Peter Pan (3)

The moon hung motionless over the Neverland skies, bathing the enchanted forest in a cold, silent light. All was calm, but Peter Pan's heart burned with a fury he had never known.

His boots barely touched the grass as he moved through the trees, his obsidian dagger in hand. There was no trace of the boyish smile that had made him a legend. His eyes—as blue as the sky before a storm—were clouded with betrayal.

"Why did you do it?" he whispered to the wind, but he knew she could hear him. She could always hear him.

Tinker Bell, the little fairy who had once been his constant companion, looked down at him from atop a twisted branch. Her wings flickered weakly, like a flame about to go out. She said nothing. She couldn't. Her voice, as bright and high-pitched as a bell, was now choked with guilt.

"You killed her... you killed Wendy," Peter said, his stillness more frightening than any scream. "She loved you, even when you didn't see her the way I did anymore."

Tinker Bell descended slowly, her eyes sparkling with pixie-dust tears. There were no excuses. There would be no forgiveness. Peter stepped forward, his dagger gleaming in the moonlight. Neverland was no longer a playground. It was now a field of revenge.

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