She was gorgeous. Always had been and always will be. Her hair was the color of sweet honey and it cascaded down her back stopping a few inches above her hips. It curled perfectly and bounced lightly as she walked down the street. She mostly wore it pinned up, to my dislike. Most nevertheless, she still beamed with radiant beauty.
Yes, her hair was amazing, but it was her eyes that truly drove me mad. They were the lightest of blues with specks of gold dancing around her pupil. The outer ring of the blue was much darker of a shade which made the light blue stand out as much as I would in English society.
Wendy was beautiful but she didn't seem to know that. She wasn't happy anymore and as much as I hate to admit, that was probably my fault. She missed me a lot and I could tell. She would cry out her window for me to come back and take her to Neverland. But what she didn't understand if that I wanted to answer her calls, I wanted more than anything to take her to Neverland, but I couldn't. She was home, where she had chosen to be. She was growing up and all though aging did really flatter her, I had to keep my distance and honor her decision, even if she regretted it.
I was growing up too. I hate admitting it but I am. Spending every day in England and every night in Neverland had caused me to age to about 19. My red hair had faded to a dark blonde with hints of red that can only be seen in the bright sunshine. My muscles were more noticeable and made it appear that I was always flexing when I wasn't. I still had my cocky smile, as Wendy lovingly called it, but like her I didn't smile much. How could I when the person who makes me smile never did; it seems all she did was cry which made me as well.
I watch her. All day. As she walks to school, I'm hovering above her. When shes in school, I am sitting on top of the schoolhouse playing my panpipes. And on her walk home, I fly slightly in front of her so I can see her sweet face.
The other people who she goes to school with are awful. They tease and bully her to wits end. I watch with fire in my eyes barely holding back. For example, today she was walking home and a gang of "proper" English teens attacked her. They twisted her arm behind her back and forced her to call out my name. I was sick and tired of watching from the sidelines, and was on my way to pummel those fools when John interfered.
I hadn't seen John in quite some time and I thought he was another one coming to join in the torture at first. He was very tall and had neatly combed his rather short hair back. He looked muscular compared to the scrawny kid I remembered. In fact, if it weren't for the black circle glasses he still wore, I would most likely of beat him up real good too.
So when I realized who he was, I swerved to the right and landed on top of a building which gave me a clear view of the group, in case John needed back up. So I waited, growling low at the pitiful excuse of English society. When John had Wendy to her feet and was walking her home, I flew ahead and hide in my usual spot right outside a window.
From my spot, I could see all of the Darling's living room and the staircase leading the children's room. In walked John and the miserable Wendy with her torn dress and hair tousled. She was still the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. She slumped and sat down on the couch smoking a cigarette, like a proper Lost Girl instead of a proper English girl.