PROLOGUE (Narrator P.O.V.)
The girl closed the attic door slowly, her eyes sparkling with excitement and anticipation as she made her way towards the window. At last she reached it, using her hand to wipe dust off the glass. She adjusted her purple beanie so that it covered more of her chestnut locks-slanting her tri-color pupils when it fell off-before finally satisfying her ideal placement of the hat.
Leaning her face against the glass, she smiled. It would be her last view of this boring city, so why shouldn't she enjoy it? Turning away from the window, she shrugged off her backpack and examined its contents for the sixteenth time. Flashlight, extra clothes, various herbs and medicines, rope, knives, weighted gloved, lighter, bandages, tools, more clothes, extra arrows, rations, and cookies. Check.
Pulling a bow and set of arrows from behind a crate of unimportant trash that was of no relation to her, she replaced her backpack, slung the bow around her neck, and attached the arrow case to the worn out wood. Also from behind the crate she procured a tool belt filled with more knives, knuckle crushers, poison darts, screwdrivers, batteries, and smiley face stickers. The girl hooked it around her waist, then triple checked that she had everything she needed. Finding something she overlooked, she gasped.
Not only had she overlooked something, but it was the most important thing of all. She dug around behind the crate, finally grabbing a hold of what she had been searching for. Dusting it off, she beamed and hugged the journal. It was just a journal. But it was a journal of secrets-secrets that would lead her to Scottie, one of her friends who had been taken by the man whose name was written on the cover of the book in her hands. They were secrets about Peter Pan.