Author's Note: Hi everyone, I see I've had a fair few new subscribers to this and some of my other stories – thank you! I greatly appreciate your readership, it's nice to know people out there do actually read what I create. I'm sorry for the hefty wait for this chapter, I've moved house – and I'm moving again soon – life really has gotten in the way of my writing, but I hope to be able to put out more soon.
I hope you enjoy this chapter, please leave a review either way – it means a lot.
Three nights had passed since their picnic and story sharing, the takeaway of which had been that Pan – Peter – was more complex than he first gave impression to. At least, regarding ideas of sharing and of companionship. His emotional development was, Francesca theorised, stunted. Captive in a child's mind, in turn, trapped behind the most engaging eyes-.
She rubbed her own eyes gently, glancing at the clock she had hidden amongst her books to register how long she had foregone sleep this night. 2:17am. Not that it meant much. In the few months she had seemingly been in the realm of Neverland, the girl had learned not to entirely trust the concept of Time, especially when recorded, for it often lies. Time in Neverland, you see, is dependent on one's emotion as to how quickly it passes. If you are energetic or happy, involved and occupied, it passes terribly slowly, to allow you more opportunity to have Fun. If you are sad or angry, grumpy and irritable, it passes all the quicker, making you Older faster. Such is the topsy-turvy nature of Time. It makes little sense yet is entirely rational in Neverland. She sighed deeply, pouring herself some water before settling back on the bed, sipping at it slowly. Peter had been on her mind all this time, she had scarcely found herself daydreaming about anything – or indeed, anyone – else.
The frequency with which she thought about him concerned her. Of course, he had provided pleasant enough company, and she enjoyed reading to him, learning about him… And yet, there was still a fear, a danger, that came with her associating with the Ageless Boy. As she tore her gaze away from her desk, her notes hidden away within a volume of Classical fables, a weight fastened itself to her stomach, sinking down into unfathomable depths. Guilt danced with excitement, quadrilling through the pit of her belly, seeming unable to decide which partner was the lead dancer. She'd never been one to hold secrets from anyone before, and now she was attempting to conceal a potentially dangerous one from the one person who most wanted her new-found friend dead. Worrying her lip, the girl wondered what Peter was doing at that moment. Probably dancing with fairies, she supposed. Or sleeping himself. As she ought to be.
Francesca sighed again, watching, from the mound of pillows on her bed, the moon rocking itself in its sleep, the stars around dancing gently in its blue glow. She knew that the more she sighed, the more infatuated with Pan she became, but avoiding the action was a fruitless task. 2:24am. Fumbling with her dressing gown gracelessly, she wrapped it around her feet, refusing to climb under the heavy down duvet until the very last minute. A smile crept over her lips, the memory of Peter's efforts to clean up tracing quickly through her mind. She couldn't help but hold back a short laugh when she had seen the state of his legs and hands, even after he informed her, most matter-of-fact, that he had bathed twice for her.
As she joined the moon in its deep slumber, Francesca stepped through a glade of bluebells and forget-me-nots, a daze of deceptive blue, calm at first glance, but masking the sickly stench of decay beneath.
''If I understand you correctly, James, you wish for me to take the girl as far as possible from Neverland, in the hopes that Pan follows? That's a rather risky plan, don't you think?''
Hook drew a mouthful of smoke from his dual cigarillo, held it in his stagnant mouth before exhaling in a bemused fashion. A cut-crystal glass of fine brandy sat before him, an identical vessel before his guest. ''Of course, it will work. I haven't seen the boy this enthralled in decades. My daughter is well aware of his feelings for her by now, I'm sure. And even better, she knows I know. It's an infallible plan. Just the two of us, you understand. I want to be rid of both children at once, finally free of the Miltonian nightmare this is this backwater. And I will be gone before the week is out.''
The stranger sipped at their glass cautiously, watching Hook over the rim of the flask as he grinned maliciously. Dealing with Pan was not an issue for the figure, he was an anomaly, a vacuous child with no role to play in the world anymore. But Hook's own daughter may prove more difficult. On the other hand, this opportunity may have presented itself in order that the stranger might re-hone their knifework.
''I can hear you thinking. Stop it.''
''Apologies, Captain.''
''You'll be given the details the night before. Be sure to memorise everything. I want no mistakes. It might spoil the story.'' Hook finished, guffawing.
After a night of plotting, Hook's companion finished their drink, collected their hat and slipped into Francesca's cabin, treading cautiously on the timbers so as to not rouse the girl. A posy of bluebells was drawn from their coat and placed on the bed, with a careful stroke of her hair. Hook's guest couldn't help but smell their fingers after, Francesca's scent lingering on their fingertips. She stirred gently, moaning sweet nothings to her unwitting audience. A heat crept through the voyeur's veins as they watched the girl's chest rise and fall, her cheeks and lips, a gentle rouge, invite them so tauntingly. An involuntary groan escaped their own throat, and a farewell kiss placed to their victim's temple.
''À bientôt, mon petit marieur. On se verra plus'', they murmured against Francesca's hair. 'Hook will get his story, and my darling, I'm afraid it doesn't have a happy ending''.