Peter Pan Ouat Imagines (ON HOLD)

A Rainy Day

(Y/N)= Your Name
Words= 3000

There's a myth of a woman, who never moved and never spoke. She never even tried to, for the sake of everyone around her. When she moved, a storm followed with lightning cracking the sky and thunder trailing behind. When she spoke, rain dropped from the clouds above following her every move.

She was caring, and loved her people, her village, the every flower she walked past. It wasn't her fault that her most precious gift became lethal.

She became selfless, not wanting to hurt anyone she carved a house of stone when she lies every. Single. Day. Of every. Single. Week. Of every. Single. Year. There she sleeps, pale skin soft, eyes closed, and hair falling from her shoulders every now and then. There she slept, and wept. In her sleep and whenever she opened her eyes.

For she wouldn't move.

Until one night when she awoke from a nightmare, she sat strait up unknowing of her actions, where she ran from her stone abode to make sure her family was safe. Everyone's eyes were wide and stuck to her pale form.

That's when the fireworks started. Crackles and booms swallowed every sound, igniting roofs and scorching the town till all that was left was her and her sorrow. She stumbled and fell to her bed.

Hysterical was she; The gods were against her, she was sure of it.

•. •. •. •. •.

{3rd Person On Neverland}

"BOYS!" I'm off for some business in a far off village, any chaos to come is dealt with by Felix." The boy pointed and disappeared in a plume of green mist.

"Oh, how that witch better have a good reason to stop giving me potions..." He growled, fists clenched while his hair was blown from the swirling portal that was abruptly opened, and closed once more.

Meanwhile, in the her stone cavern...
{Your Pov}

Oh no whose outside

You bite your nails in worry, "I can hear my storm clouds outside." You whisper unable to hole back the tears. You're alone. But you're stronger now, right? You wail and send echoes of despair leaving no other sound to be heard, and through blurry eyes you get up and stretch.

Been a long time.

Your cold bones ache as your stiff body cracks and snaps. "I guess I'll wear something better that what I've been wearing for the past.. Well.. forever." So you slink down from your stone bed and walk over to a beautifully carved wooden chest, "This autta' do." You hold up the deep blue silk toga.

Perfect.

Boredom sulks overhead, like your storm outside raging on and on even stronger now that you're awake, "what to do, what to do..." Your fingers twitch, creaking a ball of a lightning storm in the center of your hand.

This is new

With your other hand, you pick up the little storm and swirl it, stretch it, and make it different sizes. That must have helped all the knotted feelings because the raging hurricane that was once outside became a small, tiny rain cloud the size of a small hut.

That is- until you heard a voice outside.

You giggled, "He's mumbling to himself." You stepped of the rug you were standing on, the cold swirling around your feet as you concluded that you would peek out the door and see who it was. He was mumbling so many profanities and angry rants that you found it hard to stay sane.

"If I knew this place was to go up in flames I would've bloody done it myself." He kicked a rock with his hands on his hips, deep in some sort of angry state.