Charlotte had only ever heard she was normal. When she lands on Neverland, it's no exception. She, like many others, is just another lost one. With one small exception.
Peter Pan, is anything but what he's supposed to be. He's rough edges, smirks an...
The green grass looks dark, nearly black in the dim lighting. It's darkened by the stained spots, which can be barely made out to be red. A brown boot, mud soaking through the bottom, is splayed out among the grass.
Screams irrupt in the background, and the rough crackling of wood fills the silence. The sun is not in the sky, but panic is in the air. The moon has clouded over, and there is no light.
Beyond the boot is a leg, with pants that seem to crumble apart at the touch. Dusty and old, but wet all the same. Traces of the soil remain on it, as dark black patches of mysterious origins.
Hands are pulling into hair. Alex's dirt nails, almost black, are tugging at Harry's hair, almost blending in with the colour. His face one of silent shock, staring off into the distance at who knows what, ignoring the screams around him.
A hand, white in colour but splattered in blood. Dirt is stuck under the nails, dark black. The sleeve the arm came from is rolled up, revealing an even paler colour where the skin was kept out of the sun and dirt.
A boy with a freckled face reaches up to try and whip the black off his face, his hands shaking as they move. When they come in contact with the skin, they only managed to make the freckles disappear more.
A cloak that is falling apart at the seams. Buttons that threaten to fall off, and buttons that already have. A black shirt pokes out from beneath, but it's impossible to tell if it's black from dirt or if it was originally.
Hands that are so dirty the skin beneath them seems but a whisper of history, crush the dirt in their hands.
Next to the hand lies a silver blade, dull in the lack of light. It's brown hilt worn down from constant use. The metal peaks out from the brown where the user pushed down their thumb.
A empty clearing, ripped apart by the hands of the needy. Dirt is thrown about, and there are holes in the ground. Dug deep down by the grieving and the tired.
A freckled face lies with a cheek in the dirt. Eyes and mouth wide open, and the trace of blood at the corners of the lips and rimming the nose. The red colour is splatter like paint, giving the illusion of red and brown freckles on the light skin.
White slowly trails down from the sky, softly hitting the ground and curling at its touch.
Charlie.
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