𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 ⎈ 𝘗𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘗𝘢𝘯

Chapter 4: A New Person

Rowan's POV

𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 to the tents and quickly found mine, for the god forsaken boy's put a big sign above the tent that stated "For Lost Girl".

Part of me wanted to not even venture inside, but my throbbing leg told me I had no choice.

I walked in and saw the giant room. It wasn't what I expected.

I expected to see a small cot and a dirt floor.

I expected to see dirty walls and worn out blankets for sleeping.

I expected to see holes in the fabric of the ceiling.

My expectations were not met.

What I received was a large bed with comfortable blankets and fluffy pillows.

What I received was a soft, green grass floor.

What I received was a vanity with a mirror and a little stool.

What I received was a wooden chandelier with candles.

"Nice, isn't it?"

I turned to see Pan smirking at me, leaning against the doorway.

I turned back to my room that had rendered me speechless. "I have no words..." I breathed out for a second. "It's certainly not what I expected."

The boy walked forward with his hands in his pockets, looking around. "The only tent nicer than this one is my own." He looked at me from the corner of his eye.

I nodded then continued to take in the space before me. After a second, I looked at him, eyebrows creased in confusion. "Why?"

Peter raised his eyebrows at me in question. "Why what?"

I turned to face him. "Why this?" I gestured to my room. "There has to be some sort of catch. Some sort of game in order for me to win it?"

"No," He shook his head. "You are our new lost girl. Don't you think that the boy's new mother deserved a nice home?"

Something he said caught my attention. "New mother?"

He faced me as well. "Oh, you don't know?" he smiled a little, "The role of 'Lost Girl' entails you cooking meals for the boys, telling them stories, taking care of them, and such."

I chuckled without humor. "There we go." I put my hand that wasn't holding my staff on my hip, shaking my head, and looking at the ground.

"Mmm?"

I raised my head to answer him. "That's the catch. That I'm to act as a sort of slave for you boys."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "Not a slave. A mother-"

"What's the difference?" I mumbled, quietly, interrupting him.

"-Someone who can take care of them in the ways I'm unable to." He continued, not skipping a beat.

I raised an eyebrow and glared, "So, the great Peter Pan finally admits that he is incapable to do something."

He rolled his eyes at me, irritated. "No. I can do it if need be. But who needs to if you can have someone else do it for you."

I scoffed. "So, you're saying I'm just a tool for you."

He crossed his arms, taking a wide, controlling stance. "For the time being, of a sort, yes."

For a moment we just glared at each other before he spoke up again.

"You should get changed. Those clothes aren't going to pass here. I have some options for you in your cellar." He gestured to a trap door in the corner of the tiny room that opened with the wave of his hand. "We didn't have quite enough room for a ground level closet, so we had to make due with other things."

He turned to walk out, just as he opened the flap of the door, it dawned of me.

He could've just killed me.

He could've raped me.

He could've made me become some sort of literal slave.

It all hit me all that he could've done, but hasn't done. So, I stopped him.

"Pan?"

He raised an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair that had fallen out through all the fuss of today. "Tha-" I stopped myself then sighed again and continued. "Thanks."

He turned, smirking. "I couldn't quite hear you, could you speak louder, love?"

I glared at him. "You're not getting me to say it again."

No matter what he hasn't done to me, he's still an asshole with an ego bigger than this island.

His smirk grew. "You're welcome."

He then turned and walked out of the room.

I stood there, looking at the spot where he stood previously, in confusion, awe, and frustration. After a moment, I turned and walked towards the cellar.

Down in the cellar, the walls were lined with options of clothes on hangers and the floors against the walls were lined with different options of shoes. Mostly, boots or flats. On the hangers were options of dresses, shirts, skirts, pants, coats, cloaks, and capes. It was at least 10 feet deep and 5 feet wide. It was more than anything I've ever had in my lifetime.

I found myself breathless again; in awe again.

No. No, no, no. I can't let this get to me. Can't let Pan get to me like this. This is insane. He takes me from my life and my family and thrusts me into his world to live as his slave.

A slave with a beautiful tent and a closet big enough to be a small room.

I sighed, conflicted on my feelings. I decided that there was no harm in changing out of my bloody, dirty clothes.

I walked up and down the long rows of clothing options before I settled on brown, lace-up boots that went to my mid calf, a light grey skirt that would stay off my wound, a green scarf to tie around my waist, a dark grey, short sleeved t-shirt, and a long blanket-like cloak to lay across my shoulders, to shield me from the oncoming chill of night. I let my dark, wild hair fall around my shoulders.

I found a full length mirror behind the stairs of the cellar. I looked myself up and down and saw something not right. I looked too different, yet too the same. I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all.
It was exactly the same or completely different. I didn't wanted to be reminded of my past anymore. I couldn't think about that. I could only think for myself, now.

I reached down and grabbed the third dagger that was still attached to my leg. I looked in the mirror and started at my hair.

It was like cutting my ties to my past life away. I cut the memories of the sea wind blowing it wild. I cut the locks that my father would tug on, playfully, when we would talk together. I cut the curls and the layers. I cut it all off.

When I was done, I had a ring of dark curls around me. My long hair now on the floor. My new hair was cut short to my head, yet long enough to where I could grab a handful of it with my fist.
It was different. But it was a good different.

I took a deep breath, then marched (as defiantly as one could with a staff) back up the stairs and through the flap doors to face my new home head on, as a new person.

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A/N: 

*phew* chapter four. Okay. It has begun. 

(The next chapter was my favorite to write, just so you know.) 

AAAAAAS ALWAYS, PLEASE COMMENT!

okie i hoped you enjoyed! Until next time! 

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[𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝟖/𝟏/𝟐𝟎]