"wonderland" - [p.pan]

one

" 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 [𝐩.𝐩𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐨𝐜] "
dedicated to lucidreamshade and her peter pan story "Metanoia" (aka the BEST pan story ever - go read it rn)

•••

I stare at myself one last time in the reflection in the mirror. Even though it was smudged and dirty, covered in fingerprints from unhygienic pirates, I could still see clearly enough to complete my task. My long, wavy blonde hair, my somewhat-there curves, my pirate-ish outfit and even my skin condition are all a part of me, but now, some of that has to change.

I take it all in. Take a deep breath, and slice. My hair falls to the ground in a heap, then another. Soon there is nothing but short, messy locks that sit just below my ears. It doesn't look fantastic, but it will do the job well enough.

I run my hand over my hair, sighing a little at the loss. Cutting my hair was the final step, the final thing on my to-do list. Now everything was prepared. No more training, no more practice, no more studying. This was it. I was really doing this.

I tuck the little hair I have left behind my ears, then don my 'boy' clothes. Soft supple ones, black mostly. Black leather leggings, brown boots, a long sleeved black shirt and a dark green, tunic over the top. I strap my makeshift belt around my hips and tuck my two throwing knives into it.

I give myself a long look. "Goodbye," I say forlornly, goodbye to me, goodbye to the girl I am, goodbye to Taylor Grace Jones. I then turn on my heel, and head above deck.

I shiver once at the abrupt cold night air. Dark has completely covered Neverland, nothing in any direction but blackness. Only the stars provide any light, glittering in the sky.

"Taylor."

My father leans against the rails, his dark hair tousled by the sea breeze. His gaze shifts from his shining silver hook to me, and he narrows his eyes slightly at the sight of my new look.

"You look quite the part, love," he says earnestly.

I smile, sheepishly studying my outfit. "Thanks, Papa." I run my fingers through my short blonde curls, my head feeling too light.

"Do you really think you can do this?"

I look back to my father, see the green eyes I didn't inherit staring into my dark ones. "Yes, I do." I'd spent my entire life doing dangerous things, following my father in his every mission, no matter the risk.

This mission was mine. My first time ever stepping out of my father's watchful eyes and ears, walking the figurative plank and falling into the unknown.

My father smiles. "Don't forget what I've told you."

I laugh lightly. "Papa, I'm not going to forget. You've only drilled everything into my brain a thousand times." I hook my thumbs into my leather belt, and stare out at the horizon.

"Don't let down your guard," I recite. "Don't let Pan, or anyone, but especially not Pan, know my true identity. Either of being a girl or being your daughter. Don't act suspicious. Hide my talent in throwing knives as best I can; don't let them think that I'm too good. No contact with the Jolly Roger or any crew members will be possible, so try not to die."

I pause and meet his eyes again. "Gain Pan's trust above anything else. And when he trusts me, I kill him."

My father, Captain Hook, grins wickedly. "Very good, love. Now go, and good luck."

•••

I stand at the edge of their camp, watching with trepidation. A small part of me is terrified. Not of what I have to do, of my mission, but what will happen if I get caught out. Nothing good, I know, because if I've been told anything in my life by my father, it's that Peter Pan is a bloody demon in a boy's body, and he will stop at nothing until he gets what he wants.