Author's Note: Guys, I'm sorry this one took so long. School's mean to me. I never had time until now. I hope I still have readers. Please review! XOXO

"—do you think, Elder? Does this have to do with the odd things taking place?"

"I do not know for sure, my young boy, but I have my presumptions; let us hope that I am wrong. As for the moment, we—she's rousing. Be there when she wakes up."

My eyes slowly opened, and the first thing that registered was that the place I was in was bright. Not hopeful-looking-and-sunny bright, but burning-and-hard-to-look-at bright. When I had become accustomed to the light, things began taking shape: I was lying on something that looked like wood but was surprisingly soft, I was in a cavern-looking space, with what looked like tree roots fortifying the earthen walls, and all around me, darting every which way, were tiny creatures that produced melodious bell jingling sounds, and were those fluttering things on their backs wings?

Of course. No wonder the whole place was bright. I was in a fairy court.

Then, a flash flood of memories drowned my present thoughts. If only I could make them stop, I would. But I couldn't. I couldn't.

When Peter had fallen, I had seemed to have lost the ability to fly. I had just enough time to mutter a really bad word. Then there had been one, single, solitary moment of utter terror, and everything had turned into a blur of forest and ocean and sky as I myself crashed down, screaming my head off. The pain was blinding when I hit the ground. Agony. Just plain, terrorizing agony. I felt tears in my eyes. And in my mouth, there was blood.

I remembered nothing after that.

The questions began. Why on earth had that happened? Where was Peter? Why was I here?

And the best one: Was I dreaming?

"Most certainly not," said a voice, as if reading my thoughts. I looked up and saw that the voice came from a boy about as young as me, maybe an inch shorter, wearing a shirt that looked woven from leaves and soil. He was kind-looking; with pretty hazel eyes and a small nose. He was lightly glowing, as if there was a light bulb inside him. On his back was a stunning pair of wings. A fairy.

But why wasn't he as tiny as my fist?

"I'm Terrence," he said, offering a hand. When I didn't shake it, he just drew his hand back and maintained a cheerful expression. "How do you feel?"

And why did he speak English?

"Fine," I said, and then realized how hoarse my voice was. "Why am I here?"

"You were almost dead when we saw you. All those broken bones and all that bleeding inside. Good thing Elder was here. You'd be dressed for funeral if it weren't for him."

"Your humble choice of words hypnotizes me. I appreciate it," I mumble. Well, this guy was frank.

"What?" Terrence asked, and it was certain that he did not understand sarcasm.

"Absolutely nothing." I started to get up, but realized that one big movement and my bones would scream. I winced.

Terrence looked concerned. He put his hand on my arm as if to steady me. "Don't do that again. The healing is not yet complete," he said in a soft voice, and helped me lie back down. There was silence after that. Even the jingling of bells ceased in my ears.

"Where's Peter, by the way? How is he?" I asked to break the stony quiet.

Terrence looked down and pretended to be fumble with the leaves on his shirt before he answered me. "He broke a lot of bones, including his, well, neck."

The force it took to open my mouth this big sent jolts of pain throughout my face, but I had to get it out. "What? You healed him, didn't you?" I asked in a voice so loud. I was beginning to panic.

"No," said Terrence quietly. His face was grave. And he looked away, feigning interest in the crowd of fairies who were starting to linger around us.

"Holy—"I began, and stopped myself. Tears welled in my eyes. "Oh my God." He couldn't be, like, dead, could he? It would be like defying the laws of nature. I refused to believe it. It was a lie to make me feel bad. No. No. No.

But Terrence's eyes said otherwise.

So I let the tears fall, even if it hurt my head so much, trying at least not to bawl out loud. Sadness flowed through my veins, coating my being with ice. Soon I would be too numb to feel anything.

Then, of all things, I heard Terrence laugh like a madman.

"What now?" I asked in between sobs.

"Peter's alive," he said, breathless, cheeks flushed from laughing.

"Then why did you—"I began, wiping the wetness from my face. I cleared my head. Then I got it just one second before he told me. "I did not heal him, but someone did."

It felt like a slap.

It was the oldest and just about the corniest joke in the book. I should've said something smart, but I was so consumed by the idea of Peter Pan dying that Terrence's sentence almost brought me relief. I could not believe that I fell for that.

"Let's say that I am now done laughing from your marvelous joke. Applause and accolades and all. Where is Peter?" I demanded, my eyes still probably shiny with tears. I felt completely stupid.

"How should I know? Nobody ever had the ability and cause to follow that boy," Terrence answered, suddenly serious. I tried to spot even a tiny trace of his laugh just a second ago, but, no luck.

"Try that joke on me again and I'd kill you, I swear." I said through gritted teeth. "Where's Peter?"

"He's resting, dear." Another voice said. "And why did I hear somebody say the word 'kill'? It's unhealthy, you know." An old man with waist length hair and beard came from right of the room. He looked like Dumbledore from the Harry Potter films. But this one was taller and older. He had no visible wand, but on his belt was a sword about as high as me. Lethal-looking. Weird for a man who just said that 'kill' was an unhealthy word.

What's he do with it? Chop carrots?

"Where's Peter? I didn't ask you what he was doing," I said.

"Be polite," Terrence hissed in my ear. I glared at him, despite the effort it took me.

"No need, Terrence. You know she's been through a lot in such a short time." He turned to me. "My name is Elder," he said. "And you are-?"

"Scarlett."

"Alright, Scarlett. I believe you've already made acquaintance with Terrence here. You and Peter have both been healed, but you still need rest. When you wake up, I promise I'll bring you to Peter. This time, close your eyes and empty your mind."

I nodded, suddenly feeling drained. I couldn't have woken up for more than five minutes, but it felt like a day, and everything hurt. Soon enough, I was closing my eyes, and sank into a deep sleep.

One vile and nasty-smelling potion later, I could stand again. "Only temporarily," Elder said.

"I don't care," I said with a shrug that didn't make my shoulder scream. I grinned a little. The pain was gone. When I said I didn't care, I meant it. I just wanted to see how Peter was doing then I'd be fine.

Terrence beside me snapped, "Can't you be nice for even one second?"

"No," I said.

"Now, now," Elder interrupted, even though there really wasn't anything to interrupt. "We must go. The effect of the potion lasts indefinitely and we must not take our chances. Scarlett, after me."

I followed him out of the room and through a narrow hallway with doors on both sides. The walls were still earthen, and the doors with no knobs looked woven from sturdy grass. Elder pushed the seventh door on our right inward. He went inside, and motioned for me to follow. Terrence was behind me.

The room was almost the same as mine: fairies darting around, a huge mirror set against one of the walls, a small bedside table, and a bed.

Peter Pan was lying still. Looking at him, I felt peace in my heart. He looked so innocent, so beautiful, so young. He could've been a normal kid resting after a day's rollicking. But he was far from ordinary and resting was probably the last thing on his mind every single day. One glance was enough for me, or anyone, really, to notice that something was horribly wrong. Whatever the reason for his fall and that terrible screaming on our flight, it was seriously ripping him apart. And it was breaking my stone of a heart to watch him like that.

I didn't realize how silent it was. Except for the sounds of breathing of the four of us, there was quietude that seemed to stretch on forever. It was Terrence's turn to break it. "The fairies, Elder," he said. "The fairies."

Suddenly, the glow in the room seemed to fade. I turned, only to catch a glimpse of about a dozen fairies keeling over in the air, their lights going out, sputtering like a candle when you drop water onto the flame. Then they dropped to the ground.

Dead. Tiny. Insignificant.

A gasp escaped my mouth. It was also at that moment when Peter started convulsing in his sleep. I rushed to his bed, and saw that he was shaking so hard that sweat ran down his face and arms. I held his hand, speaking to him in a soothing voice I didn't know I possessed, telling him, "It's just a dream, Peter. Just a dream. Wake up, wake up." Even Elder looked like he didn't know what to do.

I was close to tears when Peter finally quieted down. I reached forward instinctively to touch his forehead. It was burning with fever. I brushed his red hair away from his eyes and looked at him for a long time, the way a mother would have looked at her sick child. I didn't know for sure if I looked like that, but I felt like it.

I heard Elder order Terrence to take the dead fairies' bodies away. Terrence nodded gravely and went to gently pick the tiny things from the ground. He placed them on his right palm, side by side. He looked unhinged. I never knew those fairies, but it ached inside to think that where there had been light and glee, now there was only darkness and despair.

And, even holding Peter's fever-hot hand, I knew I'd never felt colder in my life.