wendy was never the only one
By nimuenymph
summary: It's not a grand tale of adventures or romance, or impossible choices that may save the world, or even a beautiful girl and her prince. It's just him and her. And a decision that doesn't quite change the world.
The sky was dotted with fluffballs of white, washed out blue and off-white-almost-greys made up the sky that stretched on forever. The green and browns of the park seemed to be washed out compared to the green of his eyes.
It was said Peter Pan never grew up.
Her name was neither Wendy nor Alice. It was a simple name, Ann, and it seemed so common, so ugly, so simple compared to his name.
Peter he had said, a bright smile adorning his youthful face, a smile that seemed to wash out the others, sweet and childish and innocent. It rang in the air, making the colors of the park, vivid a moment ago, so greyed and washed out in comparison.
Ann she had murmured, afraid he would mock her like the others, for her simple name, her barely-above-poverty wealth, her country-bumpkin manner of etiquette. He had worn beautiful clothes, woven by fairydust and dyed in brilliant hues, though none as brilliantly beautiful as his eyes.
Come and play with me dear Ann and we'll go to NeverNever.
She had hesitated, her youthful face on the cusp of womanhood. They had played often, and he had often offered to spirit her away. It was an offer said many a time, and she had refused, for she was meant to marry Charles Grey. It was for family, to make up for her little wealth, to give her brother a chance at better health and life.
Ann smiled, though it was sad and gentle and Peter had recoiled. He had seen that sweet, sad, gentle smile before, by Alice, by Wendy, by her descendants, and he knew what was to come. To spill forth the words that would reject him again was to ruin him.
Instead he offered a proposition.
I will not ask again. He began, air that of a trader now, and she had watched him, wonderingly. But, dear Ann, if you would, give me a dance instead of a rejection? She brightened, even as Peter felt his heart heavy twice as much.
As they danced, he could only look at her. He was only about her height now; she could easily tower over him soon, at a ripe age of fifteen. He did not want her to leave, no, but he did not want to end up like the Hatter, or Jack Frost, who wept bitterly after their loves had gone and lost themselves in Adulthood.
Peter. Ann murmured, eyes soft, smile already so much less bright than that summer day. She was already so old, growing, her face had changed, and her voice was only sweeter with age. Peter only smiled softly.
I'll always remember you, I promise you this. Ann had murmured, as they danced, her at the age of sixteen, and him perpetually young. She was almost taller than him, but it was as if the Fates had given him this small gift, of the illusion that they were still together, playing forever.
Peter had looked at her; his smile was not sparkling anymore or his eyes nearly as bright or green. His touch did not seem as warm as he walked on, steps surrounded by a ring of fairydust.
Oh dear Ann, you've already forgotten me. His smile was gone, a sad expression on his face, as he went, dancing about him were fairies, as he flew up, stardust surrounding him as he went. She stood on the ground, watching him as tears trailed down her face, it was never meant to be.
Now she was old and grey. Her finery, a beautiful periwinkle gown adorned with white embellishments, and well-made gloves fit her wrinkled hands, though none as finely made as his. She sat in a tended garden, her husband, Charles Grey, was cavorting with their grandchildren though she sat in the moonlight.
If only she had gone with him, but it was not meant to be. Fey and supernaturals and the like were not meant to mingle with humans. It was simply not meant to be, Ann comforted herself with this, but she still wondered.
Perhaps she did not have the most adventurous life, but she was content, content with the simplicity of their wealthy lifestyle. Even though everything seemed less bright without Peter.
I found this a while back. I wrote it when I was sort of melancholic about growing up. I mean, hell, I'm going to be an adult in less than half a decade! It's short, but it was intended that way. It's not meant to be a happy tale, but a realistic take. Surely Wendy couldn't have been the only girl, and the other fairytale characters mentioned here have their own tales I'll perhaps elaborate on someday. There's a slight nod towards Kuroshitsuji in this, Charles Grey.
Just… I don't want to grow up. I know what it's like, and I don't want to grow up. I'm just, I feel like a sort of trapped bird but yet Ann has already accepted it. I feel so childish in comparison. I won't take this down, it's just… itself. The title is wendy was never the only one but I feel like it doesn't quite fit. Neither does I'm in Wonderland since nobody actually goes to wonderland…
But hey, I'll cut this off now, and perhaps I'll be fine with growing up the next time I write. Or not. Who knows? Reviews are appreciated and flames are ignored.
-nimuenymph