Changing Toward Love


Notes of the Authoress Anthy: Obviously, a love story, although I'm not sure if it should end happily or sadly. This bit is important: this fanfiction is based on the new movie, Peter Pan. I haven't read the book yet, though I plan to, and therefore, if my story isn't completely accurate, just correct me. Hmm ... yes, well, I saw the movie, and I just ... I thought it was so beautiful. I had that aaargh, no, it can't end like that! feeling after it was over, and so, I turned to writing. This is a pet-fic, meaning that I'm not devoted to it. (I really only commit to writing fanfics when I realize that they bring pleasure to others, and therefore I have to go on. ^^) I'm not sure if this will go over well or not, but I like it, and I hope you will too! Much loves, Anthy.

Disclaimer: No, I don't own the movie or the book, but whoever does should be so proud! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!


It's ... lovely, Mother, Wendy said softly, trailing her hand across the silky baby blue pillowcase, trimmed in elegant lace. She blinked, lifting her eyes to the rest of the room.

The thought that this was to be her new bedroom startled her. It was so very ... formal. Everything seemed prim and ladylike, prettily arranged in its proper place. Already she missed the swords and costumes strewn across the floor of the nursery, the dirty clothes left messily about. How would she sleep properly without the quiet snores of Michael and John, and her new brothers?

I knew you would like it, dear, said Mrs. Darling, standing proudly in the doorway. Your aunt and I decorated it ourselves.

I would never have guessed, Wendy whispered quietly, sitting herself down precariously on the edge of the soft bed.

It really is time that you had your own room, her mother continued, walking toward her daughter with a smile. And what with your new brothers ... there's not an inch of space for you left in the nursery!

Wendy smiled a bit at this, thinking of the three new beds, one for every two of the Lost Boys, that they'd had to cram into the nursery room. It was even more of a mess now, what with no longer having proper space for all the children's toys.

Her mother mistook her small smile for one having to do with the new bedroom, and she beamed, closing the space between herself and Wendy.

You really are growing up, aren't you, she said gently, lightly putting her arms around her daughter's shoulders. Ever since you returned home with Michael and John and ... mhm, everyone ... you've seemed so much ... older. Oh, my little girl, Wendy ...

She leaned into her mother's embrace, closing her eyes. Yes, she had seemed older and more ladylike since returning home. She'd been quiet and distant, something her aunt had taken as respect for adult conversation. She still played with the boys, but found she couldn't for long. Even just five minutes of swordplay left some part of her feeling drained, empty.

She could hardly bear to continue even her role as storyteller, one the Lost Boys especially insisted she play. Stories about Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty had become, seemingly overnight, achingly sad. And when the boys begged for her to recount their adventures in Neverland, everything inside her seemed to still, wiped blank like writing on a chalkboard.

said her mother suddenly, pulling away. I'll let you put on your bedthings and go to sleep. Sweet dreams, dear.

Sleep well, Wendy said absently, watching her mother turn and walk out the door into the bright hallway, closing the door with a polite click as she did so. She stood and slowly began to unbutton the back of her dress, breathing out with relief as she did so. Her new clothes had been another grand inspiration of her aunt's ... although she had become much more lenient, and, to be truthful, human with the coming of her adopted son.

Wendy slipped a clean white nightgown over her free body and pulled back her covers, crawling into bed with a contented sigh. When she had sunk into the feather mattress enough to feel warm and comfortable, she turned toward the part of her new room that she liked best.

It was a large window that faced the London sky, allowing moonlight in to pool onto the bedcovers like shimmering pearl water, lighting up the bedroom even in the darkest hours of the night. Wendy sighed again, though this time, it was not contented.

The window was unlocked. She was certain it was, for she had made sure of that fact several times over before her mother had come in to check on her. Still, she had begun to wonder ... was it time to forget this painful daily ritual?

Perhaps he would never return.

When she, her brothers and the lost boys had seen Peter that final time, hovering just outside their window, she had thought it only a temporary good-bye. She had thought, somehow, that he would be there again the next night, or the night after that. She had thought he would be back soon, eager to visit her ... or at least, her and his boys.

She told them stories with special enthusiasm and an unnecessarily loud voice, hoping that he was floating just outside the window, listening, waiting for the perfect moment to fly in and surprise them all.

But the weeks had passed ... and with each new night, her stories became duller, and quieter ... as did she. She tugged on corsets without complaint, and no longer drew endless pages of drawings of her travels. She grew soft and withdrawn- polite and ladylike, in some people's eyes- pretending sorrowfully that she was forgetting because she wanted so badly for that to be true. She wanted to forget. She wished, sometimes, that the adventure had never taken place. She feared it had changed her in ways too deep to be good or natural, feared that her melancholy change would last forever.

This wish never lasted long, however. Deep down, she cherished her memories of the adventure. There was a wish she felt much more deeply, a wish she grieved for nearly every night.

She wished she had known that he would not return. She wished that, on that final night, she had not called out to him to remember her, but rather to stay, to stay! Stay and live as my brother, Peter Pan ... stay and let me care for you ... stay and let me love you ... stay and ... never leave me to be alone like this again ...

she whispered softly, blinking away her tears. She turned from the moonlit window with a muffled groan, willing it all away. She prayed for the terrible aching hole inside herself to shrink away in time, prayed for the cheerfulness, the carefree joy she'd had just weeks before to return.

It had been two months since she had last seen Peter Pan, and the details of his face were becoming blurry, unfocused ... the memories of his voice were already becoming soft and distant and run all together ... she had to think hard to return just how his smile had curved in that certain way, had to strain to remember the exact wording of the things he had said to her.

She was forgetting the adventure, losing her memories slowly to time, while at the same time, the hole inside herself was gnawing away at her faster and faster, draining her from the inside out.

She prayed, silently, for one thing above all.

Wendy whimpered, tossing her head on the pillow, her auburn hair pooled around her pale, moonlit face. Pe... ter .. please .. come .. back ... to .. me ... ... ...

... ... ... ... and Wendy dreamed, for the countless night in a row, of her simple wish coming true.


-- End Chapter One --


Ending Notes: It's so sad, isn't it? Poor Wendy. I ate about 90 little Dove chocolate squares writing this fic, and I wrote Chapters One, Two and Three on them. Woot.

Reviews make me care about when I update, so if you care, review. ^^ Heh, that sounds mean. Ignore me. Thank you for reading, loves! Go see the movie and melt in the goodness! Like the chocolate in my mouth right now! Reviews are Dove chocolate to my heeeart ...