Disclaimer: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Peter Pan universe, the rights to which belong to the Great Ormond Street Hospital in London, to which J. M. Barrie bequeathed the rights upon his death in 1937. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION.

Author's Note or Disclaimer Number Two: This is a very dark, abstract sort of Peter Pan fic, on the level of Pan's Shadow. In fact, it is the second of a group of five of that ilk, meant to expose and explore some of the darkness present in J. M. Barrie's book rather than simply ignore it for the sake of a cute plot. It's rated R for depictions of sexual relations verging on pedophilia. If you think that Peter Pan is only a children's story, don't read this fic.

Pan's Curse

She had heard of people getting drunk on kisses, but she had thought it would be more pleasurable to feel the warmth of someone's lips on her own than the buzz of champagne in her nasal cavity or the burn of hard liquor on her cheeks. As it turned out, they were remarkably similar – a faint tingling around the lips and a surprising aftertaste being the only effects of having either alcohol or someone's tongue forced down your throat. She wondered why anyone would get drunk, and why James was so infatuated with this rather tedious process.

She had read somewhere that intense sexual pleasure was supposed to engulf you, to push all other thoughts from your mind. She found it vaguely telling that her mind kept flitting about, pondering the intricacies of life and alcohol while James' lips mashed into her own and his hands traveled up and down her back. At least he seemed to be enjoying himself, she thought ruefully, as her back bent reflexively into an arch. James had hit a pressure point. She got a cramp in the muscle and tried to pull away but he misinterpreted and just pushed harder at her lips. She wrinkled her eyes in a wince, and attempted to stretch out her back without moving her face. It didn't really work. She groaned into his mouth but that also gave him the wrong idea, and only resulted in him adding more force to all of his motions.

Her mind wandered. She wondered what she would say to Katherine, the assistant coach and the person who had set them up. Katherine would be shocked to find out the truth. She, at eighteen, had more of a figure and a taste for the opposite gender than any of the gymnasts, even though certain ones of them, Michelle included, were several years her senior. It all came down to the pills. Daniel, Katherine's father and the head coach, had handed Michelle two blue pills one day when she was six years old, and looked at her seriously. "Michelle," he said, "Do you want to be a gymnast your whole life?"

Michelle had nodded vigorously. Nothing made the young girl feel more alive than flinging her small body through the air in spins and twists.

"Then take these pills. They'll let you be a gymnast forever."

Michelle gulped the two blue capsules down faster than anything she had ever eaten in her life. She had fallen sick for a week, but then, miraculously, was fine.

Katherine had never taken the pills. Daniel hadn't even offered them to his daughter. Or maybe he had, and Michelle hadn't heard.

James was exploring her body with more insistence now, his body almost throbbing rhythmically, and although Michelle had rather rapidly tired of the experience there was no stopping – no denying exactly how much bigger than she he was. Her body froze in mute horror as his hands traveled down to her hips and began to tug at her pants, and before she knew it, James was touching her in a place that she distinctly did not want to be touched.

It took all her might, but Michelle pushed him away. "Stop," she whined, "That hurts."

He seemed shocked, but was walking her back to the gym shortly thereafter, without a word. Maybe he finally realized that the girl – the woman, for she was more than twenty years old now – he had been making love to had the voice and the body of a ten year old.

She fell asleep quickly, barely noticing the shooting star through her window, snuggling into the twin sized bed she had slept in for the past nineteen years. She had heard of people getting drunk on kisses. She wished that she could.

She dreamt she was falling, falling through a starry sky into the ocean. She saw the cold water so far below and realized that these would be the last moments of her life, that soon she would hit the water and die. From this high, water would feel like concrete, smashing into her childish body and crushing it.

Only one thought entered her mind as she fell: she was too young to die. She had yet to live. She had yet to raise her own family and see her daughter fall in love with gymnastics, she had yet to fall in love with a tall, dark, and handsome young man (just her size). She had yet to puzzle through the intricacies of life as her grandchildren played by her feet, and she was going to die. A shiver crept upon her sleeping form, and she clutched at the blankets, wracked in fear.

And then a face appeared, a boy's face, charming and laughing with her as she fell. He still had all his baby teeth. "To die will be an awfully big adventure," he said, conspiratorially, "but you don't have to."

She looked at his face, and whispered, tearfully, "I don't want to."

He laughed and grabbed her hand, pulling her up towards the stars, and she was flying, and she was safe from that fall, but only because the next one, whenever it would be, would be even more perilous.

She awoke the next morning and sat up slowly, cautiously, not ready to look out the window to see the new day dawning. "To die will be an awfully big adventure..." she whispered, "but to live would be an even bigger one."

And catching the reflection of her all too young face in the dark window, she knew to which one she was destined. A tear slid slowly down her face as she watched the rest of the world get up and move in another day, knowing that they were all another day older, and she was not.