<div style="text-align: center"><b>Fable</b><br/>
<i>The Darling Estate</i>​</div><br/>Fable was used to being alone.  He had lived that way since his wife died from cancer all those years ago.  His children left the family home long before that and only called to check on him when some sort of guilt took hold of them.  Life had become weekly trips to the grocery store, daily walks when the weather permitted, and a few hours each evening spent at the Starstruck.  He liked it there, both for the fantasies of Neverland and the friends he made.<br/><br/>It all changed with the appearance of Peter Pan and Tinkerbell.<br/><br/>Nothing was ever going to be the same again.  Somehow, through some sort of<i>magic</i>, he was young again.  Aches and pains all gone, limber, strong...and on the craziest adventure of his life.  Yet even despite experiencing everything that had led to him standing in what was clearly the space a father had created to torture his daughter into sanity, he could barely believe what had happened.  All of a sudden, he didn’t feel so bad they invaded George Darling’s house, tied him up, and broke his knee.<br/><br/>Peter - no, that was wrong, the eternal youth was<b>Pan</b>now - launched himself from this secret space with Tinkerbell zooming behind, leaving Fable here on his own.  Sad eyes landed on the thick leather-bound book at his feet.  It seemed important, far too important, to the story of Wendy Darling and her adventures with Peter Pan in Neverland to just leave here so he bent down to pick it up.  Tucking it under his arm, Fable left this sterile abandoned section of the Estate to follow slowly behind Pan and Tink.<br/><br/>A cacophony of absolute chaos greeted him as he emerged from behind the heavy metal door that hid the secrets of what had been done to Wendy.  Soundproof, he mused, the better to deafen her screams.  For a moment, Fable debated going back through that door and just hiding away until everything went back to normal.  Except nothing ever would.  That part of his life was gone now.  So he gripped the book tightly, squared his shoulders, and headed toward the yelling, the sounds of battle, and the stench of unwashed death.<br/><br/>The fight had already spilled from the foyer into the hallway.  While by no means narrow, not in an opulent home like this one, the long corridor<u>was</u>narrower than the grand entryway.  The marauding pirates intent on kidnapping and murder had been forced into more of a group than a random collection of dirty bodies.  Above them flew Pan, darting here and there, pure rage distorting his face and energizing the knife that plunged and stabbed at any bit of flesh it could find.  Tinkerbell was not far behind, never one to not acquiesce to the whims of the being she loved with every fiber of her being.  She was red now, deep dark angry red, the color of pure and absolute rage and her small knife jabbed down over and over and over again.<br/><br/>She was so breathtaking in her rage that it made Fable’s heart ache with longing.  At that moment, as he watched her crimson-colored wings beat furiously as she fought the pirates he swore she was more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen.  Quickly, he whispered up a prayer to whoever was listening to keep her safe.<br/><br/>No one answered his prayers or, if they did, they had the most twisted sense of humor.  Fable watched in horror as a tall blonde man with a hideous scar and blue eyes that reminded him of someone he’d seen before dispatched George Darling before turning his attention to the fairy.  Completely unaware of the danger behind her, Tink’s focus was locked on Hook’s second-in-command, a little man with a stutter, as he directed his men to bring down Pan then search for Wendy.<br/><br/>“Watch out!” screeched Fable.<br/><br/>The fairy whirled around as she hovered in the air above the lopsided melee.  The pirate was faster, snatching her by one of her delicate wings then flinging her against the wall.  Stunned, she slumped to the floor.  Fable watched in horror as the man bore down on her.  He had to do<i>something</i>...but what?  He had no weapon other than the book still gripped tightly under his arm.  Frantic eyes darted around, looking for something, anything he could use to save her.  Finally, he spotted something that would just have to do.  It was crazy but there was no time for anything else.  After one firm nod of his head, one that steeled his nerve for the daring rescue mission at hand, he darted to the right, just barely avoiding a pirate splattered with blood and bits of gore.  Moving on nothing more than blind trust and instinct, Fable reached out to grab an umbrella left carelessly propped in the corner.<br/><br/>If he was asked later to recount what happened, he wouldn’t be able to do it.  All he knew was that in one instance he would have sworn he was too late and in the next, the hand holding the umbrella was covered in someone else’s warm blood.  He would even have remembered a passing thought -<i>It’s hard to shove an umbrella through a person.</i><br/><br/>If he was asked later how much death hurt, his answer would be full of contradictions.  It didn’t hurt when the blade entered his back and pierced his heart.  When the blood-enraged pirate yanked it out of his body, it was more excruciating than the pain of a thousand heartbreaks.  What he remembered as he crumpled to the cold marble floor was how odd it was to see a pirate wearing a top hat that looked like it was made for a child.<br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><b>Wendy Darling</b><br/>
<i>Lost in her dreams</i>​</div><br/><i>Where would you go?<br/>
<br/>
Why, to Neverland, of course…</i><br/><br/>Her mind wandered away, just for a heartbeat, just long enough to see it, to picture what it would be like to go back to Neverland, this time with James by her side.  Not Peter, not Hook, but James.  Her Mr. Dameron.<br/><br/>They’d fly hand in hand through the clear blue skies needing nothing more than the simple brush of a fingertip along a thumb or a gentle squeeze of the hands to make it known where they wanted to go.  Days would be spent on grand adventures, nothing at all like the ones full of danger that Peter lusted for, or perhaps they would while away their time perched high in a treetop spying down on Neverland or hidden in a grassy plain, his head pillowed on her lap or hers resting on his chest as they looked for shapes in the fluffy white clouds, lifting clasped hands to point out the hippopotamuses, hearts, and stars.  They’d make their home wherever they wanted, anywhere would do as long as they had each other because home was where the other was. Every day would end with sweet gentle stolen kisses and whispers of more amazing things to come in the future that lay brightly before them.<br/><br/>Wendy’s hand lifted, the backs of her fingers more than ready to indulge in a gentle caress of his scruffy cheek as she shared her rainbows and colors and wandering thoughts with him.  Deep in her gut, she knew he’d understand.  He felt it too, that strange feeling that bound them together.  It wasn’t chance that had brought James Dameron the desire to investigate what George Darling intended for his daughter.<br/><br/>The outside world had other plans, however.  Paul’s appearance and the loud BANG from somewhere quite close made the words stick in her throat.  Her hand hovered then dropped into his, their fingers curling together tightly as if they had done it before, a thousand lifetimes ago.<br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><b>Tiger Lily</b><br/>
<i>Suds and Bubbles</i>​</div><br/>The man collapsed to the floor, the false bravado leaking slowly from his eyes only to be replaced with the realization that he was going to die.  She crouched down next to him, dark eyes impassive and unreadable.  Death was inevitable and it didn't always adhere to the timeline a person expected.<br/><br/>Lily reached out, her hand settling gently on the man's forehead for a moment before brushing back through the shiny slick stiffness that was his hair.  The sweet release of death would soon be his.  A small benevolent smile, nothing more than a gentle curl at the corners of her mouth was the only expression she offered the poor scared man laying in the growing pool of his own blood.<br/><br/>Her hand left his forehead and joined its mate in covering her face, cupping the dark paint that decorated her skin.  All outside noise was pushed away including even Hook with his dark desire to go after Wendy.  There were more important things to deal with first.  Tiger Lily took a deep breath and slowly drew her hands away from her face, pulling something forth from her skin.  It was dark, glistening, pulsating with breath and life, and shaped like the image still depicted on her face.<br/><br/>Slowly, her hands fell from her face to rest on her thighs but the Shadow Crow hovered in the air in front of her face, neither rising nor dropping as it hovered on silent wings.  Lily's hand lowered to the man's face once more, this time resting on his forehead and partially covering his eyes.  He gaped and gasped, his mouth opening then shutting as he struggled to speak.  One hand reached for her, grasping blindly at the supple hides she wore.<br/><br/>Ignoring the desperate fear oozing out of the dying man like a thick viscous goo and pooling on the stained linoleum floor, Tiger Lily continued on with her quiet ritual.  The rhythmic thumping of a load of sheets and towels tossing around inside the warmth of a dryer faded into the background.  The air grew still.  Only barely audible murmured incantations filled the warm room.  Lily's hand slid down over the man's eyes which closed with a gentle flutter of lashes against her palm.  He exhaled a deep sigh of peace, soothed by her gentle touch.<br/><br/>The crow-of-paint dropped lower, hovering in front of the man's mouth.  Its beak, roughly outlined like the painter had been in a hurry, poked then pecked once then twice at his lips.  "Open," crooned the woman, her fingers trailing along his jaw to his chin and encouraging it downward.  Like an obedient child, he opened his mouth.  The Crow that was once part of the image rendered across her nose and cheeks darted forward, practically forcing its whole head into the man's mouth.  He gagged and tried to fight but the soft<i>tsk tsk</i>scolding quieted him.  One silent flap of the bird’s wings, the kind that would have sent the air whooshing over his head had the creature been made of more than paint, sent it moving backward as it tugged insistently at whatever it held clasped in its beak.<br/><br/>Fingers sure in each of their movements dragged from his chin to his jaw then to his mouth.  Two of them slipped inside, carefully swiping around the inside as if she was clearing away something he was choking on.  The motion freed whatever the Crow was yanking on and the bird darted away out the still-open door before disappearing into the night sky.  Lily turned to watch the creature carry the now dead man’s soul away as she wiped the spittle and blood from her fingers onto his shirt.<br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><b>Tinkerbell</b><br/>
<i>The Darling Estate</i>​</div><br/>“Tink?” The tall blond pirate with the scarred lip sounded like the little boy she remembered from so long ago.<br/><br/>“Michael,” snarled Tinkerbell, “what have you done?”  Her whole back throbbed with pain.  She was scared to look behind her or to try to move her wings.  What if he had ripped one clean off her back?  Peter would never find her so wonderful then.  She’d be nothing but a ruined fairy that couldn’t even fly.<br/><br/>“It hurts, Tink.”  The big man fell to his knees, one hand hovering inches in front of the umbrella protruding from his stomach.<br/><br/>The crimson leached from her skin starting at her head, washing away down her arms and legs only to be replaced by the muted blue of sadness.  In all her years fighting and flying with Peter, she had seen men with wounds like these and they never lived.  Ever.  Michael, her friend who had<i>grown up</i>to become a pirate, was going to die.  It was a strange feeling, this caring about a pirate.  She did not like the strange lump in her throat or care for the hot prickling behind her eyes or the way her nose seemed to be dripping a bit.<br/><br/>Michael, once called Gutripper, swayed then toppled onto the floor, joining Fable who was still clutching that big heavy book he’d found.  She barely spared him a glance.  He meant very little to her anymore; he hadn’t even been on any of Peter’s grand adventures, not the way Michael had.  Ignoring the clanging and shouting going on around them and the ache that had settled deeply into her back, Tinkerbell scooted across the floor to her old friend and tentatively, gently, rested her hand on his head.<br/><br/>“Do you remember,” she began in a soft voice meant just for his ears, “that time we took your Teddy to see the mermaids?  I was much smaller then...Peter’s magic hadn’t made me big like I am now and you weren’t all that much bigger.”  She couldn’t help but laugh quietly, just once, as the memory of chubby-cheeked young Michael came to mind.  The very tips of her wings flared gold before fading back to blue.  “You wanted to see those mermaids so badly but you didn’t want Peter to know so you told everyone Teddy had never seen one and you and me were going to take him.”  Without thinking, her fingers began to trail idly through his hair.  “We sat there all afternoon, watching them sun themselves on the rocks and comb their long hair and dive into the water to play.  You would have sat there all night I think but then you got hungry.”<br/><br/>Was he even listening?  He’d grown so quiet, so still.  Maybe he was just resting.  She glanced down only to be met with a body that was too still, a slackened mouth, and eyes that stared yet did not see.  A scream of pure pain and anguish ripped from her throat and reverberated around the room.  Blue immediately flashed red as she scrambled away from the corpse of her once-friend and got to her feet.<br/><br/>This was all Wendy’s fault!  Wendy was the reason they were here, Wendy had ruined<b>everything</b>and she would make Wendy pay for what she’d done!<br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><b>Wendy Darling</b><br/>
<i>Escaping the Suds and Bubbles</i>​</div><br/>Wendy stumbled as James pushed her in front of him, saved only by their hands still clasped tightly together and the press of people desperately trying to escape whoever was behind them with a gun.  The hallway narrowed, forcing them even closer together until they almost seemed to move in one teeming mass of fright.  It was too much for her, too many people too close, too much adrenaline in the air.<br/><br/><i>Lambs to a slaughter</i>blipped unbidden into her mind.  Such a sudden intrusive thought it was that it brought her to a halt.  Cries of frustration erupted from the people behind her as the crowd bumped and pushed but Wendy refused to be moved by the tide of people.  She curled in against James’s chest, burying her face there.  Not for long, just a handful of seconds, but enough to keep her heart from beating out of her chest.  The final breath she took before looking up at him was deep and shuddery.  Most of the Suds’s patrons had passed them by, desperate to get away from the painted lady and the man with the hook.  Wendy no longer felt like she was suffocating.<br/><br/>The urge to run gentle fingertips along his jaw, to draw him down into a soft kiss, the kind they’d surely shared a dozen times in another lifetime, surged through her.  She lifted her chin, leaning in, ready to welcome the sensation of his mouth on hers.  Movement over his shoulder caught her eye, yanked her attention from the phantom feel of the kiss, and over his shoulder.<br/><br/>There, stalking toward them with nothing but murder in his eyes and a sharp hook for a hand, was the man of her dreams.  The man of her<i>nightmares</i>.  Behind him came a woman, a woman with most of her face covered in black paint.  Tiger Lily...but why was she with Hook?  She was supposed to be with Peter.<br/><br/>Panic welled in her gut.<br/><br/>A familiar voice hissed in her ear to<i>Move!</i>and so she did, gripping James’s hand as tightly as she could.  If they stayed together, they would be okay.  Nothing bad would happen as long as Mr. Dameron was there.<br/><br/>The tunnel wasn’t long nor was it a labyrinth meant to ensnare them.  It was only a short time before Wendy slammed into a heavy metal door, desperately shoving it open with all her weight.  Behind them, she could still hear the echo of Hook’s boots and see the glint of his golden hook as he stalked toward them.  Wendy and James stumbled through the door out into the cool air of the night.  Nothing around them looked familiar.  She had no idea where they were or how to get back to the car.<br/><br/>“Can you fly?” she asked desperately as she turned toward him, her hands clutching at the front of his shirt.