A/N: Hey guys! Miss me? Yes? No? A little bit? I've been thoroughly editing and revising the past chapters (so far I've gotten the first 11 and the prologue updated). Let's all be honest: they sucked. Royally. I didn't change anything major, so if you don't feel like re-reading you'll be fine, but it would mean a lot to me if you guys at least skimmed them and left a review of what you thought (about improvements, subtle differences, etcetera?). School has inundated my life for the past month so I've had absolutely zero time for anything extracurricular and this is only coming out now as a result. As always, thank you so much for bothering with this crazy story! Chapter Twenty-Four, ladies and gents!
I blinked slowly, my brows furrowing. Only kings were burned in my land. Sensing Peter might become offended if I dared to ask (but knowing it would gnaw at me until I did), I bit my lip. "Why...?"
Pursing his lips, a shadow flickered over Peter's face. He spoke as if I was a child who didn't understand a simple concept, but at the same time his words rang with compelling truth and a hidden pain. "Because he died a warrior's death, a Lost Boy's death. Rufio deserved to be remembered, not left in the ground to rot. We immortalized him that night. His ashes bring life to the island, to us. His soul is free, Trinket."
The jab leaped from my throat before I could stop it, most likely brought on by the nickname. "Unlike Violet's?" The wistfulness in Peter's gaze hardened to vexation.
"Unlike hers." He spat, the anger from earlier surfacing as he stood, rolling his shoulders back. Still riled, he glanced around at the mess the hut had become, not making a move to clean though he clearly thought it hideous for the room to be in such a state of disarray. "She deserved to be trapped here forever. She tried to leave us behind, to break us. She twisted everyone's mind -everyone except my most loyal, and even some of them had doubts. I won't lie and say I miss her, because I don't. I was glad to be rid of her then, and I still am now." Peter spoke quietly, firmly, the dark emerald of his irises slowly draining of ire. "I expect this place clean when I return. You'll be staying here until I decide what to do with you, and I can't have my pretty little doll living in squalor."
"Clean?" My gaze narrowed, the calm infatuation and compliance that had settled in during his storytelling gone. "Doll? I'm not a toy or a maid. Perhaps I like the glass on the floor, and since I'll be staying here, it doesn't matter if you don't." Moving instinctively, I flinched as he turned sharply.
Tilting his head in a taunting manner, he grabbed my arm roughly, his nails tearing into the flesh while his grip bruised. "Unless you want to starve and never bathe again, you'll do as I say. If you can make yourself useful for once I might consider allowing you to feel the outside air on your skin someday." Peter added, waving his hand and filling the windows with thick glass, smiling pleasantly. I heard a soft creak to my right that rose in volume as the trap door fused shut. "Until then, clean the mess you've made. If I'm satisfied, I'll bring you something to eat and new clothes to replace these rags, deal?" The tone in his voice didn't leave room for negotiations.
Feeling the cold chill brought on by fear, I shivered, forcing my chin to raise. "And how do you suppose I'm to clean without any supplies? We can't all magic things into place." Peter sighed, shaking his head.
"Are you truly so blind and ignorant?" I started to snap a reply, but he waved away my annoyance. "Fine. Do ensure the job's done well. I would hate to have been disappointed more than once today by you." A wave of his hand materialized two large buckets (one of clear water, the other soapy), a smaller water bucket (presumably for cleaning the glass), a broom and dustpan, a scrubbing brush, and two hand towels on the table top. With a small smirk, he disappeared, the breeze from his teleportation leaving me desperate to escape.
I sank onto the bed, a scream of frustration pealing from me. Irate, I punched one of the feather pillows and proceeded to throw it across the room at the wall, not caring how undignified or unladylike I was being. The dull whump of impact did little to soothe me. No stranger to being locked away, I devised several means of possible escape immediately. Still huffing, I drew my dagger with a satisfying shnick, impaling the floorboards where the trapdoor's seam was. Determined, I put my entire weight against it, clenching my jaw as I attempted to force the passage open. My bare feet scrabbled on the floor as I fought to gain purchase. The door wouldn't budge. I beat on the wood with my fist, resorting to pounding the item out of desperation.
Driven, I tore my weapon from the floor with some difficulty, staring at the tiny circle of darkness that was the inside of the tree trunk. I had barely made a dent in the flooring, and now I would have to fix that as well before the tyrannical King returned. Turning to the window, I tried prying the oak grilles from the glass, thinking it might be possible to shatter the panes if I could get them separate. I stabbed at the glass and wood with my blade, growling in frustration as the weapon made no marks whatsoever. Distressed, I began pounding on the glass with the hilt of my dagger, tears of frustration and desperation building. Flinging the blade at a wall in a fit, I dropped to my knees against the wall, allowing all my pent up rage, sadness, and worries to come flooding out. I felt a strange tingling across my exposed skin, like air or smoke bouncing off a wall and back at me. "He can't keep me here. It isn't fair. I won't let him win." I vowed quietly through the onslaught of salt water draining from my eyes. A gentle tap at the window jerked me into a standing position. My jaw fell open slightly as I realized what was happening.
A storm was brewing just to the east of my prison, clouds rumbling somberly. Felix's words once again echoed in my ears. 'Not since the first toy of Pan's cried her first tears.' Somehow, the thunder assuaged my nerves partially, as if promising that I wasn't entirely defenseless. Swallowing thickly, I resigned myself to admitting that Peter was right: I must have been at least partially magic. Some part of me influenced the island, some part of me filled that tub, but some part of me could also fight Peter, given enough practice. He was in control for now, but I would soon turn the tables.
Encouraged, I took a deep breath, ignoring how the entire room smelled of him and spread my hands wide. Neverland ran on imagination and belief, so why couldn't magic? "I believe. I believe in myself, and that this lamp is whole again. I believe that there is no oil or glass on the floor." I murmured forcefully, opening my eyes to watch in fascination as the lamp pieces vibrated weakly before shooting together, fusing back into their proper place. The lamp itself lowered onto the nightstand just as the oil rose in a slippery yellow wave, the last bit dropping falling into place, leaving a small, easily cleaned stain on the flooring. Giddy, I flexed my fingers, sensing the sudden burst of power under my skin as it gave way to a heady rise. I glanced at the small puncture mark in the floor, debating on whether to fill it. Deciding it would be better to let Peter see I wasn't entirely compliant, I turned to the bed. Blood stained a corner of the duvet and bed knob, the entire thing looked messy, and one of the pillows was discarded between the frame and nightstand. Tossing the set of lace-lined, feather-stuffed pillows on the chest, I clutched the rust-red fabric, shutting my eyes. "I believe that this is clean. There is no blood on it or the bed." I continued with the loose outline for casting I had developed, reminding myself to learn how Peter did the same things (and more powerful things) silently, though I suspected it just took practice. Once the layers of fluffy bedding were crisp and white, I carefully made the bed, even going so far as to fluff the pillows and layer them tactfully like Mother used to. My fingers trailed over the edge of the pillow, and just as I felt the ache begin in my chest -the silent, unyielding wish in my heart- the room smelled of her perfume, eradicating the taint Peter had left. A small, melancholy smile curved my lips as I set to cleaning the blood from the floor, scrubbing roughly to distract myself. Tears prickled the backs of my eyes, but I forced them down. Memories were not something to weep over, they were something to cherish.
Stooping to retrieve the list of names from underfoot, I returned it to its proper resting place, doing the same for my dagger as I yanked it from the wall. Subdued, I sat on the floor of the washroom, retrieving a cloth to clean the dirt from my boots. The slow, lengthy task was soothing. As I focused on the grooves where worn leather met rubber sole, I murmured my belief that the basin was clean and all the supplies neatly stacked on the floor beside it, smiling faintly as the items flew to obey my gentle words. Magic isn't so bad... I could get used to it. I grinned, forcing the image of Peter's more vindictive use of his power from my mind as I set my boots on the floor beside the chest, doing a quick survey of the room to ensure it was all in order, noting that there were now only faint wisps of grey outside. Though I'd never admit it, cleaning -when it wasn't a particularly messy job and I was alone- was often something I enjoyed doing. My bedroom at home was in a bout of light chaos, but the rest of the house and shop was pristine -when my father had yet to ruin it.
I took a deep breath, hugging myself in satisfaction at a job well done, slightly dizzy. I woke up hours later to a throaty chuckle and blood trailing into my eye.
"I must say, I'm pleasantly surprised." Peter crooned, perusing the hut with a practiced eye. "You've done well -though I didn't expect you to wear yourself out so quickly. I suppose I should've warned you: all magic comes with a price. It takes time to work up to having enough strength -enough power- to be able to control your magic well and handle the repercussions." Dragging myself to a sitting position, I dabbed at the crimson stream coming from where my forehead collided with the edge of the chest, wincing as I wondered if he could taste my power in the air like a mutt does rabbit scent.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "That may have been important." I growled, narrowing my gaze against the bursts of soreness where my feather-light touches met bruised skin. Biting my lip, I made a move to stand, nearly pitching backwards at the wave of faintness that shot through me. Peter shot forward, amusement lighting his features as he caught me.
He grinned. "But, if I hadn't you wouldn't have had this marvelous learning experience. Makes it all the more personal, don't you agree?" I groaned, not ready to juggle his games, pushing him away and leaning on my knees with my head in my palms, sitting on the heavy-wood chest. "Now, now, Trinket. Is that any way to treat the person who feeds you?" Peter teased, gesturing to the plate he had arranged on the square table. I exhaled with a hint of annoyance, opening my eyes and standing -or attempting to. I slumped backwards again, hating my own weakness and frailty. Peter caught me effortlessly, his laugh reverberating enticingly through his chest to my back. "You've done well," He repeated, guiding me to a chair. "now let me help."
"Why should I trust you?" I countered, jerking away from his reaching fingers as they neared my head and instantly regretting such a sudden movement when I nearly slammed into the table in an attempt to sit down.
Peter smiled easily, pushing my hand down from my forehead. "Why not? It isn't like you have anything left to lose, Trinket." Seething, I stilled as he gently tapped the skin around my wound, feeling for the extent of the injury. Using my expressions and flinches as a gauge, he settled his palm over the entirety of the injured area. A warmth spread as he applied pressure, slowly draining the pain from my forehead. "There, much better." Peter flashed a grin, standing. "I'll leave your clothes in the washroom." His gaze fell to the small hole in the floor, a smirk flickering over his mouth. "I wouldn't make any more attempts at leaving, Trinket. The enchantment is iron-clad." Peter disappeared before I could protest his leaving.
Frustration and helplessness boiled in me, knotting my stomach. Being alone for long stretches of time, being abandoned -it wasn't something I handled well. Like any human, I craved companionship. Locked away, I began to worry for my friends, picking listlessly at my lunch despite the grumbling in my gut. Peter would go after them, I was certain. He would know when they tried to visit. He would hurt them, and I would be powerless to stop it. Clenching my fists, I slammed them once on the table, relishing the sharp burst of pain. Peter couldn't heal me all the time, and the pain was what kept me focused. If I wasn't wounded I wasn't fighting, and I was going to fight as if hell itself was inside me. Forcing down my meal without tasting it, I drained the cup he left, watching curiously as it refilled itself.
Not wanting to dirty my new clothes so soon, I hurriedly conjured a bath, scrubbing dried blood off my skin. I allowed myself a few moments to savor the warmth soaking into my muscles before drying off, wrapping the towel around me as I examined the clothing. A pair of trousers that fit me surprisingly well and tucked into my boots without a problem, an undershirt identical to the one I wore (without the singed holes and cuts), a replacement of the green peasant blouse, and, buried at the bottom of the neatly folded pile, a soft, dark brown cloak. After slipping each article on (and questioning how Peter knew I preferred my clothing a bit snug or if he was only doing so for his own benefit), I tested the cloak, lifting the hood and smiling at myself in the beveled mirror.
The inside had a short layer of plush, gray and black fur (I silently thanked whatever animal had given its pelt and meat to the Lost Boys for its sacrifice -however unwilling it may have been) but was breathable, preventing me from sweltering within the material. The edge of the fabric swished around my knees, curling inward slightly to avoid exposing the sumptuous inside layer and keep out the cold. I fastened the sash that would close the top of the cloak, tucking the bow underneath to hide it from view. Turning from side to side, I couldn't help the smile that continued to grow on my face. This cape was a silent promise that I would one day (most likely soon) be outside again. I twirled, laughing softly, not bothered at the moment by how silly I was acting. It was only a wrap, but it was somehow special. I fingered the velvety fur, turning my nose into it and grinning as it tickled my skin.
"I knew you would like it." Peter called, lounging in a chair and watching me through the doorway. Instantly, I turned red in the face, staring at him.
"H-how long have you been there?" I croaked, mortified.
He snickered, coming to stand beside me. "Don't worry, I was only here long enough to see you spinning like a girl at her first ball. I'm a proper gentleman; I don't peep, nor do I have to." Relieved but still slightly embarrassed, I ducked my head, toying with the edge.
"It's very beautiful... Thank you." I murmured, unsure what this gift meant. He adjusted the hood, standing close.
Peter studied my still-faintly-pink cheeks in the mirror, the gentle way my hair curled, the way the cloak cradled my face in shadows. "It was time you had one. You've proven yourself different from the rest." Hope lit in my gaze, making the corner of his mouth curl. "I'm not letting you out yet, but don't look so disappointed." Peter leaned over my shoulders, pulling the hood forward further, covering my forehead and darkening my eyes. "If you can manage to keep this good behavior I'll be taking you with me to pay our dear Captain a visit when he returns in three days time. Does that sound like a fair enough deal?" I briefly wondered what would happen if I wasn't the perfect pet. Too many horrors flashed behind my lids for me to dwell on the alternatives for long. I had no choice in the matter. It was do as he said, there was no second option. Quickly, I nodded, my fingers curling against the plush fur. "If I had known it only took making you clean the hut I would've saved myself all this trouble." Peter grinned, pleased, leaving me unsure if it was meant to be a jest or a sincere statement.
Nervous, I ducked my head, biting the inside of my lip. "This pelt, where does it come from? I've never felt anything like it before." I questioned, deeming it a safe topic. Surely he wouldn't kill me for asking about clothing?
Peter's hand slipped beneath the edge of the cloak, sliding across the material before settling on my lower back. He angled his face closer to mine, widening his eyes slightly in preparation for a marvelous bit of educating. "A beast native to the island. Larger than wolves at birth, just barely smaller than the greatest of bears when fully grown," His fingernails dug into my spine, his gaze glittering maliciously as I squirmed. "With claws to cleave the flesh straight from your bones and jaws to split you in half. We call them Ursu," Peter murmured lowly, dragging his own set of claws slowly across my back as I shivered. "A bastardized version of the Latin term for bear, though their full name is Daemonium Ursu Lupe, but that's a bit of a mouthful, wouldn't you agree?" He didn't stop for an answer, instead preferring to trace the lines of my ribs and vertebrae teasingly. "Their fur is one of the most coveted items on the island, much like you. It's the softest thing you can imagine, like touching a cloud. If memory serves me, Tootles was the one to imagine a beast with a pelt like heaven, but he never elaborated on his creature, so the island made it a bit more challenging. We couldn't have the Boys getting lazy, could we? In all our years, we've only caught one, and it was young. Large enough to wound nearly half the hunting party, but not enough that I was called. We had an unsteady truce with The Tribe at the time, so they helped us bring down the beast in exchange for half the meat and fur." Peter's nose wrinkled as if they wouldn't have dared had he been present. "Rufio agreed, ever the diplomat attempting to keep the peace. Tiger Lily's trap finally secured our victory, but Nibs finished the thing off." Slowly, his gaze came back into focus, a small smirk forming. "This is the last bit of the pelt leftover. It had been sitting in the storage tent, so I had the nymphs use it to make your cloak. Every Lost Boy that's earned it has animal fur inside a special cape. Felix has a lining of Rismage," The 'g' became more of a 'sh', spoken softly as Peter lost himself in the stories and facts. I listened eagerly, curious. "A sort of tiger-like feline with venom in its spit. Tootles chose skunk pelt, Nibs has rabbit fur, the Twins have raccoon, Alex has black wolf pelt... Many Lost Boys will have fur patches on their shoulders for decoration, but very few have special cloaks with fur actually in them. They're for special occasions, like meeting with pirates and faeries or for death ceremonies, not to be worn whenever."
"I'm honored." I responded, blown away by the hidden connotation. What had I done to earn the pelt of a beast so fearsome only one had been killed by Lost Boys? Peter had made it crystal clear that I was at his mercy, a throw-away toy only kept so the others wouldn't have me, so why would he go out of his way to do something like this for me? The only thing I could think of was that the item was going to make me a larger target or that it was for my funeral attire when I was murdered. Briefly, I wondered if I would be burned on a pyre like Rufio or if I would be damned to roam Winter Woods till the end of Neverland like Violet. Disturbed, I blinked once, reeling from how unstable my mind was becoming. What sane person would sit around thinking about how they would be killed?
Peter had continued speaking, oblivious to my lapse in attention. "-should be, it's a tremendous accolade, but I've already said that. Now, onto a more pressing matter. What must I do to make you happy here?" He raised his brows expectantly, a small smile playing on the corners of his mouth. I faltered, blinking rapidly as if that would dissolve the illusion before me.
"What?"
Patience wearing, Peter repeated his question, speaking a fraction slower. "What would make you happier while you are here, in the tree house?" Hesitant, my brows furrowed. I tilted my head away slightly, doubting his intentions. "Oh, come now, Trinket. Is it honestly so unbelievable that I want to give you gifts? That I want a fresh start?" Brows raising into my hairline, I gaped at him.
"Who are you and what have you done with Peter Pan?" I deadpanned, only partially joking.
Smirking, he rolled his eyes, a hint of annoyance in his gaze now. "Answer the question, Trinket. I haven't got all day."
Fumbling, I glanced at the floorboards, shuffling my feet nervously. I might as well try while he's in such a pleasant mood... "I want you to teach me." I decided, lifting my chin with a new strength to my posture. "I want to be able to use magic like you do, and I can't learn by myself without certain disaster."
Peter began to shake his head slightly, not wanting to give me even a chance at power. "It would make me happy, and you wouldn't have to do as much for me." I added, forcing an entreating lilt to my voice, refusing to beg. "And besides, if you don't teach me I'll just try to figure things out on my own and burn down the hut." I hid a grin at the twist to his mouth, watching as he deliberated in his mind. Something clicked and he smirked.
"Fine," Peter relented, a warning in his voice as he glared at me. "But keep in mind that I can take it all away as quickly as it came. If you disobey me I will strip you of what feeble magic you have and your shadow." I had no doubt he would follow through with his threat, but, for the most part, I was unafraid. Something in Peter had shifted, albeit temporarily, since my escape of death, and I was fairly confident that I had seen all the cruelty he had to offer by that point. What could he do to me that he hadn't already?
I dipped my head in a small nod, accepting his demands but not stopping at one achievement. "I also want to see my friends."
"You don't have friends." Peter scoffed, peering at me as if I was ill.
Clenching my jaw, I took a deep breath through my nose, glaring at him. "Just because you say so doesn't mean it's true. Alex, Fox, Slightly -those are my friends, just like Felix is yours." He looked faintly wounded, drawing to his full height and taking a half-step backwards. "I have a right to see them. They deserve to know I'm alive." A small lie, as they already knew I was breathing, but I wanted to be in their comforting company all the same.
Looking at the ceiling as if it held the answers he sought, Peter countered with another question. "You expect the world of me, don't you? I can only give so much, Trinket. I've told you stories, I've let you play your silly games, I've given you protection, I've rescued you from pirates and healed your wounds. What more could there be?"
I shut my eyes, pushing down the frustration building in my throat. If I wasn't calm he would most likely revert back to his sadistic chasing of me and carving of my skin. For my own sake and the sakes of my friends, I had to play nicely with the psychotic Boy King despite the simmering anger that always tangled with a sharp affection for him in my heart, but no one ever said it would be easy. "I didn't ask to be here, you know. You stole Luke, and then you stole me. It was by your doing that you got into this mess, so step up and accept responsibility for your actions for once in your life. If I am to stay here I will be treated with respect and like a human being. I want to see my friends, and you will not deny me that." I informed him curtly, my finger pointed firmly in his direction. Peter arched his brows in surprise at my sudden outburst, a laugh bubbling in his throat.
"Is that so? And what will you do if I say no, dirty up the room again?" Peter sneered, narrowing his emerald gaze. "I'm terrified."
I leveled my stare with his, my fingers curling into fists. "You don't know what I could do. Maybe I'll use all the magic I have to teleport to the Tribe. Maybe I'll land on the Jolly Roger! Or even better, maybe it'll all go wrong and you won't have your bargaining chip anymore." I crossed my arms, feeling a shiver at the venomous glower the first Lost Boy was aiming at me. "You should be afraid, Peter. I'm not a doll, and I'm not weak. You can't toss me around and then expect me to melt in your hands because you brought me pretty things." I reached for the ribbon, pulling the tidy bow I had knotted loose and tossing the cloak at him spitefully. "Keep it. I suppose I won't be leaving anytime soon now." I stormed past him, knowing full well I had nowhere to go.
I stared out the thick panes of glass with loathe, pressing my hands to it as if the enchantment would give way with a sturdy shove. Practically shaking with ire, I slammed my fists against the window only to be sorely disappointed when nothing happened. The pain blossomed freshly, sharpening my awareness. I hit the glass again harder, feeling the beginnings of bruises form. An impatient growl rumbled in my throat as I hit the window again, harder still, determined to break either the glass or my hands, whichever happened first. I could feel Peter's heated stare on my back, daring me to keep ignoring him. My lids fluttered, suppressing tears as I pounded the glass again, blocking out the violent bursts of pain along the sides of my palms.
Peter's voice cut through the silence of the tree hut, piercing my ears with its coldness. "Do you really think so little of me that you can't accept a gift anymore?" A soft rustling and gentle snap told me he had folded the cloak, placing it on top of Rufio's chest. "Pleasant dreams, Trinket. Perhaps your attitude will have changed in the morning." The room chilled, the lacy curtains billowing with his exit. I kept my back to him the entire time, shutting my eyes and resting my forehead against the window, noticing an irritation that began to spread over my skin lethargically, stemming from both my fists and head. I winced quietly, grimacing as the twinge evolved into a throb, rooting into my skull and muscles and sweeping through my blood. Trembling, I fell into the nightstand, knocking my jaw against the side and worsening the headache. Fevered, I knotted my fingers in my hair, squeezing my eyes shut as a burning sensation smothered my shoulder and back, leaking across my torso and arms. Fearful, I peeked at the skin, biting my lip as the angry red welts slowly reappeared. A stabbing pain buried itself in the front of my left shoulder, blood pooling from the fresh wound and rippling over my burns. A whimper tumbled from my mouth as the sting from smoke inhalation returned, hurting my eyes, nose, and throat. I shook, tears pooling in my eyes and doing little to cool my face. My ribs split with a loud crack, the noise reverberating in the hut with my blood curdling scream. I fell to the side, curling in a fetal position with my back to the nightstand, my head hitting the wall and setting off the white noise from the forest in my ears. A sob tore from my throat as the scars on my forearms ripped open, blood spilling to the floor, though I barely heard myself. The welt on my forehead from before returned, the split of my lip from Violet leaving a copper taste in my mouth. A hollow, feeble cry managed to get past my lips before the darkness swallowed me.
A/N: Ta and Da. I was a little unsure about the middle, but I'm pretty proud of the ending for this chapter! A little pronunciation help, in case anyone was wondering: Day-moe-knee-um Uhr-soo Loo-pay; Rihs (Like wrist without the t)-ma-sh. I decided that Neverland needed some fantastical beasties, so these two things were born! I don't know if I described the cloak thing well enough, so I'll elaborate down here. The cloaks with fur on the inside are only worn by special LBs on special occasions. You have to earn it, so Pan giving Bree one is huge. I will do my best to update sooner rather than later, but I can never be sure anymore. Thank you all so much for your support as I continue this psychotic endeavor! Bluemoon, over and out~