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After kissing her brothers goodnight, Wendy settled into her bed, wishing for a goodnight kiss of her own. He drew the covers tight around her shoulders, grateful for night's embrace. Something about nightfall—the cloak of darkness, the cool breezes, freedom from the bustle of day—had always comforted her. As a young child, Wendy spent hours dreaming beneath dim-lit candles, retelling her mother's stories under her tongue. The characters came to life—dancing and chatting within the nursery walls—and Wendy sewed them together, wove them into a plotline. From there she added dashes of adventure, specks of romance until she held not merely a story, but a tapestry of heart, courage, and imagination. Admittedly, Wendy held very few friends in her seventeen years, but packed within the walls of her mind lay hundreds of tales, and thousands of adventures. Presumably, they were all she needed—that is, until she met Peter.
At twelve years old, Wendy found her first—really her only—love, the one and only Peter Pan. She'd read about love, told about love, even dreamt about love, but never knew of love's utmost strength. With Peter, her heart stammered a million miles a minute. Her cheeks flushed. Her mind swam dizzily. She felt like flying—literally. She discovered love was nothing like fairy tales; no, it was so much more. But at twelve years old, she could not fathom the severity and depth of this love. After all, her first love could not be true love, could it?
By the time she realized her mistake, it was too late. She had grown. Her delicate figure had lengthened into a 5'4" frame, her breasts had swollen, and her stubborn golden-brown curls had tamed into ringlets. Suitors casted glance after glance at her pretty face but were stopped short every time. She turned every single one down, for her stomach never fluttered—nor did her heart ever soar—like with Peter. And so, every night Wendy dreamed of his return. She knew the reality, she knew she was too old for him, but continued believing that one day he would return for her. And she would escape this world. Escape it all—the apathy of society, disdainful judgment…everything. And nightfall proved the perfect opportunity—in fact, the only opportunity—to reflect upon the day, yearn for the past, and dream of the future.
By eleven o'clock, the streets of London were still, mostly. A few drunken, muffled conversations drifted through the nursery's unlocked window, desperate cries of the city's less fortunate. Wendy listened, and Wendy knew how gritty the streets of London could be. Perhaps she was the only one, for the drunks could not remember and the sleepers did not care. Sometimes, in this aspect, Wendy felt terribly alone. Everyone seemed to look down upon her, solely because her feet still sprung the lively step of a child, and her eyes still gleamed with wonder. Not that she really minded; in her eyes, growing up meant growing ignorant.
She rolled over in bed, tucking her legs beneath her. "He wants a response tomorrow," she thought, fear and anticipation creeping inside her. Edging the blanket a little farther up, up to her neck, she let out a shiver. "Tomorrow," she repeated, the word pounding into her mind. And haunting thoughts surrounded her, swiped at her with greasy paws, dirt and dreams gritty under the nails. Her heart quickened, prodded by an unseen nightmare, and sweat beaded on her forehead.
At the pinnacle of distress, Wendy flung off her blankets in desperation. She needed to breath; the room's heat stifled her. Half-trodding, half-running to the window, she flung it open without hesitation.
"Where are you? Where are you?" she cried, demanding the skies to listen. "I've waited—for years I have waited—and I cannot wait anymore. Tomorrow I am accepting a suitor, engaged to be wed, and you don't give a damn. A damn!" The night air whipped her nightgown around the ankles. Tears leaked from her eyes, streaming steadily down her cheeks. "I've never loved anyone like you, and I know now that I never will. I love you, Peter Pan. Where are you?" And she fell to the window's edge, covering her face with her arms.
Suddenly, she sensed another presence. Looking up slowly, she broke into a tearful smile when a low timbre announced:
"I'm right here."