After a bit of interal argument I decided to rewrite the first chapter of this story. I won't bore you with excuses of why, or even why it took so long just to rewrite, but I implore you to read this new rewrite because it includes new components the original chapter did not. PLEASE DON'T SKIP IT OVER! You can probably skim the first half, but when Hook gets involved that's where I changed things. Chapter 2 will hopecully follow in a somewhat timely manner.

»Forget Me Never«

chapter 1 (rewritten): The Man in the Mirror

The inconsistent waters of Neverland raged in the oncoming soirée delivered by the hands (or should I say hook?) not of Madame Fate, but of the vengeful Captain of the Jolly Roger. He stood atop the deck that was worn with age, it's wooden floorboards etched with many epic stories that could only be portrayed to their fullest extent if one had been present during its making. The Captain could recall every clash of metal on metal, hook on sword, against the very boy that led him to the condition he was in now.

His legitimate hand unconsciously reached up to his face where a jagged scar graced his once unmarred cheek. It was a casualty gained when he entered the alligator whole, and yet coming out he gained nothing but a lifetime of hatred, a desire for blood, and mental cicatrice. He lowered his hand once more, his eyes never leaving the seething waves of blue, the hues dark with salt and rolling foam and the nighttime's shade. Light from the stars above glistened on the surface like a glass mirror, but the raving winds around him that sent the ropes and sails into a frenzy spoke of anything but peace.

Ever since escaping the leathery cage he had vowed to take back what was his. No longer did the eternal boy matter, he realized, there was a much bigger fight to be won than that of the petty battles which were picked with Pan.

Hook leaned forward and further onto his palms, the mahogany beneath his hands groaned with the extra pressure, the wood old and worn with longevity yet still afloat with the strength of its Captain. Neither would collapse until the other did, and so far the ladder showed no sign of caving anytime soon, so nor did the ship. It was a reliance not spoken through words, but as it was comfort, for now, all alone, the Captain's only solace was in the depleted structure he stood on. That would not be for long.

Wendy Darling, yes... Even thinking the name sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine, his nerves alight with the thought of the vow he'd made long ago. He remembered it well, as he climbed the shore with but an ounce of breathe left in his battered lungs, his body fresh with the gut of a crocodile, he looked upon the rising smoke of the Lost Boys and their storyteller and formed an oath he had not broken after almost six years: Wendy Darling would be his.

She would crack under him, her will would break until the only thing she knew was him. The boy would no longer hold a place in her heart, and even if Pan had forgotten her, Hook would be sure to make Wendy his downfall. She had once been his life, but now she would be his death.

Even if the picture was much larger than Pan, much more the frame of the curly haired storyteller, he would make the boy suffer as he went. Why not string along the eternal creature which took his hand and his humility? It seemed only minimally appropriate.

A ragged breath escaped from his mouth, the air turning to vapor upon leaving the tissue of his lungs. Old. Alone. Done for. The words often haunted him at night, though only one was true: he was utterly alone. In Neverland, Hook was not out of his later thirties, though he appeared to be but twenty and nine. He was not done for, as the crocodile had even failed in finishing him off, as had that insolent boy. But he was alone—so alone, and with an unbridged gap in his heart. He wished to be paired with another, so desperately that he had promised himself to a lady with every intention of taking her for his own. She did not know it yet, but she was his, and nothing was going to change that. Not Pan, not even fate would separate him from his dear Wendy. She would realize that even a villain was never alone, and like the crocodile ate him, she would swallow the words, as she'd contradict them with every ounce of her heart on his side. Eventually.

Wind raved about his cloak, flapping the royal, embroidered material around him. His breath was cool, and mystified once it hit the colder air. A telltale sign of the weather, but even more so the state of his mind. No mercy would be shown, not by that of his hook or heart. He had waited far too long, suffered extensively and without any chance of resurrection, planned with no immediate gratification, only left with the thought of what could be his with waiting...

"I'm coming, my beauty."

The grandiose ship began to rise from its setting in the sea to rise to a harbor in the clouds, where it would set course to London, the same way Wendy had escaped Neverland so many years ago. He preyed upon her now like a hunter does the largest catch of his life, the one that will lead to his retirement and named imprinted in every book.

But that night Hook was not the only one plotting. Madame Fate hadn't her fill quite yet, and at the center of her swirling storm was to be Hook and the Wendy-bird that he would drag down with him.

»✦«

Eighteen was the age of adulthood, universally accepted worldwide as the official graduation of youth and the coronation of entering as a full member of society. It was the age of consent for marriage, where you would be paired with another until your last breath, expected to stay wholly attached to them in every aspect of life. It was the age Wendy Darling had dreaded since she was fourteen (perhaps even before), long pushing off the thoughts of maturity and putting in place her childhood memories and adventures from her younger years. Now, she could no longer escape her fate. It seemed all hope for another great adventure was lost in the waves of her past, her future swallowing up hope for another great day. If only one.

No matter how much she prayed at night, no matter how many vows of believing she recited, there was no sign of Peter Pan. There was no indication of a fairy come to do his bidding, no inkling of her returning to Neverland for a single adventure. That was all she asked— yet, the night was silent, and the only response to her pleas was the wind as it breezed through the oak eves.

She had given up trying for something out of reach, but deep inside the young her held onto the hope that she would reach Neverland again, and she held onto that for dear life. It seemed the only way to endure the long hours of tea time with her insistent Aunt and many mindless suitors. They were all the same: handsome, somewhat wealthy, and infinitely boring. Their introductions were all the same, their wants, their needs, and she was expected to marry one of these imbecilic buffoons and die by their side? She wouldn't have it, but it seemed that wasn't her decision to make.

Only one thing had kept her afloat: her brothers. Ever so valiant were John and Michael for keeping Wendy's hopes alive, they were the reason she had any bit of her motivation left, or else she would have let her creative side slip long ago.

Both encouraged her storytelling, if only in the private setting and for their own entertainment, but she could tell even they were changing as time went on, only Michael consistent with his need for a nighttime glimpse for adventure. John had long since put his studies before his thirst for fun, quelling his childish nature with schoolwork and maturity, becoming the ideal man Mr. Darling wished him to be. Everyone in the Darling family thrived, even the Lost Boys who seemed… not so lost or young anymore. They'd far outgrown their shoes since living with Peter, and though they spoke of their tales often, they spoke of it like a thing of the past— never to happen again.

As of late, even with the discouragement of her brothers, all Wendy had been able to think of was her adventure in Neverland. It clouded her many thoughts, day in day out, until she was vividly reliving the tale she shared so often with her family and friends. Or had at least. She thought of Pan and the kiss they shared, the love that she'd thought—hoped—was there. The pirates had fleetingly entered her mind, the notorious captain of the Jolly Roger more so, but she cast them aside as well as she could, not wanting to have to face the guilt she'd feel if she meditated on the thoughts of the man she'd helped killed. Just the very reflection made her sick to her stomach.

If Wendy were to be frank, she often thought of loving Pan, what could have been had he grown up with her. They could be in love, sharing many more thimbles and even having children together, taking on the adventure of adulthood together. That was never reality, in fact, it seemed something that seemed silly even in dreams. She knew she had some form of love for the boy when she was thirteen, becoming more of an obsession when she grew older, but even that faded with time when she begun to realize he wouldn't be coming back for her. Not now, and possibly not ever.

But then, even if he did come back now what would he think? She was sure he'd be astounded how much she'd changed in nearly five years' time, and possibly not even recognize her for the young Wendy he knew. He might even reject her, not accept that with his forgetfulness came her growing up. Or maybe even he would bring her back to Neverland for one final adventure, and see what he'd been missing out on all along, that being an adult wasn't so bad, but she couldn't see even that in pretend, not with Peter.

After long hours of contemplation she realized their love had wilted like a dying flower, he had not nurtured it long enough, not come back soon enough to claim it as his own. Yet her desire for love was still there, she felt as if the flower was still growing just now twisting in a different direction. She didn't think much of it, only that Peter hadn't come back.

She would forgive him of course, maybe not consider herself more than friends, loyal allies, but she would forgive the hero of her childhood, of her stories. Heroes were good, and they were to always be forgiven of their faults.

Deep inside something stirred at the thought, or maybe it was the corset that was being tightened mercilessly around her bosom. Either way, something stirred, she just didn't have time to dwell on it. "Oof!"

"Hold still would you, Wendy? This will go by much quicker if you-" Her father grunted as he tightened another set of strings on the corset, sending her body into a frenzy as the oxygen seemed to escape her. "-do."

She didn't understand why she had to wear corsets, rarely anyone did anymore. But it seemed her Aunt was still on the hunt to find her a husband as the age of marriage was coming, and she said every proper lady had to wear a corset some time or another, so she had better get used to it. Wendy wondered if she ever would, if it were possible. It felt as if she was being wrapped up by a boa constrictor! Or what she expected it'd feel like, to be accurate. Wendy was confused how this could help her in a search for a husband, not that she was all too keen on finding one.

"It's hard." She managed airily, her thoughts deeply analyzing when she had allowed her parents to practically prance her around like a prize winning horse. They would surely listen to her pleas, surely they would have to! But once, after overhearing her Aunt say what a waste it would be to let such a beautiful, smart young lady go to waste so early in life, she knew there was no arguing. She was to help her family get a better status in society with her gracious body and wavy locks, bear children to a man whom she may or may not truly love – never would even – for their sake. She'd never planned on playing the role of the sacrificial lamb, but at the time it seemed all she could do. All she was good for.

"There, you're finished." Wendy felt as if the only finished she was, was finished in life. Surely she'd suffocate or lose blood flow? What then? That would be a most embarrassing death, she mused. But perhaps better than marrying a bloke who used her as a housewife or arm trophy. She wasn't sure. She turned around to her father, her arms awkwardly jut out at her sides, her legs spread too far apart as she tried to get some air to her lungs, She felt as if she was being hugged relentlessly by a very large bear, and it was not comforting that she looked good on her father's behalf whatsoever. "Make sure to meet your Aunt and Mother at the tea shop by noon, no later. There shall be a handsome young man waiting for you there, I think you'll quite like him."

Wendy smiled nervously at her father, trying desperately hard to hide the concern of meeting this "handsome young man" as it was put so warmly. He could quite likely be both, but that did not change her qualms on meeting him. Having dates set up would never end in romance in her eyes, she needed to develop feelings before marriage was even considered; but the process was backwards: marriage was considered long before the bride and groom had met! A disaster in the making.

She swallowed any ill feelings she had towards this arrangement and got dressed further, keeping her mind clear of doubt as to try and not judge this man before she met him, lest she make his company to be worse than it is. Not a pleasurable tea time at all that would make, I assure you; she couldn't bear another one of those.

After fully preparing herself (a process on which her father had made himself scarce once begun), Wendy assessed her appearance in the mirror. Since her childhood she'd filled out nicely, but not to the extent where she was considered a gem any man would lust after. In fact, she thought herself quite ordinary in the spectrum of looks, but definitely not ugly either. She was happy to say she was a pretty girl, with chestnut curls, a nearly heart shaped head, a woman's chin, curvy body, petite in height and stature, nearly flawless porcelain skin, and a kiss in the corner of her mouth. She touched it unconsciously. Long ago she thought she'd given that kiss to Peter, but now she realized it was still in the air, and no man had known it was there yet, let alone thought of taking it and slipped in and out of heaven.

Wendy sighed as her hand dropped to her side, she would never find the one who truly deserved the kiss. A man whom she'd be set up with would take it, and then it would not have truly belonged to him, but it would be his. She had long since thought the kiss was for one person, but that person should have come around by now, made himself known? Her hopes had withered like that of her return to Neverland. Yet they lingered.

Her eyes, which had casted down to the floor, raised back up to the mirror to find a sight she'd never thought possible. The full length mirror didn't even recognize the height of the figure that took her reflection's place, staring back at her with the most mesmerizing forget me not eyes that she swore she'd never see again. The ones that had stared at her long and hard before they'd been swallowed whole by a crocodile.

She was frozen for many long moments, wondering if this was merely a figment of her imagination. She knew it was, deep down she knew it was, but it was so real, so vivid, and she knew she hadn't inflicted this upon herself even if it was fake. Someone else had put this here. Possibly even the one she was seeing.

Wendy Darling…

She stepped away, watching as his lips curled up in a smirk at her most obvious fear. He was as impeccably dressed as when she'd last seen him: adorned in an embroidered purple coat that hung to his ankles, the gleaming hook naturally at his side. His beard was trimmed, his mustache curled at either side, and he looked just as handsome as he had before, though now - being a woman – she could appreciate it so much more. There was now also a scar that stretched the length of his cheek, a mark she was sure he had sustained in some engagement.

Had they not been sworn enemies, or him a pirate, or had she not chanted him to his death she would have loved to make him more than her friend, if just based off his physical appearance. But that wasn't the case.

Wendy, it's been so long, have you forgotten of me? Of what you have done to me?

How could she ever forgotten? The sin was forever burned into her brain: murder. She was devout to her faith and knew murder was of the worst sins, nearly in all religions actually. She'd chanted him off to his death, assisted to a most gruesome murder. Yet he seemed alive, at least in the sense that he was standing in front of her. But he'd deserved it, hadn't he?

Such was where she was conflicted. She would have thought long ago Hook was always bad, he would always have deserved the fate he'd gotten. But as it seemed Peter was no better: he'd chopped off Hook's hand for fun, fed it to a crocodile that chased after the poor Captain and never let off. Hook naturally wanted revenge, wouldn't anyone who'd had their hand sliced off for entertainment? And by a gloating, arrogant boy no less? Yet, when the thought had first invaded her mind upon the years of maturity she'd banished it, not wanting to see Pan as any less than a hero and Hook any less than a villain. It seemed the only black and white thing in life, but even that fact was proven to not be solid. It was as gray as anything else in reality. If not more so, in a gruesome manner.

Her mouth opened but no words came out, they choked deep in her throat. What was she to say anyways? You deserved this? I'm Sorry? Nothing seemed appropriate, she wasn't ready for confrontation, she wasn't aware this was a problem she'd have to deal with anymore. So she did the one thing any sensible person was when utterly lost: she ran.

Her father asked her no questions as she flew down the stairs as fast as the corset would provide, nearly leaping into the crowd of people that surged with life about her house. She swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat and quickly moved on, heading straight for the tea shop that she was instructed to go to. She need not waste any time longer on her depressing thoughts. She needed to rid him of her mind.

Easier said than done. Everywhere she went there were a pair of forget me not eyes, as blue as his and as smoldering, as if they were looking into the very depths of her guilt ridden soul. After blinking they would disappear, but it seemed so commonplace, happening to every person that blinking was not enough. So she chose another route: she avoided eye contact altogether. It didn't stop the guilt wrenching feeling in her stomach, the one that weighed her down with every step, made her want to pity, to forgive the man who would have killed her had it not been for Peter.

Looking at her feet did not stop the whispers though, nothing did. He reminded her of that.

Wendy Darling…

She walked faster, trying to keep a placid façade despite the overwhelming feelings that grew in her stomach. She knew not what any of them were, they felt so foreign, as if some outside force had put them there.

All alone, never to find love. Looking in all the wrong places…

It reminded her of the chant, saying how alone he was. It seemed the Captain had always wished for companionship. It was one of the many – only thing she recognized now – things they shared in common: a thirst for love. One of them just happened to not have found it yet, and she had been, despite not listening to his whispers, not looking in any of the right places.

Then the tea shop came into view, and she breathed out a sigh of relief as reality came crashing back onto her. None of the faces in the tea shop had blue eyes, and she was grateful.

"Wendy! Oh you look wonderful dear!" Her Aunt exclaimed joyfully, then in the same breath continued. "Meet Jonathan Rolland, son of the Judge." She took Wendy's eagerly outstretched hand – she wished for familiar touch to bring her back to Earth – which had been therefore handed to the aforementioned John.

"A pleasure, Miss Darling. You may call me John or Johnathan, whatever pleases you." He took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. He was quite handsome, with a sort of roguish look (despite his very well-tailored suit) – quite unlike Hook's appearance who, despite being a pirate, was well kempt (why now did she compare this suitor to Hook?). He also had a charming smile, that didn't seem forced like all the other suitors she had the pleasure or not so pleasure of meeting. She was glad for his smooth liberation from a walking, living nightmare.

"And you may call me Wendy, if that pleases your, John."

"It would very much, Wendy." He let go of her hand, then directed her kindly to the open chair and, pulling it out for her, invited her to sit down.

He began to speak with the sureness and grace of a modern man. He was calm and caring so far, not even mentioning the duties of what he wanted of his wife or even marriage at all, and she was quite grateful for it. He spoke of interesting stories traveling with his father's work, and it seemed that the tales he spun had even captured her mother and aunt. He asked her questions politely, never dominating the conversation unless he had everyone's rapt attention, and not for the sake of courtesy. Yet as he continued to chat on his vacation to Spain, Wendy found herself constantly unable to completely stay attentive. She supposed she had a pirate Captain to thank for that.

As if on cue, Wendy felt something cold settle on her shoulder. She was sure it wasn't solid, but she knew it was there, she could feel it more than a mere gust of air against her skin. She was too frightened to look back, knowing just who it was without a second thought.

Do you think it so simple to rid of me? I'm wounded deeply, my beauty, I would have thought you'd expect more from me.

It all seemed too scary to be real, yet too real to actually be real at the same time. The guilt that she'd pushed off for so many years had finally gathered up and was now weighing her down, it was nothing more than his words trying to twist the negative emotion into her. She wouldn't have it.

Oh, but it's so much more than just that, my love. It is more than you can ever grasp. 'Tis a game you have no hand in playing.

Wendy had enough. She could no longer be an active participant of a conversation with that – whether it be real or not – lingering, no matter how much she wished too. She abruptly stood up, stopping the conversation and looking apologetically around with shaky hands. Her pallor had even weakened, affording her a valuable excuse. "Forgive me, but I am not feeling myself, I think it best I retire."

"Wendy, don't be so rash in your decision, aren't you enjoying herself?"

Obviously her Aunt saw this as a ploy to escape, but unlike those past attempts to dodge past interactions, she had truly begun to enjoy John's company in their short time. Nothing serious, of course—but progress nevertheless.

Thankfully, John immediately came to her rescue, grabbing her arms as if to steady her, his hazel eyes filled with compassion and concern as he stare down on her. "No, I think she's right," he gently touched her face to look into his, "My, Wendy! You look so pale, even your skin is cold to touch." Then, as an afterthought, "I shall escort you home."

She nodded dumbly, sure that company would ward off the ghost haunting her before hazily apologizing to her Aunt and mother, John on her arm and Hook fresh in her mind as they took their leave. She felt bad, only capable of thinking of a murderous Captain while with a nice man like John, but she couldn't ponder of quite anything but Hook no matter how much she tried. She was, however, thankful for John's presence. It made her feel safe, if only slightly.

As they began to trek the streets, "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, John, something has just come over me." She said breathlessly, mustering a small smile that she hoped was convincing enough to hide her fear. He mistook it as her illness.

"Not a worry, love." He patted the hand he held in his arm reassuringly, offering her a charming smile that showed off two rows of perfectly white teeth. She felt as if she could see her reflection in them. "Your healthiness is well above the priority of conversation, I assure you. Anyways, there is no rush. I'm sure we shall see each other again."

Wendy felt better after he'd said that, her smile growing to be more genuine as it spread across her full lips. She still felt rather embarrassed at having made her ill feelings so abrupt, but she could not have stood another moment with the cold feeling lingering about her, imagination or not. "I thank you for understanding, John. I just didn't wish to spoil tea as the conversation was going so pleasantly."

They had reached their location, but he still lingered, though she'd considered an abrupt goodbye so she could nap. Sleep sounded like the best medicine of all, in the now.

He laughed, a hearty laugh that made her body shake from their closeness. She had forgotten they were in a sea of people walking, talking until she bumped into someone, but still her attention was solely on the man who held her arm. She quite liked him, even if she'd known him for a meager day. At least he wasn't as daft or boring as the other men she'd met, all of whom she'd been done with no more than two words into the introductions. Bad first impressions indeed, they were everything to her after all.

"You amuse me greatly, Wendy Darling." She shuddered when he used her surname as well, immediately thinking back to Hook and paling more than before. She hoped he didn't notice. "I should like to make your acquaintance some time again, if you can spare me some moments. I daresay I truly enjoyed these sparse minutes with you, even if they were cut short by a nasty illness."

Very nasty indeed!

For a small moment, the first time since the incident with the mirror, Wendy felt completely in control, and therefore quite happy. She stopped outside her house, turning to John with a pink tint in her cheeks. She was sure her brothers would like him, especially since one shared the same name, and she already knew her father, mother, and Aunt approved—but the question was: did she? It seemed silly not to, even if they were far from the 'love' aspect of things, she knew she could quite well see herself being with this man. He made her forget the horrid things, remember the good ones, and focus solely on him. It seemed too black and white, what she was thinking about them, and though presently that seemed perfect, a smaller part of her knew it would not be that simple. It never would. Despite herself, she answered warmly: "It would be to my utmost delight. However we must part now, I'm afraid I don't want you to catch what I have." Heaven forbid you get haunted by a pirate that you thought was dead for five years!

They were now square to each other, both her hands grasped firmly in his. She looked up into his eyes which seemed to smile down at her, and she felt a warmth spread through her body at the attention he gave her. She felt like the only girl in the world. He bent his head down until their lips were nearly brushing, his grip on her hands becoming a bit tighter as he spoke. "I think I'll take my chances." His lips were soft when they were against her, they didn't move, and neither did she, but they both basked in the warmth of each other, and she allowed the feelings in her stomach to break free like a bunch of caged butterflies. A coldness settled over her, but the kiss blocked out any frosty winds that dare separate the two.

She pulled back first after a short second, a large smile gracing her creamy features. Usually her maidenhood would not have been grazed by a man, especially not one she'd must met!, thank you to her independent nature. But perhaps she was catching something, because Wendy felt only suddenly very giddy inside despite the ominous aura lingering about them. Nothing, it seemed, could shatter her happiness. "Goodbye John." She said excitedly, standing on her tippy-toes and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before hurrying off inside, feeling his gaze melt into her the whole time.

Everything from earlier had been washed away with that one kiss, and Wendy forgot of all the horrid feelings that had twisted at her insides when Hook had clarified her sins. As she entered her room, even a glance at the mirror didn't wipe away her smile, didn't spark any thoughts of earlier transpirations. She flopped onto her bed, giggling like a schoolgirl who just got asked out by her crush. "Oh my, what's become of me." She sighed, her mind already dancing to the thought of when they'd next meet, because quite frankly she'd never been kissed like that, or at all.

It all seemed quite silly in the moment, to be this infatuated with a man whom she'd only met earlier that day, but this was the chance Wendy had been looking for, the chance to not be alone. And he'd distracted her quite successfully from the place that she'd been dreaming to return to. Perhaps John could take her to a place like Neverland, her own personal Neverland in reality… Wendy could imagine it now. Though the thought still nagged her as silly, and a part of her didn't like it one bit.

Then again, what she felt for him was so simple, the black and white simplicity that she yearned for in life. Wendy had long since grown out of that thought process, but it seemed she would grasp every scrap of purity she could, especially since everything seemed so muddled recently. She should have not fallen victim to these simple and childish woes, for they were not real and otherwise she would have refused to indulge in them, but they were laid bare before her and suddenly she could not resist. The temptation had been too great, but the joy which filled her was short lived, as it usually was in the ever-so-cruel reality.

Did you forget so quickly of me and how I've suffered? The suave voice tutted, a wave of fear washing over Wendy as she sat upright, staring into the forget-me-not eyes of the notorious pirate captain with striking courage, though she was quite scared inside. I see you have truly lost your touch to be so imprudent as to think I'd abandon you when you've yet to pay your debts.

Wendy stood strong, staring the reflection right in the eye with no fear that wasn't appropriately reigned. How dare he barge into her home and call her imprudent! The nerve! All thoughts of John vanished, just as those of Hook had gone when in the presence of her suitor. Even reason left as she fired back. "And what shall I pay for something you long since deserved, dear Captain?"

Hook looked completely amused by her sarcasm and anger, no signs of red even peaking at his eyes at her attempt on his modesty. The only price an adventurous woman can pay such as yourself, my beauty. For though you have caused me great pain and strife, penance can be made if my one request is fulfilled.

Wendy did not like the dark omen which curled at his twitching lip, a sure sign of nothing good, yet she could not deny the curiosity or need to pay her debts. She knew no direct feeling of opposition towards Hook, but it seemed so natural to hate him for the villain he was that she could only recognize those feelings of negativity towards him. So she tried in vain to bury any remorse, failed she did, but she kept her errors hidden.

"And what might that be?"

There was not a pause before he spoke, Tell me a story.

Wendy promptly narrowed her eyes at the reflection (could she call it a reflection?), her arms crossing over her chest as she scrutinized it with suspicion, though Hook remained completely at ease. Something was not right… No longer did this feel like a figment of her imagination -

I can assure you I'm very real and very alive, Miss Darling. Just tell me a story and your debt will be fulfilled.

Wendy took a step back, her hands unconsciously tightening around her form as she felt the beginning of fear to well up in her. How had this man, this dead man, read her thoughts?

You doubt me, my beauty. I am not dead, just as much as I am not real, and so I still exist. His blue eyes narrowed, his voice becoming a shade darker, now begin. His voice was suave hiss, almost as if he was trying to pull her in with only his words and the nearly seductive curl of his lips. Something was off here, and she knew it, though unconsciously she was taking steps towards the mirror, until there was but two feet of space between them.

"Why? Why does it matter if I tell you a story?" Wendy's voice was filled with morbid curiosity and a touch of defiance, the fear hidden under layers of apprehension as her mind nagged at her. Her gut told her to run—to high tail out of this room, get a hammer, and smash the mirror to pieces, but she was captured by the stark blue eyes of the captain and the sensuous way he spoke. It was as if she were under his spell and though usually her will would have fought it with all her might, she was far too captured to fight in the first place.

My reasons are my own, but to be free I must hear one last story. The commanding edge to his voice only had her tiptoeing closer, and though she never broke eyes with his, Wendy had the urge to look around the room and locate the presence which had just entered. It was familiar yet completely foreign, a comfort and yet it could so easily wound her, but she could not tear her eyes away for the life of her to see where the newcomer was. She wasn't even sure it was real, she didn't know what was anymore. Everything felt too fake to be real, and everything felt too real to be fake. It was all so contradictory.

The girl, or rather woman now, narrowed her eyes accusingly, refusing to give into this entity's demands no matter how commandeering he was. It was not in her nature to be so easily swayed or submissive, and she wouldn't start today. Especially not for the likes of him. "If I'm going to tell a story then I deserve to know your reasons, and if you want me to tell it then I advise you disclose why or settle for silence." She explained indignantly, though admittedly a part of her wished to say it to see what happened. If only to sate her curiosity.

Hook, it would seem, would not have "no" for an answer. Because as if it were possible, his already icy eyes grew many degrees older, to the point where a chill had swept down her spine from the temperature drop in the room. The presence was more prominent now. He looked as if he'd break right through the mirror.

You dare defy me? After all you've done? He paused as a dark chuckle swept about his lips, and Wendy closed her eyes, listening to the dark tones of the laugh as it reached her ears from behind. She was frozen to the spot, praying to wake up from this nightmare. It had become so terrifying so quickly, but the worst was yet to come.

"If you wish for a story then I shall tell you one," she began, eyes remaining closed as she willed the tremble from her voice. "Once upon a time there was an eternal boy named Peter Pan, who wished to always be a child and have fun. But life even as a child is not so easy, and during one of his ventures he fought with a scourge of the sea: Hook, Captain of the Jolly Roger. So sparked with rivalry they became eternal adversaries, but Peter continued his life as a carefree boy until came Wendy and her brothers. He heard her first through her stories of romance and freedom, where good always triumphed over evil. Peter brought Wendy to Neverland so she could tell him stories forever, but they embarked on the greatest adventure of all and fought Hook for the final time.

"You're not real, Captain. You're merely a figment of imagination, coming back to haunt me. I will allow it no further." Her voice was icy, and she stood rim-rod straight as she willed any thought of him there in any way to die, as he had.

Something tickled at the back of her neck, cool and light—and that was when Wendy noticed it, someone was breathing on her. She willed it away with scrunched eyes, her fists balling at her sides as she repeated that this was not real in her mind, over and over again. She was dreaming, laying in bed, not living this nightmare. But the cold feel of metal met her neck, a few strands of her hair being brushed away to reveal her ear. Then, suddenly, a hand snaked around her waist, something sharp pressing mercilessly into her side as a hidden threat, and a warm hand clamped over her mouth before she could squeal. The contact was surprisingly welcomed, as was the close proximity to the natural heater pressed up to her, but then the realization hit her like a punch to the face: she had never been alone. The visage of Hook in the mirror had never been a visage, but a trick of her mind.

Wendy's eyes snapped open, immediately jumping to the mirror where a vision beyond her comprehension was standing taut in the reflection. Captain Hook of the Jolly Roger was standing behind her, or rather, pressed tightly to her with his arms wound about her body like a cobra. Her eyes were glossed over with unshed tears, but she refused to let them spill as she met his eyes: malicious, unforgiving—except now also oddly content. She had no time to dwell on these revelations as she whimpered into his hand, feeling the blade of his hook dig into her side as his smile widened. It faltered at the sound, and the hook retreated enough to where there was no pain at all besides a reminiscent stinging, though the reminder that it was there if she tried to escape lingered with the fading pain. Not that she'd be able to escape his strong hold.

All thoughts of freedom were washed from her mind as his lips parted, his head leaning into the crook of her neck. She tilted her head away, but this only gave him a better angle to approach as his lips brushed the shell of her ear. It was soft and fleeting, but his breath was not, now suddenly warm as it tickled the sensitive skin. "Say it, Wendy Darling. You see and you feel the monster of your childhood, the man you killed, yet here I stand. Do I frighten you?"

"No." She answered both demands with that one word.

He caressed her, almost mockingly, "Then it should be no trouble to say."

"I do not answer to apparitions, nor do I know what you speak of."

She watched as he visibly clicked his tongue in a patronizing way, his shadow stretching as if he was becoming more alive. "Oh, Wendy, don't soil your reputation—you're no fool, don't act like one."

Her mouth dried, tongue flattening heavily in her mouth like sand had buried itself into her throat and begun to rise. When her voice came out it was small and with an air of resignation. "I will not."

He did not appear angry, in fact there was a visible twinkle of appreciation gliding around his Iris like a child that realized the usefulness of a once boring toy. The metal hook winked in the soft light, a deaf warning she did not miss.

"Say it."

Wendy managed to shake her head, though she nearly regretted it when he head was snapped upright and his voice was suddenly a deadly hiss. "Say it." She looked at him through the mirror, his eyes trained on her body, though his lips stayed unyielding on the brink of touching her skin. Her ear was alight with an odd fire, and as they veered inwards to demand it again, this time purposefully lingering on her skin and causing a rush of heat to flood to her stomach.

His nimble fingers danced about her lips, tapping away at the plush skin as if urging her to say it. "Why? Why does it matter so much if I say so?" Genuinely, Wendy was confused. She prided herself on her problem solving skills and collective knowledge, but this, this was too much to take in at once. A man whom she'd thought was long gone had come back, entranced her by a mere reflection, and was now holding her captive in strong arms as he demanded she realized his existence. It just didn't make sense, and her brain was far too behind to come up with any plausible reason why or how to escape. Most of all she feared what might follow should she mind his command.

"My dear, beautiful Wendy-bird wishes to be free, does she not?" He purred charmingly into her hair, his lips having moved down to the curve of her neck as he inhaled a deep breath of her intoxicating scent. She was too taken by his audacious actions to notice the deep seated pleasure he took in her presence to think anything he was doing was beyond loving to watch her squirm. Though that was utterly delightful, he would rather have her squirm under him, and under much more intimate circumstances. Little did she know… "I can free thou, of this faded life that is thy own. No longer shall the weight of sin beheld on your fragile shoulders," he pressed this matter with a chaste kiss to the showing skin, before tilting his head back to allow her to look in his magnetizing eyes. "You will never have to be old, or alone, never again." His voice had grown so faint it was but a sensuous whisper carried on his shaky breath, and slowly, unconsciously Wendy began to fall for it.

Her mind was hidden behind the passions her younger self desired to still hold: to be a child I'm , to adventure without care, to never be old, to never be alone… His presence in itself had assured the quick dismissal of her – short lived – dear John, and as all the weight of the world slowly began to sink in on her, she only saw one way. She only saw the mesmerizing eyes that held hers, like two glaciers prepared to melt under her heated gaze. She was completely under his spell, by his touch, his silver tongue, his eyes, the warm feeling of his muscular frame pressed against her back. Her mind was seemingly not her own, having drifted away long ago and into and oblivious state of mind where reason was no longer by definition. There was no sense of danger, and the storyteller had even managed to not notice that his arm had stopped constricting her, instead comfortable wrapped around her waist as if they were in a lover's embrace. His hand was even lacking on her mouth, and though now she was free to scream, no words came from her mouth.

He urged her on in soft tones, his voice requesting her instead of demanding it. "Say it, my beauty, say it and be free." The notion of freedom sounded so good to her airy mind, and she unconsciously leaned back into him, her mind and body completely aware of what was spinning in her head, of everything that was happening, and yet nothing stopped her from granting his plea, which also served as her own.

"Captain Hook, you're—"

"My Christian name, use it," he endorsed gently.

"James Hook, just as Peter Pan, you're far more than some pages in a story. You're real."

"Thank you, Ms. Darling, your efforts are greatly appreciated." His tone snapped awareness back into place, but it was far too late. His lips had already curled into a dark smile, the candle in her room flickered, then darkness ensued, and so did oblivion as she slumped into the awaiting arms of the devious pirate Captain.