Hello dear ones, I am starting a new story and I hope you will join with me on this journey. Rated M for future chapters, this story will follow the journey of Wendy Darling and her return to Neverland. Please enjoy, I have a surplus of time on my hands currently and hope to update often.
Chapter One
The room was warm and amber light danced around the walls, spilling out onto the dark wood floors. Wendy Darling smiled gently, imagining it not to be the light of a sitting room fireplace, but rather the hearth of the Faye where a magnificent ball was taking place. The flames flickered and the reflection on the floor looked so nearly like the glistening light from her daydreams. Papers gently blew with the cold London air and shuffled on the desk in front of her. Wendy sighed and turned her grey London eyes away from the fire and towards her writings. It was true what her Aunt had said about a writer's life not being one those of high society smiled upon and thusly it did not bring in the money Wendy needed to maintain the upkeep of her Aunt's city apartment. And although she did have boundless stories to tell, there wasn't a high demand for those containing dragons, pirates and princesses with fierce wit and an even fiercer blade. In an effort to keep the balance between following her dream and keeping food on her table she was recommended by a dear friend to write a romantic satire like the great Jane Austen, or a more mature novel and follow the foot steps of Charlotte Brontë. Wendy sighed again and fixed her curls that framed her face back to her loose bun and secured them with a pin. She held her pen to the blank paper and began to think. What is it that the people out there wanted to hear? They wanted to hear stories about mundane people falling in love with other mundane people, a little miscommunication and a climax before a happy marriage and children ensue. A happy ending.
She frowned, her forehead pinching. She couldn't fathom how people could live such a life. She smiled fondly at the fire dance again and remembered her distant memories of Neverland.
Yes, how on earth could people be satisfied with such a dull life? Wendy put the pen down and sat on the window sill in her nightgown. Her lady-like nature was still lacking, even at the ripe age of nineteen, but of course the thoughts of people staring up into her window from the street below was far from her mind. The snow was falling gently and the crisp December wind was biting at her pink cheeks. Wendy looked up at the night sky and watched the twinkling stars wink at her. Second star to the right and straight on to morning she whispered to herself, she held out her finger and closed her eyes feeling the stars with her mind. She could trace their outlines and with her eyes closed she almost felt like she was soaring over them again.
Every now and then, she looked at her childhood friends getting married and being courted and wondered what that must be like. But in the same course, she remembered her dear friend Peter and mused at how all this time where she had grown up, he would still be the same twelve-year-old boy she remembered so fondly. She was jealous of course, but she knew she had made the right choice in coming home. Of course he had never come to visit her again, and as she had grown she had almost become thankful. His brash and arrogant nature would only annoy her now and she would struggle to have the same patience she once had. It seemed though, even after Peter, all the men in her life were just children in suits anyway. Her suitors would expect her to do everything, and much like the relationship between her very own mother and father she could see who the true adult was. Her father, strong and wise as he was, was partial to throwing childish temper tantrums and it would be up to her mother to soothe him. Wendy wasn't sure she wanted to be a mother to both her children and her husband and so had refrained from the dating world for a while.
In the very corner of her mouth she felt her kiss burning as a snowflake settled on her lips. A very chill breeze came from the North and caressed her neck like a steel, cold hook. She gasped and opened her eyes, clutching her throat. The night was still and the stars glistened. Wendy shook her head and muttered to herself before closing the window and setting herself down on the bed. She'd have to try writing tomorrow or else what was her purpose here? It had been nearly a year now since dear Aunt Millicent had passed away to the fever and left the beautiful apartment to Wendy. Having no children of her own, Aunt Millicent had asked Wendy to live with her nearly six years ago, and although her Aunt could never understand Wendy's mind, they did become dear friends and it pained Wendy to live in this great house alone.
A great romance, Wendy mused staring at the ceiling. What was so great about the romances she saw? Of course she'd never experienced any of them first hand, and maybe that is why she had such trouble writing but what was it that drew people to the idea of true love?
She thought about writing a great novel about her friend Rose and her new husband Thomas, the accountant. She giggled and wondered what on earth the story could be. Maybe Thomas would steal money from the bank and he and Rose would hit the ground running. The authorities after them and a new baby in arm as the spring rolled around. Now there would be a great story, but alas, Thomas was a straight and serious man, Wendy couldn't fathom the idea of him ever having such a sense of adventure. In fact when she pictured the great kiss scene she groaned and rolled over, a kiss between Rose and Thomas was just about as interesting as a wet newspaper with all the letters merging together.
She lay on her side and closed her eyes tight and let the shapes of her characters become blurred and greyed until they finally they began to take shape again in her mind. She imagined herself and a beautiful stranger. Her brown curls pulled up into a carefree braid, her bonnet cast aside. It would be a beautiful summers day with flowers, trees and somewhere in the distance the sound of a waterfall. The air would be sweet like honeydew mixed with sea spray and in her hand would be a book she had been reading. He would take her by surprise, her great love, the one that she had never thought she would see again. He would grip her by the waist and pull her to him with such force the wind would be knocked out of her. His piercing blue eyes passionate and gentle, fierce and deep were pained but also echoing with happiness. She would look away feigning confusion and uncertainty. His left hand would pinch her chin and pull her London grey eyes back to his. Her mouth would part and whisper something like, "I thought you had forgotten me" to which he would smile and kiss the corner of her lips where her secret kiss hid but upon his touch yielded and opened to him. He would bring up his right hand to brush the hair out of her face and while she stood staring deeply into his eyes she would see them change from the deepest blue to the most foul and bloody red as his cold, steel hook touched her face.
HOOK!
Wendy sat up abruptly breathing heavily. Her eyes darted around the room and she grabbed the dagger she had hidden in her bedside table; her Neverland ways had not yet forgotten her. Gripping the dagger fiercely, her eyes adjusted to the dark room. Her curls fell on her dangerous eyes and she looked sharply, surveying the bedroom. The room was silent and no dastardly pirate was lurking in the shadows. Her breathing slowed and she realised she had just been taken by a dream. She breathed deeply and placed a sweaty hand to her neck. Unnerving as the dream was she supposed it was completely understandable. Captain Hook, although the memory of him was foggy, was the only truly exciting man Wendy had ever known. He was dangerous, yes, unbelievably so. His dark tangled curls, strong masculine physique, deadly charm and vicious eyes. All these features were threatening enough, but, it was his silver hook that put a well deserved shiver down her spine. She, herself, had told the stories of how he gutted people without a hint of remorse. He was a cold, blooded pirate.
But that said, he was also passionate and adventurous. And as Wendy frowned she thought, the men of London offered no such excitement. She wondered what she might do if he were indeed in her bedroom. Seeing her reflection in the silver of the dagger she smiled, she would of course stand up and face him. She would swing her dagger and attempt to pierce his body cloaked in rich velvet. She put the dagger back in her side draw and lay back again staring at the ceiling wondering if, being the gentleman he was, her being in a state of undress would unnerve the vicious pirate. She grinned and said a quiet "I do believe in fairies" before sitting up, lighting a candle and getting to work on her new novel.