The Third Star

Chapter 2: Night of Guilt

I know you, Peter Pan.

Those words wouldn't have burned so much if they hadn't been so true.

Peter had waited there in the woods, hoping in vain that Tiger Lily would come back. He knew she wouldn't, of course; she had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. But he waited anyway, waited until even the sun gave up and released the sky to the stars.

He couldn't stop replaying their encounter in his head.

He couldn't erase the memory of the disgust on her face, the contempt in her voice. Her angry face glared at him from the shadows, from every rock and every tree. Her voice dripped like venom from the hemlock branches. And those eyes. Those wild, betrayed eyes, like a wounded animal.

And it was entirely his fault.

He had made her into that animal, that bitter lion condemned to writhe in silent agony. He had stolen the lily from her name and made her into a savage fiend.

Peter's chest ached as an uncomfortable myriad of raw emotions swelled inside of him. Suddenly, he couldn't bear to stay in those woods any longer. He swiftly took to the sky and pushed free of the treetops.

He refused to dissect the knot in his heart, instead choosing to push it away-out of sight, out of mind.

The night was cool and clean, and Peter gazed wonderingly out over his beloved island. Not a sound rose from the caverns in the east, where the mermaids were probably resting in the moonlit water. If he were to swoop down closer to their cove, he may have been able to hear the low, eerie lullaby they sang to the ocean every night, like a gentle prayer. The island slept soundly, with the exception of the lost boys' camp. Even from the sky, he could see the flickering firelight and hear the boys whooping and hollering in the distance.

He forbid his eyes to venture to the west, where he knew Tiger Lily would be sleeping under the starlit veil of the night.

Unable to face the boys in his troubled condition, he chose instead to visit his Thinking Tree. He touched down on a sturdy branch and looked up at the dense, white moon.

Guilt. That's what he'd been choking on ever since he saw Tiger Lily. Guilt because he had ruined her. Guilt because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fix the past. Guilt because he was selfish enough to desire her forgiveness, and guilt because he knew he didn't deserve it.

Sure, he saved her. At one point, she even owed him her life. But now they both knew that she owed him nothing.

Peter ran a hand through his tousled brown hair and sagged against the tree trunk. Peter Pan never failed, but the price of succeeding was something he no longer wanted to have to pay.