*Blows blue pixie dust at her readers*
If you trust me take the adventure. Although I will say you may not come away unscathed...
Dedication
This book is solely dedicated to my husband and my father. For all my wild imaginations and the Peter Pan fantasies I held on to and watching the 2003 film specifically with me numerous times. For believing there were magical tales to be told beyond those stars and wanting to explore that in writing. For the time left I have to cherish with you, daddy, I only hope to do you proud. I hope you'll see that first signed copy you want, knowing that your daughter finally did it. Her dream of having this work on the shelves was finally accomplished. And to my dear husband, whose unrelenting support and push-even when it was hard to keep the same drive, I am very grateful to you. I look forward to the crazy adventures we have yet to take. You truly are a Pan in your own right and I love you.
Now, lets inhale the adventure, and fly to the stars.
"I suppose it's like the ticking crocodile, isn't it?
Time is chasing after us all."
- J. M Barrie, Peter Pan
Regret twisted an unwanted knot in the pit of her stomach.
She threw her fist against the flaking decay of barnacle spidered out across the hollow of space. A small hiss slipped past her lips as she gazed at the meat of skin gouged out from such abrasiveness. The metallic remnants of blood lingered on the tips of her tongue, her teeth having punctured the muscle from the blunt trauma she'd faced.
All it had taken was a single moment. For the light to be snuffed from her eyes before she'd been pulled into an unconscious abyss. After what felt like an eternity she'd surfaced to consciousness. Now awake, alert, a leaden weight pulled at her insides in the form of guilt.
First: She should've never let her cousin lead her to what had appeared an old, dusty attic above the stairs.
Second: Had she followed the rules of obedience she would've remained safe in her room that night.
Third: If she had read the J.M Barrie novel given to her it would've prepared her for what she was about to face.
Evolved from a world where fairy tales were dead to her and reality was but a figment of a dream until death- she'd never heard of the folklore involving pirates.
Fairies.
Indians.
The flying man.
The Other World.
As she dared to breathe beyond the stench of rotten fish and mildew whilst trapped within a caged prison that fit her 5"3 frame, a revelation dawned.
The attic window had been boarded up for a reason.