Wendy was sitting at her parent's kitchen table, her hair in a tight bun. The sun was about to go down, the sunset causing the clouds to go pink. Her face held the charm of being a young healthy woman, her cheeks flushed pink, and her eyes were large and round, soft brown. She held the sad look on her face though, the day was almost over, and she felt as if something important was supposed to happen but she couldn't remember. She had turned twenty one, and yet she felt the day hadn't finished.
And yet, she had just been proposed too.
Her parents had been thrilled, perfectly thrilled. Proposed to the boy next door, it was perfect really. She couldn't bring herself to answer though. Poor Charles, still waiting for the fatal yes or no. her parents weren't thrilled about that.
Her father had yelled when Charles left, her mother had cried. Her brothers, away at boarding school, knew nothing. She was alone with this.
By the tie darkness came around her anger was too much to contain; she didn't know she was storming out on the dark streets of London until she was there. The fog was rising around her, but it was something she was used to living here. It didn't scare her. It should have, if it had she might not have been the prey of a night stalker.
Two rough hands grabbed her around the shoulders and pushed her against the wall roughly.
"Let go of me!" she cried angrily, "I'll kill you! I'll kill you, I swear it!"
"Come now," a sudden rough and refined voice said from the fog, but it wasn't the man holding on to her shoulders, "Let the girl go. You may not think she would be strong enough to kill you, but I most certainly am."
"What's that?" the man holding her shoulders asked drunkenly, the smell of alcohol fleeing his mouth.
"I said, let the girl go."
Wendy couldn't see a think from the dark or fog, but she did see a curved shining metal piece flash, and the man let go of her shoulders. She didn't hesitate, she bolted back to her house, stumbling against the cobblestone, but she wouldn't stop, she had to get home.
When she slammed her door behind her, her chest was heaving quickly, her hair had come loose. She locked the door and fled upstairs, not stopping until she was safely hidden under her covers in her bed.
If this is what being twenty one held, she was most defiantly not going any further. The panic was slowly starting to ebb away, but her heart continued to pound heavily. She felt her breathing even out, but her head started to throb.
She hadn't even noticed her open window, it was hardly ever closed, it was so natural. So when she fell into a fitful sleep, the figure from years ago was able to return.
Hook stood looking over the shadows to the small lump in one of the beds. He walked over quickly and set his hook down on the covers, tracing the figure's form.
He pulled down the covers, as he did nearly seven years ago and looked at the girl with an amused look. She was curled up into a ball, her arms covering her face, her hair spread out across her sheets. He thought about that hair being mistreated by the man he had killed on the street earlier. Foolish of the girl to be out, but he found it convenient to take her from the streets, until the other man attacked.
He picked her up in his arms again, she was small in comparison to him, and he realized how small she must actually be. He hadn't gotten a good look earlier, and as he carried her over the threshold he actually felt excited to see the face on the new woman who was Wendy. He stopped and shrugging his shoulder so that the heavy sleeper's head turned away from his chest and more towards his arm, he gasped. It was such an angelic face, he thought, and he felt as if she would break. Her brows however were pulled together in a small grimace he could only assume was caused from earlier events. Yet, her face looked peaceful, and he knew he had to take her now before he changed his mind. But when he stepped on his ship, the small amount of crew that was awake watching him, he suddenly felt possessive of the little creature in his arms, he wasn't going to give her back.
