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The nursery was quiet, save for the soft rustling of the curtains as the night air slipped through the open window. Wendy sat alone, staring at the stars, remembering the way Neverland had felt—how the sky stretched endlessly, how the air was thick with magic and adventure.
But adventure had its dangers.
A faint, golden glow flickered behind her, barely noticeable at first. Then it grew stronger, casting trembling shadows on the walls. Wendy turned just in time to see Tinker Bell, hovering in the air, her tiny body vibrating with barely contained fury.
“Oh! Tink, you startled me,” Wendy said with a soft laugh. “Is Peter coming?”
Tinker Bell did not answer. Her wings buzzed, not with their usual light, airy hum, but with an erratic, wasp-like intensity. Her emerald eyes burned with something almost… inhuman.
Then, a tiny, chilling whisper—like a bell tolling in the distance.
You don’t belong here.
Before Wendy could react, Tinker Bell lunged.
A burst of pixie dust filled the air, and Wendy’s body lifted—but not with joy. She gasped as her arms twisted against her will, her legs convulsing mid air. The fairy’s magic had taken hold of her, wrapping around her throat like invisible hands.
“Tink—stop!” Wendy choked, kicking helplessly as her feet left the floor.
Tinker Bell circled her like a predator, her delicate hands curling into fists. Her glow had changed—it was no longer warm gold but something sickly, something wrong.
"You took him from me," Tinker Bell hissed. The soft chime of her voice was gone—her words now rang like broken glass, jagged and cruel.
Wendy struggled, her fingers clawing at her throat, at the air, at anything that might save her. But there was nothing.
The nursery blurred around her. Her vision swam in gold and darkness.
She reached for the window, for the moonlight, for the hope that maybe Peter would swoop in at the last moment and save her.
But Peter Pan was not coming.
Tinker Bell’s eyes glowed with triumph. With one final flick of her wrist, she sent Wendy crashing into the wooden beams of the ceiling. There was a sickening crack. The golden dust in the air shimmered red as Wendy’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor.
The nursery fell silent.
Tinker Bell hovered in the dim light, staring down at what she had done.
Then she turned—and disappeared into the night.
Neverland had no room for Wendy Darling.