NEVERLAND

Chapter 2- Stolen

"Goodnight, children," My mother bids us farewell before exiting the nursery. John and Michael hop on top of their beds energetically, proclaiming their hatred for sleep and nighttime.

"Calm down boys," I chuckle and they do as I say, sliding under the covers reluctantly. "Alright, who wants a story?" I question. They excitedly clap and nod their heads with great enthusiasm.

"Can it be about the Lost Boys?" Michael pleads. I'm hesitant at first— after such a horrible raid last week, I probably shouldn't. But I can't resist the intrigue of the unknown. I nod and my mind reels as stories begin to form. "Like the one you told us a week ago about Pan," he adds.

"Okay," I begin. "Once upon a time, a girl wandered into the forest," I make up a long and intricate story about Pan finding a girl and bringing her to his home in the forbidden parts of the forest. It's very similar to one my father used to tell us when we were very young, back when Pan was only a fun memory instead of a nightmare, back when our father wasn't always traveling for business. In it, the girl attempts to escape many times but Pan would always catch her and bring her back. He couldn't bear to watch her go. "Eventually, they became friends and would venture all of the lands together. Then one day, the evil-"

"Wendy, go to bed now," my mother's voice sounds from the hall and the boys frown. "and I thought I told you- no more stories about that demon."

"But we have to know what happens!" John complains only for my mother to ignore him and continue towards her room. They look at me desperately but I shrug, surrendering to my mother's wishes. I hug them and kiss their foreheads before retreating to my own quarters.

I fall onto my bed and slide out my journal, writing down the usual daily activities I had performed. Making breakfast, journeying down to the well and filling up the bucket, straightening my room, making up fairy tales for the boys, painting for hours. I didn't get my time in the woods today (which I wasn't too happy about), but overall it was a fine day. After filling multiple pages with thoughts and imaginations, I shimmy under my sheets and attempt to fall asleep quickly so I can arise early and venture into the wild trees- but I don't. I lay for what seems like hours and stare at the cream colored ceiling of my bedroom in complete silence- and that's when a thud shatters that tranquility.

I jump out of bed and prance over to my window lightly but eagerly. Could it be another attack?

My question is answered when I catch a glimpse of the boy that I was beginning to think of as my imagination.

It's Pan.

He holds a lantern and turns sharply, sheer pleasure and thrill coating his features. He's just as I imagined. Tall, slender, with charming features and and a crooked grin. I catch my breath when he looks directly at me. His expression falters. His mouth opens and shuts swiftly, no doubt yelling orders to the boys before looking at me again. I stumble backwards and bump into my bed, gasping as they bolt towards my window. I do my best to hide but it's no use—they're here. I attempt to scream but it comes out as a horrifying choke, not loud enough for anyone to hear.

I watch in terror as the window is pried open silently and two boys seep through. "Come with us and there will be no trouble," One says huskily, and I can't help but submit. If I do scream, my parents will come running, maybe even my brothers, which would only endanger them. They latch onto my arms and drag me out of the safe walls of my home.

"We got her," The boy on my right says. When we reach the leader, I immediately shy away, too scared to look at him- but years of curiosity and questions about this boy get the best of me. I glance at his face.

He's about 19 or so I'm guessing- somewhere around my age, which doesn't entirely make sense since he has been a tale since even my grandmothers infancy. His hair is a fiery auburn and a messy sort of perfect, curling around his bold cheekbones and sharp jawline. His intense jade gaze holds mine in such a captivity that I can't possibly look away. The left edge of his thin lips tweaks upward in an unreadable half-grin. What I didn't expect, however, is the spray of freckles across his nose, giving him a youthful liveliness. He was so different, yet so exactly what I imagined.