On nights like tonight, Wendy often remembered that she had promised him that she would never grow up. He had promised her that he would come back for her for spring cleaning. They had both broken their promises.

It had been about five years since she had last seen her beloved boy and she was nearly seventeen. She was practically a woman. She was grown up.

"Whatever would he think of me if he saw me now?" she asked herself very quietly as she gazed at her reflection. It was almost as if she thought that if she spoke too loudly, he would hear her.

She almost felt sorry sometimes. The promise that she had made him had been the truest promise that she had ever made and she had intended to keep it. But as time went on, Wendy realized that she had to grow up. She needed to. He had forgotten her so she would do the same and forget him too.

It was painful when she let the realization that he'd forgotten her settle in. Up until that point, Wendy had only to deal with the fact that Michael and John had forgotten all about him and Neverland. She remembered being horrified upon finding out and crying herself to sleep that night. Then she came to realize that he had forgotten all about her. Was she the only one who remembered anything?

Wendy swiftly brushed a knot out of her hair. It was so much longer than it used to be. He used to love to play with her short hair the few times that she had allowed him to. She remembered how his little hands curiously explored the waves of hair. She remembered how nice it had felt.

Where had all these thoughts of him come from all of a sudden? She never usually thought about him anymore. The moonlight seeping in through her curtains gave her the answer. On nights like tonight night, when the stars and moon shone brighter and the sky was clearer than usual, she thought of him. Those nights like tonight reminded her of the first night she had ever gone with him to Neverland.

Setting her brush down, Wendy turned off the dimly lit lights in her room, opened her curtains, sat on her window seat, and gazed out her large, open window. Nostalgia filled her, making her hate that night like she did whenever a night like that happened to roll around. It filled her with memories of what it felt like to have the wind on her back and birds' wings pounding to a set rhythm.

Why, she nearly remembered exactly what Tinkerbell's fairy language sounded like. She remembered the jingle-jangle of little bells. In fact, she almost heard them right now—she could swear that she heard them right now. It was odd. The sound of bells was getting louder.

"Stop yelling!" came a strained whisper, causing Wendy to jump.