Ch. 1: Year Four
Wendy Darling is four the first time she sees him.
She is playing in her family's tiny backyard while Mummy feeds John, her one-year-old brother. It's getting dark, and she knows she will soon be called in for the night, but she wants to catch some fireflies first.
As she eagerly searches the bushes, a flash of color catches her attention. Turning, she sees a tall man who looks a little younger than Daddy, dressed in black and blue, with long black hair, almost white skin, and purple-blue eyes.
He is sitting on the lowest branch of the tree that is growing over the back fence, and seems to be staring at the air in front of him. Wendy thinks that's silly. How can you look at air?
Wendy has been told not to talk to strangers, but no one has ever actually explained what a stranger is, so she can be forgiven for walking over to the tree and asking, "Who are you?"
The man jolts, then stares at her, eyes wide.
"What's your name?" she asks when the man doesn't answer.
"...Ciar," he finally replies, and his voice is a chill wind on a moonless night. Wendy thinks it's pretty. "You... you see me?"
Wendy wrinkles her nose. "Of course I see you! You're right there!"
"But," he says slowly, "you should not be able to see me."
He slides out of the tree, and now Wendy can see the pointed ears, the slender, curling horns poking out of dark hair, and, most amazing of all, the gossamer wings, more like a dragonfly's than a butterfly's, colored deepest blue and darkest black.
"You're a faerie!" she breathes, awe shining in her eyes.
The faerie-man's mouth twitches slightly upwards.
"Yes," is the simple response. Then, "Who are you?"
The little girl draws herself to her full three feet, two inches. "I am Wendy Moira Angela Darling," she recites dutifully, proud that she finally has it memorized. "I don't like my name. It's too long." Really, couldn't Mummy and Daddy have just named her Wendy?
The faerie-man makes a short, dry sound that might be a laugh if it came from anyone else, a strange glint in purple-blue eyes.
"It is, is it? Well then, Wendy Moira Angela Darling, would you like me to give you a new name?"
Her eyes widen. "A new name? Like what?"
"Like..." He studies her for a moment, then his mouth twitches again. "Like Sorcha. It means brightness."
"Sorcha," Wendy repeats. It's short and simple, just as she likes, so she smiles. "I like it."
The faerie-man nods. "Well, little Sorcha, I shall see you again."
And just like that, he is gone.