Peter Pan Imagines (Once Upon a Time)

Silver Ring

There's something wrong with you. You're not sure how long it's been there, some unknown darkness pressing up against your heart and drowning out what should have lived there instead. All you know is that it's there, and will be until the day you die.

It had first come into reality, not just as a feeling but into legitimate being, when you turned thirteen. You were alone then, alone in the dark and cold. You needed to walk home, but the way back was long and winding, and there was a strong gale whipping the warmth out of your body. You had flung a hand over your eyes, desperate to make it back before you lost all feeling in your arms and legs.

When you had opened your eyes, you weren't sure what to believe. Your outstretched hand had caught on fire, flames dancing hypnotically up and down your arm. It was hot, hot enough to snap and crackle in the dark cold, but yet it didn't burn you for a second. You didn't panic, not then. You suppose you were too overwhelmed to say anything. It was after you got home, when the flames had died down and vanished into nothingness, that the magnitude of what had just happened finally hit you.

You had magic. Over the next few months, it would show up again and again. Apples appeared in the trees overhead when you were starving, the snake turned away from you instead of striking, and you had lit a massive bonfire in your hearth with one snap of your fingers.

You didn't know what to do about it. Of course it was fascinating, and it made you feel powerful to have this supernatural ability. In this town, a feeling of power was rare to come by, and you treasured it. However, you had to hide your magic deep inside you, forcing it to never come out unless you were alone. Your town had an all-consuming fear of magic. It was like a witch hunt, almost, except the witches rarely survived long enough to stand trial.

You walk quickly to the road that would take you back home, head bent in the hopes of avoiding eye contact with the group of boys just approaching from the dock. Unfortunately, it looks as if today was not your lucky day, as one of the boys nudges his friend and points towards you, and the rest of the group starts heading your way.

You're almost to the middle of the town square when the boys walk up in front of you. You're forced to come to a stop, but try to quickly walk around them. One of them calls out to you in a jeering tone. "Hey, you're that Y/N girl, aren't you? The one from that shack near the edge of town?" You glance up at him but say nothing.

The boy's sneer turns into an ugly frown. "Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you! You give me some respect!" He steps in front of you, putting an arm out to stop you walking past him. You still say nothing. The boy's friends start to circle up around you, and you feel your anxiety starting to skyrocket. The boy grins, displaying several missing teeth. "Do you know who I am? I'm the mayor's son. You are so far beneath me, it's crazy." You force back a biting remark, still trying in vain to leave the square and go back home.

The boy steps closer to you, and now you can detect the tang of liquor on his tongue. "To make up for your attitude, how about you come with me? I'm sure you've got nowhere better to go." His hand reaches for your waist, and in this moment all you can feel is the hot breath of the boys and the sensation that there's no way out. You push the boy's hand away from you, knocking him onto the ground. The only problem is that you lose control of your magic in this moment of panic, and hot tongues of fire spark out from your hands, burning the boy.

The other boys back away in fear as the mayor's son stands up hurriedly, scrambling to get away from you. "She's got magic. She's a witch!" Around the town square, you can see people start to emerge from their shops. One soldier approaches the boys. "Who's the witch?" The mayor's son points a trembling finger at you. "It's her!" You stand there for a moment, frozen, then turn on your heels and run, feet pounding against the worn cobblestones.