A/N: Oh dear, I'm afraid Peter won't be in this chapter after all. I got a bit carried away, and somehow this chapter was extra long. I PROMISE though, that he will be in the next chapter. And that you won't have to wait nearly as long for it as this one. :) And thank you again to all my readers and reviewers. :D Happy New Year's, and hopefully this one will be filled with lots and lots of fanfiction. ;)
Mrs. Darling was worried. Worse—she was frightened. It was ever since that night—that faithful evening when her children had stole away to the Neverland with the boy named Peter Pan—that Mrs. Darling had begun to fear. She feared her children would one day leave and never come back, she feared that next time, Nana would not be there to warn them about the Darling children's stealthy disappearance, and in this, all her fears centered around the nursery window.
So she shut it. She barred it, latched it, and forbade it to be opened. Light no longer shone through the tinted glass into the nursery—it became a dreary place, and the children decided to play outdoors instead. All the children, save Wendy, who remained indoors at all times of day, unless she was forced to go to school or chapel or on the rare occasions she went to the library. She had been dreadfully upset when Mrs. Darling had shut the window—so dreadfully upset that she bawled about it for days. And though Mrs. Darling had felt a twinge of remorse for her daughter, her fear overruled all, and perhaps, her selfishness as well?
The window remained shut for several weeks—but alas, Wendy did not come outside to play. She remained closed up in a darkened nursery, huddled up in the corner by the window with a book, or perhaps nothing at all, simply fingering the acorn 'round her neck and staring into space. And, at night, Mrs. Darling would pass the doorway to hear the soft whimpers of crying, tears that she knew belonged to Wendy. Over a month had passed since Peter had left, refusing to grow up…and Mrs. Darling could take it no longer.
She had decided to have a talk with Wendy that evening. So, when she was called down to the parlor after bathtime, the girl reluctantly came, and Mrs. Darling couldn't help but gasp at her daughter's present appearance. Now that she saw her out of the dim-lit nursery, she truly saw what had become of Wendy Moira Angela Darling.
Her skin, long-deprived of sunshine, was a sickly pale, the light in her eyes had died down—they were a somber gray, almost dull with her grief. A small smile still played on her lips, but it was not one of joy—rather, it was reminiscent and sad. She rarely talked now, Mrs. Darling had noted—and never laughed. This Wendy was not her Wendy—the brilliant, charming child she loved. This Wendy was empty. She was broken.
"Dear," began Mrs. Darling, motioning for Wendy to sit, "I have something I would like to discuss with you."
Mrs. Darling saw how mechanically Wendy moved. She saw that the girl would simply not meet her gaze, and at once, guilt assaulted her. How had she been so cruel? Her only daughter, her baby girl, so sad and heartbroken, and her she was, backing her into a dark, empty corner all because of her selfishness! Mrs. Darling now had another fear: that Wendy would retreat into that corner, folding in on herself, distancing herself—never to return.
It was worse than losing her to Neverland and Peter Pan. At least then, Mrs. Darling would rest assured that her daughter was happy. It would hearten her to see Wendy happy again. She wasn't sure either of them could take so much more of this. No, she was sure now, that if Wendy was happy, she could be happy as well. And wasn't that all that mattered in the first place?
"Child," she spoke gently, as if words too harsh might cause Wendy to shatter, "I have decided-" She took in a deep breath. Was this it? Was this saying goodbye to her Wendy forever? Or just one step closer so? "-I have decided to leave the window in the nursery open." There. She had said it. And now she looked upon Wendy's face for her reaction.
It was tremendous. So few words had made such a change on the girl called Wendy. At once, the spark returned to her eyes, a slight glow colored her sallow cheeks—and most wonderful of all—a dazzling smile shone upon her features. She rushed to embrace her mother.
"Thank you!" she cried, "Thank you so much!" And then she cried. But here, she cried tears of relief, and of happiness, and overall—hope. Hope that Peter Pan would return again and whisk her away to the Neverland…
But now a year had passed, and another, and Wendy still waited for the boy named Peter Pan to fly through her window and whisk her away. During the day, she'd play with the boys outside, help out around the house, and talk with her mother and father—but at night, she'd sit by the window and wish on stars for the thing she wanted most.
And then she'd sometimes doze off, and her mother and father would find her by the sill, and they'd lift her gently—as not to wake her—and tuck her in, murmuring their love.
But on this night, Wendy made her way to bed herself, retiring a bit earlier than she usually did. And when Mrs. Darling came to check on her, expecting her to be leaning on the sill, she was not, and she crept out of the room quietly, but forgot one thing—to light the nightlight.
So it startled her when she heard Wendy scream, "PETER!" in the middle of the night. Mrs. Darling was certain the boy had returned at last, and she rushed towards Wendy's room to catch them before they flew away, but when she reached the nursery at last, Peter was nowhere to be found, but the window was flung open, and Mrs. Darling's heart had skipped a beat. Had she missed them? But no—Wendy was there, dozing on the sill, tear stains evident on her face, clutching the acorn pendant that she refused to take off.
"Oh dear…" murmured Mrs. Darling, and she gasped when she saw the nightlight was not lit. She lit it at once, a little guiltily, knowing the cause of Wendy's outburst, and closed the window halfway, so that it would not chill her daughter too much. She wanted to move Wendy to her bed, but the years had begun to catch up with her, and she was too frail. She did not want to wake George, because he had been working extremely hard that week, and he needed to sleep in. So, she carefully wrapped Wendy in a blanket, kissed her lightly on the forehead, and returned to her room.
Mrs. Darling was worried. And she was frightened. But not because she feared the boy would return—it was that she feared he wouldn't.
A/N: Look for Chapter Four soon! :D Leave a review if you feel like it. :)