I re-read my writing and realized I didn't like it. So I'm going through the chapters and re-writing them. I don't know if any of you will care, but it will make me feel better.
His blue eyes were shatteringly cold and bright, set as they were against the rolling black clouds that signalled Peter's death. Pain, harsh and lancing, forced its way like poison through Wendy's veins as she held back bitter sobs mourning the loss of her childhood love.
"Once upon a time there was a boy named Peter Pan, who decided not to grow up." Wendy paused, her gaze hard on that of the pirate's as her depression receded into harsh anger. He dug his hook under her chin until the cold metal was edging her skin into beads of bright blood, flowers of red bursting on pale skin.
"Skip the prologue." His voice was deceptively smooth, that hint of an English drawl rough in his impatience as his lips nearly brushed hers in his distracted irritation.
"So he flew away to Neverland where the pirates are." The captain lowered his face to hers, caressing her flushed cheek with the point of his hook with a smirk. Wendy flinched once, before steeling herself for his insults.
"What… fun he must have had."
Wendy's gaze glittered hard as diamonds, he couldn't help but notice, crystallised ice. She was so short she barely reached his chest, he was bent uncomfortably to hold her close enough to hear.
"Yes. But he was rather lonely." Her chin notched up a touch so that her eyes were level with his, breath a whisper against his, sickening anger thrilling him as it flashed in her expression. Hook raised one eyebrow in surprise.
"Lonely?" His eyes glanced from her eyes to her mouth, which trembled with stories and unshed tears, that kiss nestled quietly below the dimple on her right cheek. "Ah. He needed a…. Wendy." The wind whipped at the pair, clasped together as they were on the deck of the Jolly Roger and lifting their hair to dance in a fairy dance of brown and black. Both were oblivious, caught as they were in the dangerous game of stories and intrigue. The surrounding crew were silent, hands muffling the cries of the Lost Boys, who in their young age couldn't understand the gravity of the situation. One of the crew spoke, but caught up as Wendy was in her dangerous storytelling, she didn't even register his words.
Without looking away from the sea of Wendy's eyes, Hook aimed his pistol from his hip and shot him directly above the bridge of his nose. The Lost Boys screamed as blood and shattered bone spurted in a cannon into the still evening air, just touched with the crisp apple gold of sunshine. The light lit the pair, shimmering on the metal of the Captain's hook, on Wendy's unshed tears, on the glitter of promise.
"Why a Wendy?" He murmured lowly, tilting her face upwards to face his own. "Why you?"
"He liked my stories."
"What stories?" Her tone of defiance surprised the question out of him. A boy and a girl who shared kisses under the waxen Neverland moon rarely coupled for stories. Then again, this was a mere child. He doubted twelve year old English girls were taught to delve into the unscrupulous pleasures of the flesh from so early an age, if ever.
"Cindarella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty."
"Adventures!" She abruptly shrieked against his chest at the mere mention of the word love. Her eyes fired in a blaze of cloudy blue, hair crackling with the shafts of sunlight. "In which good triumphs over evil." The surrounding pirates caught their breath in surprise, and turned their attention to the Captain to see what he would do to suppress such impertinence. Hook, however, looked thoughtful, as his eyes lingered again on the right hand corner of her lower lip.
"They all end in a kiss." The scattered thoughts that had been buzzing in his head abruptly came into one, as her lips opened in a gasp that she hastily suppressed. He grasped her closer to him, his hook below her chin as he stared down at her face in revelation. "A kiss. He does feel. He feels about you."
Wendy glared up at him, keeping her mouth shut as the hook dug deeper into her skin as he lost concentration to understand the gravity of his understanding. His left hand, which grasped her wrists, was tense enough to grind her bones together. As though suddenly noticing Hook tossed his head back suddenly to regard his crew and pushed Wendy away from him to the floor, stalking towards her too fast for her to try to run away.
"She told him stories. He taught her to fly." He wheeled around and whipped out his sword with a snick of metal on leather. He pressed it to her breasts where she lay on her back, arms to her side and head pillowed by soft curls, breath fast. "How?"
Wendy smiled slowly, as sly as a cat, despite her position of mortal peril at the hand of the pirate captain, "You just think happy thoughts. They lift you up, into the air."
Hook growled in frustration and hauled her to her feet, bundled so her feet weren't touching the ground in his frustration, arms holding her hard and fast to make her wince.
"Alas- I have no happy thoughts."
"That brings you down."
The impertinence! Hook twisted her under his grip and caught her throat with his hook menacingly. Wendy stood straight, her breath quick on the exposed skin of his collar-bones as she braced herself for the pain, the spurt of blood. She briefly wondered if Hook would mind getting a stain on his pristine shirt. Michael behind her couldn't bear to see his older sister so handled by a man twice her size and piped up, straining against the pirates grasp,
"Fairy dust! You need fairy dust!"
Michael was quickly shushed, but Hook had heard. A slow smile wound over his lips as he lowered them to brush Wendy's hair.
"What of Pan? Would unhappy thoughts bring him down?" His warm lips brushed her forehead, directly contrasting the cold steel at her throat.
"He has no unhappy thoughts."
Wendy Moira Angela Darling jerked awake, her breath quick, her bed-sheets snarled around her body. She looked wildly around the room, fisted hands twisted in her little pillow and tears streaming down her pale face, the echo of his roar of anger still ringing in her ears.
"A memory… A memory…" She murmured to herself like a chant, shaking sleep dust from her eyes with a bleary gesture of ambivalence, trying to calm her racing blood. A ghost of metal at her throat, the heat of an arm like a manacle around her waist, an English drawl bitingly sarcastic in her ear.
The night was heavy, a blackness that swirled into a millions of pinpricks of light. Wendy stood and drifted from her bed to sit, with her night dress drawn up around her knees, chin propped on her knees to gaze up at the familiar horizon, still shivering. The window was open, invitingly, lace curtains fluttering in the wind like delicate ghosts. A dream. A memory. What was the difference anymore?
The nursery had long since changed; John had moved on to university, and Michael was away at school. Both were utterly normal, utterly bright and focused on their futures in banking and law respectively, any thoughts of stories and adventure long dead. It was now her own space for thinking, as bare and pretty as the front she presented the world.
You must stop these stories, Wendy. You're delusional. We'll have to commit you to Bedlam if you don't stop yourself. Another suiter rejecting you? Wendy!
Her Aunt Millicent's sharp tone was more tiring than that of her mother's quiet disappointment. Oddly, if a phantom figure were to taunt her in her nursery, she would rather have Hook. At least he was honest in his plan to murder her, a clean slice to the throat rather than the slow, soul crushing boredom of society.
There weren't enough grains of sand in the world to count the number of times Wendy had dreamed of Neverland. Her forehead creased into a frown, as it often did when she tried to remember a detail. The exact colour of Peter's hair. The sound of the mermaid's tails splashing against the waves. The glint of a pirate's sword against the sunset.
I am an adult. I don't need you, Peter Pan. She smirked to herself, proud of her resilience, even before it faded and her eyes clouded over again. Then why can't I live my life here?
Sighing, she stood, her eyes still clear on the stars- on one star. Second the right and straight on 'til morning. What a bore it was, to remember, so lucidly. Odd, however, that her memories should revolve about the ship. When she had first left Neverland it had been Peter who occupied her every waking thought- his mysterious smile and winking eyes, and the promise of a kiss of an acorn. Now however… The life of a pirate- it was the only thing that would ever intrigue her. And what was the worst that could happen- that she should be swallowed by the shifting tides of the place she prized above all. Even the thought of drowning there was more of a comfort than the monotony of slowly dying a lady, married and used in a London townhouse- whomever her husband would turn out to be, the correct three children clutching at her breasts. Children she would have to tailor to her husband's specifications. Children she would have to raise to be dull and unthinking in their duty to avoid anomalies such as herself, who damaged England as we all know it. People who should be committed to a mental asylum for sharing fairytales.
Please come back for me. Don't forget me. A tear slid down her face, rolled over her cheek, her lip, and came to land salty on her tongue. And if you already have, the please, please remember. I can't bear this world much longer.