Piper they called him and nobody knew where this curious name came from.

One day, Mercy found out though, but she was never able to go back and tell anyone. A pull stronger than anything she had ever experienced forced her to get out of her tiny bed, it compelled her to leave her room and she barely managed to slip on her shoes and throw a coat on top of her night gown before her feet dragged her out of her room and silently walked down the stairs. It was like they had a will of their own – they managed to reach the ground floor without stepping on any of the creaking wooden steps, something that Mercy couldn't even achieve when she tried.

Soon she was outside. She used both her hands to hold her coat closed and the freezing autumn wind made her eyes tear up but she couldn't fight off the urge to walk forward, closer, always closer to the mesmerizing sound that came from deep into the woods.

Before she knew it, she was in a small clearing with a bonfire in the middle. Around the flames were half a dozen boys of different ages – though all younger than she was – dancing madly to the tune. Once again guided by her feet, Mercy joined them. She didn't know how to dance but her body instinctively followed the music, her hair twirling around her as she spun in circles, her arms drawing invisible patterns in the air. Time was suspended – she lost track of it the moment she joined the dance. Her mind was foggy but at peace, she was one with her dancing companions despite not knowing any of them.

Everything came to an abrupt halt. Mercy's arm fell down to the side of her body and she looked around, wondering how she even got here in the first place.

"Look boys, we have an unsuspected guest," someone said. "What a treat! Here I thought tonight would be fruitless."

"Who are you?" Mercy questioned immediately, wary of this boy.

He was the only one wearing decent clothes and not dancing. In his hands there was a pied piper and immediately, she knew. She knew who he was and she knew that tonight was the last time she ever saw her village. In the morning her parents would wake up to an empty bed, like the parents of the boys around the bonfire.

"You'll know soon enough," he simply told her with a sly smile that she would never forget. Every time she heard his voice, Mercy would associate it with this twisted smile and it made her shiver. "For now, I ask the questions and you answer."

The boys suddenly resumed their mad dance, but Mercy heard no music.

"You can't hear it for now, I want to have a private conversation. Now tell me, who are you? The possibility of you being a boy with really long hair and pink lips seems highly improbable," he said.

He was walking in circles around her, studying her, his eyes going up and down and up again. Mercy wanted to run but her feet were as good as glued to the ground. When she looked down she realized roots had grown out of the ground and around her ankles. She was trapped.

"I'm a girl," she told him. "What is this? What are you doing?"

He smirked again. In a rather unpleasant way, but she didn't feel too threatened.

"I recall telling you that I was the one asking questions," he reprimanded her. "You don't look like a fool. You know me, I see it in your eyes. You're scared."

"I'm not scared of anything," she shot back right away, making him stop circling around her.

"A tough one, aren't you?" He huffed and resumed his walking. "How do they call me in this land again? Something to do with my flute," he said, trailing off and waiting for her to complete the sentence.

"The Pied Piper. You're the one that takes children away during their sleep," Mercy said accusingly.

"Do they seem asleep to you?" The boy asked, pointing at the dancing boys.

She didn't follow his stare but took this time to study him too. He was tall. Maybe older than her, but not much. He wore clean clothes and seemed clever. His eyes trained back on her.

"Are you asleep?"

She didn't like the way he emphasized the 'you' in his sentences. He might as well be poking her in the chest it would feel the same.

"You came here by yourself, just like you'll follow me by your own free will."

"Following you while under the spell of an enchanted flute does not qualify as free will in my book," Mercy spat at him. An odd feeling stirred inside her – like she was talking to a serpent rather than a boy. "What do you want from us? Where are you taking them?"

"Questions again!" He exclaimed, this time looking annoyed. He raised his hand and suddenly, Mercy was off the ground and hanging in the hair, an invisible rope tightening around her neck to keep her quiet. "Much better." He smiled again. What was wrong with his smile? "Why not include yourself dear? I'm not taking them, I'm taking all of you. You'll be thanking me soon. There is a reason why none of the children ever came back. The place I'm taking you is a land of unlimited magic where all your dreams become reality."

Mercy's hands angrily grasped at the invisible rope but she only managed to scratch her neck. It wasn't tight enough to kill her, she could breathe but simply not talk. As an answer she glared down at him, putting as much hatred as she had in her in this one look.

"Fiesty, aye?" The boy said. "I'm going to enjoy having you around, I can tell already."

"I won't go with you!" She protested weakly, the words coming out as merely a whisper.

The boy opened his palm and Mercy fell limpy to the ground in a muffled thud. A surprised yelp escaped her, it was followed by a groan. She rubbed her back as she stood back up.

"You were saying, love? I didn't quite understand your inarticulate mumble." He beamed with self-complacency – he gave her a toothy grin that was anything but friendly.

"I said I won't go with you, you psychopathic man-child!" She shouted, her hands grazing her sore neck. It would bruise, that's for sure. "I'd rather die!"

"Careful!" He raised a finger in warning as he stopped walking around her and walked towards her instead. "Where we're going wishes have a tendency to come true, I'd watch my mouth if I were you," he told her.

"What is it that you don't understand when I say that I will not follow you on your Neverland not even in a million years?" Mercy stepped back as she barked at him – she refused to be stepped on like a doormat but she certainly was no fool and this boy was dangerous.

"Oh but you will, I assure you," he told her, closing the gap between them by disappearing and reappearing right in front of her. "A million years is exactly the time you'll spend there, with us."

"Us?" She asked before she had a chance to bite her tongue.

"The Lost Boys and I- oh, I'm sorry, I still haven't properly introduced myself, have I? I'm Peter Pan, King of Neverland, and you, Mercy of Albridge in the Enchanted Forest, are going to come with me, whether you like it or not."