Margo Scott never believed in fairy tales. Her life revolved around money, money, and more money. It was a valuable life style, according to her mother, a woman who couldn't be found without her powdered make up nearby. Margo, as every other spoiled child, took everything for granted, even her youth. So, when the time came to give up her childhood and be married, she wanted nothing more than to be a child again. Eighteen years of life, and not once had she realized that she would someday have to grow up.
By the end of the next day, Margo Scott would become Lady Margret Darling, wife of Chandler Darling. She wouldn't be just Margo Scott, as she was to everyone. She had to grow up, as did her name. No more Margo, just Margret. She knew that this marriage was important. Her living style, combined with her two brothers' and parents', costed the whole family dearly. This wedding would save them.
As these thoughts dawned on Margo, she found herself moving from her bed, making her way over to the window bench. The moon was exceptionally bright tonight, casting shadows through Margo's giant window and tracing them along the ground.
Margo hadn't felt so good, and this night seemed to be worse than the others. She tucked her legs in, pulling down her gown so it covered her cold feet, and wrapping her arms about her legs.
Slowly, her gaze shifted from her toes to out the window. The city was dark, only the randomly placed street lamps dotting the roads and releasing meander amounts of light.
It was the same view she had grown up with. Margo refocus her attention on the actual window frame, looking for the faint markings of A.S., P.S., and F.S.; her and her brother's initials. P.S. stood for Pierson Scott, and F.S. for Finnegan Scott. One winter, when Margo and her brothers were still young, they had scratched their initials into the wood, only to have it later painted out by a very angry Father.
Margo smiled, then felt the wetness on her cheek. She lifted a hand, brushing away the tear, just as others formed. They trickled down her face, and she made no further attempt to stop them. She didn't want to grow up. She didn't want to get married. She didn't want to leave.
Margo reached out a dainty hand, pushing open the window for a slight breeze. It kissed her face, cooling her cheeks and calming her. She let out a single sob, hushing herself. Mother and Father could not be awoken.
Margo returned her gaze out the window, scanning over her familiar city. Soon, she wouldn't be able to look out this window and see this sight, so might as well try and take it all in.
That's when she noticed the figure, not so far away, possibly just over the road. She wiped the sleeve of her night gown across her face, soaking up the tears.
But the figure was gone. Margo blinked, then rubbed her eyes. There. She noticed the figure, on her side of the street, now. Margo shifted her position, sitting on her knees and pushing the window open farther.
Once again, the figure was gone. Had it been her imagination? Or was it just a stray animal's shadow?
Margo retreated back on the window bench, a quizzical look on her face. She sat still a moment, glancing once or twice back out the window, but saw nothing more than the usual city. Margo raked her hand through her golden hair, twisting the end of a strand. It was a bad habit, and Margo wasn't that good with dealing with habits.
Finally, she reached out her hand, grabbing the latch, ready to pull the window shut and get some rest, when a thought occurred to her. What if she just ran? She could run, find a new family in a new city. Start her life over. Though she wouldn't gain her youth back, Margo knew that anything was better than getting married to a man she didn't love.
She stood on the bench, pushing the window open, inch by inch. Her heart was racing, pounding so loudly that she feared the waking of her parents.
Margo poked her head out the window, biting her lip as she noticed the two story drop. She swayed a bit, trying to think if her idea had really been a good one. Margo knew she didn't always come up with the greatest ideas, but, at the moment, she couldn't think of anything else.
She returned to the safety of her bedroom, starting to pace to and fro. Margo knew of the the cities nearby, but she knew they were too close, as they would look for her there. Going any farther would having to mean planning, and she didn't have time to make a plan, much less actually know how to make a plan.
Suddenly, in the midst of her thinking, Margo heard a knock. Just a single, loud, fist-on-glass knock. She froze, slowly raising her gaze to the window. Nothing. Was it her imagination? Like it was with the shadow?
Margo cautiously walked to the window sill, climbing onto the bench. Slowly, she stuck her head out the window, looking from left to right-
"Don't scream," a voice begged. Margo jumped back, gasping. A slim figure was blacked out by the shadows, and it slowly stood. Margo should be screaming. She should be running, and she knew it.
Quickly, Margo stumbled away from the window and into the center of her room. She squeaked, a failed attempt at screaming, before the image of her angry parents flashed across her mind.
The figure was now in her window, holding his hands up in a surrender motion. They climbed down, sitting on Margo's bench.
"Were you crying?" the figure asked, setting his hands in his lap and kicking his legs back and forth. "Don't worry, I'm just here to ask."
Margo didn't know what to do. She had never been in one of these situations before. Did she answer his question or ask him to leave?
"How did you get upon my roof?" she finally spat out in a hushed tone.
"Hey, I asked first," the figure argued childishly. The bright moonlight behind the figure, who sounded vaguely male, blackened out his facial features.
"Um, yes I was crying. Who are you and how did you know?" Margo asked, feeling her heartbeat pace faster. She backed into her door, pawing at anything to grab.
"I'm Peter Pan," the man said, starting to kick his feet in the air. "And I heard you crying."
Margo squinted her eyes. "Come into the light," she demanded, still not finding the doorknob with her hand. Peter Pan nodded his head, hopping off the bench and swiveling to face both Margo and the light source. It was definitely a man, around Margo's age. He had a playful smirk plastered to his face and light brown tufts of hair sticking out of his head. He was quite tall and slim. Peter wore a puffy white shirt with a tight black best, giving a sort of pirate look. He wore jeans and apparently, no shoes.
"Are you okay?" Peter asked, squinting his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows.
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Margo responded, cocking her head.
"You were crying."
"Oh yeah. What is it to you?" Margo snapped. "Climbing on my roof in the middle of the night and breaking in. I should call the authorities and have you arrested!" she said, still trying to whisper.
"Well, sorry for being considerate. Why were you crying?" Peter pestered again.
"It's none of your business, alright!" Margo said, when, yet another one of her brilliant thoughts came to her.
"You're not from around here, are you? I've never seen you before," she asked.
"Nope," Peter shook his head, " 'm from somewhere far off, long ways from here."
"Do you think you could take me there? I'm Margo, by the way," Margo asked, expecting a 'no'. What was she thinking? She didn't know this man or anything about him. Yet, that's what she was planning to do anyway; run off and find a random family to live with.
"Sure, I guess," Peter smiled, "Are you positive, though?"
Margo nodded, hastily running to her wardrobe and pulling out her small bag. She quickly stuffed as many clothes as she could in the bag, slinging it over her shoulder and then turning to the man.
"Where are you from?" Margo asked Peter.
"It's a place called Neverland. Oh, you'll love it!"
"Neverland?" Margo asked, testing the name on her tongue. "Never heard of it before."
"Then you're in for a treat, come on," Petersaid, excitement clear on his face, though all Margo could think of was that she didn't have to get married tomorrow, and she was glad.
Once Margo hopped onto the roof with Peter, she glanced around, confused.
"How do we get to Neverland?" Margo asked, looking around the roof for a ladder or something to get down
"Just go this way! Second star to the right and straight on 'till morning!" Peter called out, but his voice seemed distant. Margo peered around the roof for Peter, trying to figure out where he had gone. But, despite the man being there a couple seconds ago, he was nowhere to be found.
"Peter?-" she was interrupted as someone grabbed her hand, yanking her into the air. Margo screamed, an actual I'm-scared-for-my-life scream, as she flew through the air, gripping tight to whatever was holding her hand.
She felt her feet dangling as she squeezed her eyes shut, muttering things under her breath.
"Why're you closing your eyes?" a voice said, and Margo gasped again. She opened her eyes, screaming once she saw her feet flying about the entirety of London. They passed over Margo's old school building, soaring past St. Abigail's church and the pastor's house. She looked up to see Peter, holding her hand, and... flying.
Margo widened her eyes, feeling as though she would fall. Her stomach had already dropped down to the soles of her feet, and she felt as though she was having a heart attack.
"Wha... Wha... What?" Margo exclaimed, looking from her flying feet to Peter's flying body.
" 'What' what?" Peter asked, smirking at Margo.
"We... You... You're flying!" she shouted again. Peter pulled her up, leveling out their bodies. He grinned at her.
"Yup. We'll be in Neverland in no time! Might even make it back for Niall's fruit salad!" Peter cheered, dipping through the air and around the clock tower. Margo glided next to him, hand in hand, speechless.
"This is all a dream, isn't it? I'm dreaming and stressing out," she said, not talking to anyone in particular. "I'm not flying! People don't fly," Margo said as if it were the most atrocious thing ever.
"Sweetheart, you're not dreaming," Peter said, not able to wipe the smirk off his face. "As I said, we'll be in Neverland in no time!"
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
I'm just dreaming. I am just dreaming, Margo constantly said to herself, keeping her eyes shut for the rest of the journey. Her bag of clothes flapped behind her and her hair blew in the wind. As her feet nimbly touched the ground, Margo felt a sense of happiness that she never had before towards the ground.
"Open your eyes," Peter said softly. Margo shook her head.
"When I open my eyes, I better be in my room at home or you will have so much explaining to do," Margo threatened as she slowly peeled her eyes open.
To put it plainly, she wasn't in her room. Instead, while they had traveled, the sun had risen, somehow. It hadn't felt like that long, not nearly enough time for dawn to even peek over the horizon. Margo found herself standing at the edge of a thin forest that slowly thickened into a dense brush as far as she could see. Her toes were buried in soft sand, something she had only felt once when she had visited a lake. Yes, Margo noticed, they were on a beach. Over the water, she spotted small blur of islands with wisps of smoke curling out of the top of the trees.
"Come on, the house is this way," Peter said from behind Margo, striding into the woods. Margo stood still, gaping. She continuously rubbed her eyes, breathing quickly. This had to be a dream! No one flew; it was reserved for the birds, as she had said to Finnegan when he was about eight and dreamt of flying.
"Margo?" Peter called, stopping. Margo still was stuck to the ground, unbelieving. Her sack of clothing hung loosely at her side, slipping down to the sandy ground as she released her grip on it.
"Where are we?" she questioned after a brief pause, swiveling to face Peter. He still had the smirk on his face, the one he had went he met Margo and the one that was his best friend. Peter leaned against a tree, running his hands through his hair.
"Neverland. You asked me to bring you here," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "At least, this is one of the islands of Neverland." He quickly switched subjects, but not as though he was avoiding a topic, more of her couldn't sit still. "Are you hungry, because I'm hungry. The hideout isn't too far from here, but, sadly, we can't fly in."
Margo gave him one of her most incredulous looks, about to send a retort his way, when she realized, yeah, she was hungry. Huh, did people normally get hungry in dreams?
When Margo hadn't moved, Peter began his walk through the woods, shouting back, "Or I could just leave you here for the crocs!" He laughed, slowly disappearing from Margo's view. The blonde glanced back out to the vast ocean, thinking to herself. She couldn't get hurt in dreams! But, she wasn't sure if this was a dream anymore. Margo promptly twisted the skin on her wrist, whimpering at the pain. She hadn't woken up. That always worked, though. If this wasn't a dream...
Without hesitation, Margo scooped her bag of clothes off the ground, dashing into the woods and running past the looming branches and stepping over fallen logs. A faint trail had already been carved by Peter, but it disappeared just as fast as Margo could follow it. She picked up her pace, calling out for Peter.
She was eighteen, for God's sake! Margo began to panic once Peter couldn't be found. She finally stopped dead on her tracks, gasping for breath. Margo began to spin, calling out Peter's name over and over. It was woods all around. There was no sign of Peter or the beach.
And then, there was a light. Just a small light, and it seemed to be winding through the trees and under branches. Margo squinted, trying to figure out what the source of the light was, but could see no torch or mirrors.
"What the...?" she gasped as the speck floated up to her face. Again, she squinted, and the light began to fade, revealing a small body.
Are you looking for Peter?, a voice said in Margo's head with the small girl still floating in front of Margo's face. She was no taller than the length of Margo's hand, and had a pair of what appeared to be translucent wings batting through the air. She had on a short purple dress, blue hair, and her skin seemed to be giving off a blue glow.
Margo screamed at the small figure, jumping back and hitting a tree. She tried to back up as the girl with wings flew up to her face again, but before Margo could shout again, the voice in her head spoke again.
Margo narrowed her eyes at the girl, trying to make sense of the situation. "Oh great, now I'm seeing faeries," Margo muttered to herself, swatting her hand in the air. It was just something else to add to her list of reasons why she was in a dream.
As she swatted her hands in the air, she felt a hard prick on her hand. The tiny girl started glowing as she was thrown through the air. Margo gasped, looking down to her hand. Residue of some type of powder was on the back, where she had hit the fairy.
Slowly, the girl came flying back, keeping her distance from Margo.
Really rude, the voice said again. I'm not a faerie! I am a pixie! There is a difference!
The blue girl glowed brighter as the voice in Margo's head became angry.
I can't believe Peter even likes you! Who do you think you are? the pixie buzzed closer to Margo, pure anger written across her face. You don't just go around hitting pixies!
"Get away from me, bug!" Margo yelped, swatting through the air again. This time, the pixie was smarter, weaving around Margo's hands.
Hey. The pixie cocked her head and furrowed her eyebrows. I was going to take you home! But, if you insist on bullying me-
Margo finally realized that the voice in her head was somehow how the pixie spoke.
"You can take me home?" Margo perked up. The pixie made sighing motions, backing away from Margo's face.
Margo didn't hear anything at first, waiting for a response.
Absolutely! the pixie said in a sweet voice. Where'd Peter bring you from?
"London. Oh, thank you, uh..." Margo stuttered, not knowing how to address the blue pixie.
Celia. I'm Celia, she replied, nodding her head at Margo. Now, I'm just going to grab your shirt and we can go! The pixie seemed jubilant, excited. She flew around to behind Margo, gripping a part of Margo's nightgown and hoisting her, roughly, into the air. Quickly, Celia began dragging Margo through the air, not speaking any more. Once the two surfaced above the trees, Celia began flying in the opposite direction that Peter had brought Margo.
"Celia!" Margo called, "I think we are going the wrong way!" Celia didn't stop, no doubt that Margo's words weren't heard over the roar of the wind.
Suddenly, she felt the fabric of her nightgown rip slightly, and she cried out. The material tore faster as Celia increased her pace. Margo tried to keep her eyes open, but they watered from the impact with the wind and the queasiness from the feeling of rising quickly escalated with the speed.
"Celia!" she screamed, then resorting to calling another name. "Peter!"
Then, the sensation of flying stopped, and Margo was falling. She screamed, flailing in the air and calling out for anyone. There was nothing in the world to describe the feeling of falling. To try to put it into words would be like teaching a dog to speak.
As Margo fell, she prayed for anything that this was a dream. Peter. Neverland. Everything.
Though she didn't fall for that long or that far, only probably about eight feet. The fall was instant, as was the impact, but it felt like a million years to Margo. The girl tumbled across the ground, sliding into what seemed to be a wooden crate. She groaned, feeling what she had landed on.
She pushed herself off the ground, supporting herself on her elbow before rolling onto her back and sitting up. Margo leaned against the crate, taking deep breaths. Looking up in the air, she saw the flash of light that was the mischievous pixie. There was a soft snickering sound in Margo's head as the pixie disappeared towards the island.
Margo groaned again, feeling a sting on her leg. Glancing down, she noticed red, but only a dot. Margo reached her hand down, touching the wound under her gown. Her hand came away stained with red, and the girl groaned once more.
Only then did she notice all the men around her. They had slowly gathered, creating a semi-circle, trapping Margo. She squeaked once she got a good look at them. They were all rugged, thick built, young, and dirty. The girl tried backing away, but was stopped by the crate.
Suddenly, someone pushed through the crowd of men, shoving them out of the way.
"Let me through," a deep, rough voice growled, pushing aside the last man. He was tall and young, just like the rest of the men. The man had black hair and tanned olive skin, with brown eyes to match. He was dressed as if it were still the 1700s; black trousers, red longsleeve with a brown belt around his waist, holding what looked to be a sword.
Margo gulped, eyeing the blade. Did anyone use swords anymore, besides fencing academies?
The man followed the men's gazes, tracing them back to the girl sitting on the floor, her eyes wide. He was taken aback a bit, because, how could a mere woman find her way onto his vessel? He noticed her dressing, only clothed in a nightgown, then glancing at her wounded leg.
"Well," the man smiled, and something about it didn't calm Margo. "What have we got here?" His eyes glinted manically. "Grab her, men."