Status: once upon a time, there was a co-write...
Broken Illusion
Wendy.
Silent, the three siblings couldn't digest their father's announcement. He slammed the door and walked away, mumbling loudly and angrily to himself.
Wendy saw tears forming in her brothers' eyes and she smiled a very tiny smile to reassure them she was okay. She was anything but.
"You heard him boys," Wendy stated very calmly, "we better make the most of it."
"We don't want you to go," Michael groaned.
"Yes, it's not fair at all," John added, folding his arms over his chest.
Wendy sighed, beginning to clean up the pile of pillows that had moments before been the Red Indian's campfire. She didn't like it when her brothers spoke so defiantly. Boys weren't judged like the young ladies, but they could still be punished if they grew into rebellious young men.
"Sulking about it does us no good."
Michael and John knew she was right, but it didn't mean they were happy about it.
Wendy had thought about telling the boys one last story, but she was far too sad. Instead, she tucked them into bed, and told them she would sort everything out. She stroked their hair, and held their hands and watched them drift to sleep.
Thinking about what she should do next, Wendy decided to take a bath. After all, her seventeenth birthday was tomorrow. Tomorrow she would be judged by the queen. She wanted to look presentable so that she wasn't associated with evil. Ugly meant evil, at least it did in most of the stories Wendy told. Thinking about it, Wendy didn't like that her evil character were often unattractive. It was very superficial of her to characterise her villains in that way. She instantly came up with a villain that could threaten Peter Pan.
And he was going to be an extremely attractive pirate.
Lying in the bathtub, Wendy closed her eyes and wondered what Peter was up to at that very moment. Of course, she knew he was merely a character invented by her, but she felt so connected to him. She felt connected to all the people she created in stories - whether it was a dwarf, a beast, a forest animal, or a boy that refused to ever grow up.
Wendy heard a creak come from the nursery, and thought that one of her brothers must've awoken from their sleep. Then she remembered the window she'd left open, and the storm ready to rage outside. Wind, that must be all it was. She thought she'd better close the window before the nursery began to freeze over. She imagined herself as a Queen of the cold, dancing around the icy nursery and making it snow wherever she went. What fun that would be! For a while, at least, then Wendy thought she'd miss the sunshine, and that feeling in the pit of her stomach when she warmed up.
Wendy wrapped a towel around herself, pulling her hair up into a bun on top of her head. She headed into the nursery and saw that sure enough, the window was wide open. She shut it, clicking the lock into place.
When she turned around, she was greeted by a smiling face. Before she could scream, there was a hand to her mouth. This copper-haired young man with the boyish grin couldn't be who he appeared to be.
His hand slowly slipped away.
"Peter, you're exactly how I envisioned you!" Wendy exclaimed, overjoyed.
"Funny choice of words," he remarked, which made no sense to Wendy. What was so funny about it?
"Visions are kind of what I'm here to talk you about."
Wendy saw tears forming in her brothers' eyes and she smiled a very tiny smile to reassure them she was okay. She was anything but.
"You heard him boys," Wendy stated very calmly, "we better make the most of it."
"We don't want you to go," Michael groaned.
"Yes, it's not fair at all," John added, folding his arms over his chest.
Wendy sighed, beginning to clean up the pile of pillows that had moments before been the Red Indian's campfire. She didn't like it when her brothers spoke so defiantly. Boys weren't judged like the young ladies, but they could still be punished if they grew into rebellious young men.
"Sulking about it does us no good."
Michael and John knew she was right, but it didn't mean they were happy about it.
Wendy had thought about telling the boys one last story, but she was far too sad. Instead, she tucked them into bed, and told them she would sort everything out. She stroked their hair, and held their hands and watched them drift to sleep.
Thinking about what she should do next, Wendy decided to take a bath. After all, her seventeenth birthday was tomorrow. Tomorrow she would be judged by the queen. She wanted to look presentable so that she wasn't associated with evil. Ugly meant evil, at least it did in most of the stories Wendy told. Thinking about it, Wendy didn't like that her evil character were often unattractive. It was very superficial of her to characterise her villains in that way. She instantly came up with a villain that could threaten Peter Pan.
And he was going to be an extremely attractive pirate.
Lying in the bathtub, Wendy closed her eyes and wondered what Peter was up to at that very moment. Of course, she knew he was merely a character invented by her, but she felt so connected to him. She felt connected to all the people she created in stories - whether it was a dwarf, a beast, a forest animal, or a boy that refused to ever grow up.
Wendy heard a creak come from the nursery, and thought that one of her brothers must've awoken from their sleep. Then she remembered the window she'd left open, and the storm ready to rage outside. Wind, that must be all it was. She thought she'd better close the window before the nursery began to freeze over. She imagined herself as a Queen of the cold, dancing around the icy nursery and making it snow wherever she went. What fun that would be! For a while, at least, then Wendy thought she'd miss the sunshine, and that feeling in the pit of her stomach when she warmed up.
Wendy wrapped a towel around herself, pulling her hair up into a bun on top of her head. She headed into the nursery and saw that sure enough, the window was wide open. She shut it, clicking the lock into place.
When she turned around, she was greeted by a smiling face. Before she could scream, there was a hand to her mouth. This copper-haired young man with the boyish grin couldn't be who he appeared to be.
His hand slowly slipped away.
"Peter, you're exactly how I envisioned you!" Wendy exclaimed, overjoyed.
"Funny choice of words," he remarked, which made no sense to Wendy. What was so funny about it?
"Visions are kind of what I'm here to talk you about."