New story and original characters © Wild Blood Rose
Everything else © J.M.Barrie (THE MAN!!!)
Chapter One The Tarot Player
Nettle Morris was unaware at having woken up. Her lightly golden and carefully rolled curlers walloped her forehead as she sat up, and in the moment of her doing so, the life that she knew was changed forever. It rolled away as the other threads of possibility snapped and left her, leaving her with the only option that was left. Consciousness. Something, she was not sure what, but something had woken her: something rather unnatural and strange.
The air around her seemed to be holding its breath, and Nettle knew not why, but she felt the need to do the same. She clutched the blankets to her throat and waited for her mind to decide whether she was being stupid of if she should get out of bed and inspect every corner of her darkened room.
She looked around suspiciously, eyeing her stuffed animals. They seemed to be hiding something although she could not guess what. She was particularly watchful of the china dolls hidden under the patchwork quilt Uncle Madstrom had given her for Christmas.
The dolls were fine in daylight - their hand-painted faces looked lovely and pretty, innocent and round. As light faded however, so did Nettle's joy for them. Their eyes became ghostly and watchful as moonlight shone on their glass eyes, and their small teeth and open lips, while delightful in the day became greedy and hungry for her flesh as the dark flooded her room - their pale china arms stretched out to her in longingly - and, who knew if moonlight brought movement to the dolls as she slept. And so all were hidden under the unused quilt to prevent their faces from haunting her.
Now that that thought had been pushed into her thinking, she half-wanted to pull the covers off them all to tell them off for scaring her. That thought was then countered by the thought of the dolls springing on her as she lifted the blanket - and how she would smash them all to rid herself of their prying hands - only to find that - like the undead they would continue to haunt her - their broken bodies re-piecing to exact their revenge.
Nettle shivered. She wished her imagination wouldn't take over so easily. It was impossible to sleep after a dark thought like that. Growling at herself, she half-toppled out of bed to light the oil lamp that she liked illuminating her room.
Now that she was twelve and going on thirteen, her father was thoroughly disapproving of it, and frowned upon her easily-scared nature. Nettle did not want to grow up at all. She wanted to remain a child for always so that the troubles of adulthood did not burden her with responsibility - and then bossiness, business, and later on wrinkles, snooty disapproval and sneers.
Darkness was something relatively new to her - because it wasn't until recently that she'd been made to put up with it. Now though, now that she had scared herself, she made herself pull open the glass casing of the lamp and light to wick.
She traced a rune of secrecy on the door of the case as she closed it and carried to her bed - the sense that something was there strangely emphasised.
Picking up her book from the twisted sheets she held it to the light and tried to read.
Finding she couldn't she looked up from her book and blinked hard. What was that?
For a moment, she could have sworn she'd seen a boy at the foot of her bed a boy, strangely clad in ivy and other leaves. She shook herself. Ghosts now? she thought to herself.
Your being stupid. She told herself angrily. Stop it.
Furious with herself, she wrenched the tangled sheets off the bed and crossed to her bookshelf to retrieve a textbook: perhaps one of those would at least bore her to sleep.
She turned, twisting a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and bit back a scream, dropping the book with a heavy thump on the floor.
That as no ghost. Ghosts were not that solid. Hovering before her, and inch or two above the posts of her bed, was a boy, a little older than she, his golden curls sun bleached, his tanned arms strong and yet fairly thin. Startling blue eyes, unlike Nettle's brown, and a smile that was young, gently teasing her, almost taunting and yet, so friendly, so reckless and slightly arrogant. The smile alone made her want to laugh for the joy of living. She had glimpsed correctly: he was covered in an assortment of leaves that ran in a diagonal line across his stomach and covered thickly all the parts that were appropriate. Vines ran down his legs in an array of green leaves that chased each other in winding patterns and it made Nettle wrinkle her nose as she thought what her parents might think if they came into her room at that moment.
She looked up, quite unafraid. It was as if she'd seen his face before.
His blue eyes stared down at her, looking her up in down in a manner that was so penetrating and deep that she felt naked and embarrassed.
'Who are you?' she said, her voice soft an whispery. She didn't want to frighten him away, and as she spoke, she knew that that was not possible.
He did not answer, he merely watched her, his eyes latching onto hers and pulling her into his gaze, and she watched, unnerved.
Slowly but clearly, he extended his hand and she watched his rough palm, hardly knowing why she felt so excited, but knowing also that there was no choice about whether she took the hand or not. He wanted her to take it and take it she did.
Reaching out, her smooth palm was placed in his, and he held it gently but firmly, then he pulled her in and she was jerked forward.
The ground was gone from under her - and so was sight - everything was spinning, whirling in her head, twisting and making her feel sick and dizzy. 'Stop!' she cried, his fist clamped tightly around her hand. But he did not.
Nettle tugged, but his grip would not slack, and quietly, in the base of her brain she heard the tip-toeing voice of a stranger.
'A one who can re-unite The Pan with his Wendy is a very good Nettle indeed…'
And so begins my fanfiction for Peter Pan. Don't worry Wendy lovers - I'm getting to her shortly…