it's not meant to be like this
you're not supposed to love her
she's standing next to you, little and fragile and intoxicatingly sweet and your shoulders brush while you ponder the final, utterly unavoidable step in your self-salvation.
"peter?" she asks. "is everything okay?"
but of course it's not okay and how can she expect it to be when you're dying with this place and your only choice is to crush the most precious thing on the whole damn island?
her beating heart is a fee you're all too willing to pay.
because who is peter pan without magic?