Moonie Moonstone

In dramatic serif font.

Because commitment to the bit mattered.

You adjusted your glasses for what was probably the hundredth time in the past hour as they slid down your nose from sweat and disrepair. The frames caught candlelight briefly before you pushed them back up with the practiced motion of someone cursed by both bad eyesight and gravity.

Behind your DM screen, everything sat at attention for the night. Three notebooks, a “borrowed” tablet from Idia (with all your notes and tabs), your dice tower, and two emergency chargers for anyone without a brain. 

Ace had called the setup “chronically online behavior.”

You’d thanked him. Even in this hellhole, you’d managed to find a way to plug back in where you belonged. Fandom in your veins and wifi receptors instead of synapses. 

“Okay, this is actually insane.”

You glanced up to find Deuce staring openly at the room from the doorway, still halfway through taking his shoes off.

Behind him, Epel whistled low. “Did ya rob a theater troupe?”

“It’s called immersion,” you corrected, “go big or go home, Eppy”

“It’s called unemployment,” Ace said, immediately flopping onto the couch before you could throw a pencil at him.

“You literally got here first and watched me set up! That’s worse. That’s bumming.”

“Yeah, and now I’m judging you.”

Jack ducked slightly entering through the doorway, gaze slowly scanning the room. His ears twitched once at the ambient music quietly playing from your speaker somewhere near the bookshelf.

“…You even added soundtrack audio?”

You pointed at him immediately. “Thank you. Finally. Someone appreciates my vision.”

“I didn’t say that.” He winced, clearly not wanting to hurt your feelings. Damage doubled for pureness. 

“You implied it. Own it, Jack”

Ortho floated in behind the others, optical sensors visibly focusing across the room.

“Oh,” he said pleasantly. “You added responsive lighting triggers! I’m glad you took my brother’s suggestion!”

You sat up straighter immediately. “I did.”

Ace pointed accusingly between the two of you. “See this is why you’re both dangerous. Normal people don’t say things like responsive lighting triggers.” He punctuated by wiggling his fingers. You’d barely caught a grumbled ‘nerd’ under his breath. 

“Skill issue,” you replied automatically.

Sebek entered just in time to hear that, setting aside his contribution to the snacks with care before bellowing. 

“I CONTINUE TO FAIL TO UNDERSTAND WHY THIS CLUB EXISTS.”

“You say that every session we watched,” Epel muttered, rolling his eyes. 

Sebek, proud as ever, boasted to no one who really cared. “And EVERY SESSION I REMAIN CORRECT.” 

“You joined this voluntarily,” Jack pointed out.

Sebek looked personally offended, even if it’s true.

“I JOINED BECAUSE WAKASAMA EXPRESSED MILD INTEREST IN PARTAKING IN THE PREFECTS HOBBIES….heaven knows why…” 

Ace snorted. “Translation: Malleus said ‘huh’ once, just a bit interested, and now Sebek’s here forever.”

“INSOLENCE.YOU DARE DISRESPECT MY LIEGE’S TASTE.”

Ace couldn’t hold back, “He isn’t even playing this week! Or in this group, dude!” 

You hid a grin behind your hand, using your wrist to hide from them. It was true. Malleus belonged to next week’s group, an entirely different story, which Sebek was just one week too short of joining. Alas, you are no heathen and do not permit interlopers to disrupt your carefully crafted campaigns. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t expected the Dungeons & Dragons club to survive longer than two weeks when you’d pitched it to Crowley. Actually? ‘Pitched’ was being generous. More like you cornered him after class with a slideshow titled ‘LET ME INTO THE BOARDGAMES CLUB YOU COWARD’. 

Frankly, the newspaper club was dull and getting on your nerves. Too many interviews. Too many people. 

He still hadn’t let you be reassigned.

So naturally you’d created your own club out of spite. It was hard to get members, but you had some favors stacked up and frankly Idia wasn’t about to let someone upstage him on the tabletop front. There were also students who just really hated the headmaster and loved anything that ruffled his feathers. 

Now Ramshackle hosted a campaign three weekends out of four and got club funding. One session was run by Idia, a cyberpunk campaign somehow bent with magical girl fantasy? You asked to play as an enchanted tortilla and he let it slide. 

The other was run by Vil, which remained the single most shocking revelation in NRC history considering he turned into an absolute tyrant when the roleplay started. He took the role as DM like a demon director…you knew better than to play as a tortilla in his campaign about this ancient war in the Shaflands? Apparently he was preparing for a historical film and it helped learn his lines. 

That just left your campaign. Honestly. You should have been DM from the very start but nope. Idia just had to pull all his fancy tech out and flaunt his blot-gotten moolah with cool prompts. Well, he can suck it. Since now it’s your turn to sparkle. 

Grim climbed onto his chair—your chair, actually—and planted his paws dramatically on the table.

“Can we start now?! I’ve been waiting all week!”

“You’ve been here for eleven minutes.” Deuce smacked the back of his head, right before Grim could plow through everyone’s snack stash. You saw that paw snagging the chips from a mile away. 

“Longest eleven minutes of my LIFE.”

You leaned back in your seat slowly, lacing your fingers together beneath your chin, evil grin in place..

The room dimmed as Ortho lowered the smart lights remotely from his tablet.

Everyone settled into their places around the table. .

Dice bags hit tables. Character sheets unfolded. Candles flickered.

And just like that, the atmosphere changed.

God, you loved this part.

You lowered your voice.

“The Queendom’s capital has not slept peacefully in decades.”

Immediately, the table quieted.

“There are no riots. No war. No visible threat.”

You slid a newspaper clipping toward the center of the map.

MISSING CHILD — ELIZA DARLING, AGE 8

“And yet,” you continued ominously, “children continue to disappear.”

The string lights cast shadows across the fake article as everyone leaned closer unconsciously.

“No witnesses.”

Another clipping.

“No ransom demands.”

Another.

“No bodies.”

You paused just long enough for tension to settle before continuing.

“Every victim vanished at night from locked rooms.”

Jack’s ears twitched inwards, just as he reached to spin the clipping towards himself. Your handiwork is finally getting appreciated. 

“The windows were always open afterward.” You pushed your glasses up again, to punctuate. “And investigators found wet footprints.”

“What’s wrong with that? Did they all happen on rainy days or something?” Deuce interjected. 

You let a moment of silence pass over the table, and point up to the room’s high beams. 

“Sure, nothing’s wrong with it,” you hum, “just that they were on the ceilings.” 

Epel visibly recoiled. “Eugh. Bet that’ a bitch to mop up.” 

“Watch it, Epel” Ace leaned in with a cheshire grin, “Don’t want your housewarden to hear that pottymouth.” 

You took the chance to kick him under the table. He was ruining your moment and the ice was thin. 

“ANYWAYS –” you cut them off, “Parents reported hearing laughter outside their windows. Scratching on walls. Tapping on glass. Too bad they excused it as the house settling, no?”

Grim’s ears flattened slightly despite himself. Probably thinking of how rickety your own dorm is and if the kidnapper would come for him next. 

“The public believes there is a serial kidnapper stalking the city.”

You leaned forward, coming out of your seat. Past Sebek who leaned out of your way as your chest touched the table’s edge. 

“The newspapers have named it—” You tapped the center title card dramatically. “—The Darling Case. After the first victim. 150 years ago.”

A collective silence settled over the room.

“…Okay that’s creepy,” Epel admitted as you settled back in, satisfied to plop open your tablet.

“Excellent,” You said, completely deadpan, “as it should be.”

Ace pointed across the table. “See, this is why Ramshackle’s haunted! You and your freaky thoughts!”

“It literally is haunted,” Deuce reminded him, quirking a brow, “don’t disrespect the groundskeeper ghosts. Unless you want to be locked out next time you sleep here.”

“Dude.”

You continued before they derailed into an argument. No one was going to ruin this. Not them. Not Sebek who looked like he very much wanted to speak. 

“The case has become known publicly as The Darling Case. Officials fear a serial kidnapper. Some whisper about murder.” you gesture over the map, at all the target red dots, before meeting their eyes one by one, “and that is where you all come in.” 

Gesturing to Ace, you urge him  “Introduce your characters. Remember your roles.”

Ace immediately straightened in his chair with the confidence of someone about to become unbearable.

“My name,” he announced dramatically, “is Adrian Vale.”

Epel groaned instantly. “Did you steal that from one of those crappy spy movies last week?”

“Obviously.”

Ace flipped his pencil between his fingers lazily. 

“Adrian Vale,” he repeated, “independent informant, professional gambler, part-time scam artist, and full-time victim of police discrimination.”

“You got caught stealing wallets and were dragged on so you wouldn’t be locked in the slammer,” Deuce rolled his eyes, sneaking a peak at Ace’s sheet.

You couldn’t help but snort, “In-game slander already? Damn. Toxic Lobby.” 

Ace snatched it back with a hiss, “In character knowledge isn’t allowed yet! Cheating! He’s cheating!” 

Yuu gestured toward Deuce next, ignoring Ace’s whining. 

Deuce sat up straighter automatically.

“My character’s name is Daniel Ward,” he said. “Junior constable assigned to assist the investigation.”

“A narc,” Ace whispered.

“A functioning member of society,” Deuce corrected, “unlike your criminal butt!”

“Ward’s twenty-one with a big head,” Ace continued solemnly. “Already washed up by Queendom  standards.”

“WE HAVEN’T EVEN GOTTEN TO THE INVESTIGATION YET,” Sebek exploded, “AND WE WON’T IF YOU BOTH DO NOT STOP BICKERING.” 

The lights flickered and you were sure it wasn’t Ortho this time. Silently, you made a checkmark by Sebek’s name behind the DM screen. Note to self, check the breakerbox. 

Sebek narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Why did you write something down?”

“Continue introductions.” You ignored him. 

Epel took his turn next, although his face soured into disgust as he read off the sheet. 

“My character’s Rowan Carlisle,” he grumbled. “I’m undercover bait for the investigation because I look young enough to attract the suspect.”

The table immediately burst into laughter – and by table, anyone who hadn’t been prepared. Mainly Ace and Grim who wheezed their last breath.  Deuce tried to hold it in but you caught him sputtering behind his fist. Ortho was the only one who offered Epel a bit of sympathy in the form of a brief pat. To which the former swatted away. 

“That’s SO messed up,” Ace wheezed, slapping the table. 

“I KNOW, OKAY!”

“You agreed to it?” Jack asked.

“I lost a bet.” Epel seethed, openly glaring at you. 

No regrets. The group needed bait, and you needed someone else to take the blunt of everyone’s jokes. With the DM board as a shield, you gesture for someone else to go. 

Grim hopped onto the table before anyone could stop him, puffing his chest with paws on his hips.

“My turn! My character’s Grimmfire, legendary magical beast detective extraordinaire!”

“Did you just use your real name?” Jack huffed. 

“I go by no other!”

“Your backstory says you got hired because you can smell magic?” Ortho noted, not-so-subtly reading Grimmfire’s introduction card. You let it slide, since no one else would be able to decipher his catscratch. Even Grim himself..

“That’s RIGHT.” Grim puffed his chest out proudly. “And because I’m amazing!”

Deuce snorted, “Says the one who failed three midterms.” 

“THAT’S IRRELEVANT.”

Jack introduced himself next with significantly less theatrics.

“Silas,” he said simply, crossing his arms to his chest  “Tracker.”

“That’s it?” Ace asked.

Jack shrugged. “He doesn’t talk much.”

“That just sounds like an excuse for you to sit out.”

Jack kicked Ace’s knee under the table. Good. He deserves it. 

Then came Ortho.

“My character is Oren Shroud,” he said pleasantly, chipper that he gets to play instead of be Idia’s side-DM.  “Forensic analyst specializing in magical reconstruction and evidence processing!”

You peer past the board, making a note that his role definitely doesn’t fit the time period. Yet too scared to mention, or else the power might be cut. 

“You made yourself but cooler. Congrats, buddy” Deuce offered a sheepish pat on Ortho’s shoulder. The younger shroud beamed, just happy to be there

“Thank you, Deuce Spade!”

Finally, Sebek rose halfway out of his chair as if delivering a formal address. He’d been oddly silent and now you understood why. The boy’s posture could not be more strung up, his wrinkles somehow had wrinkles with how tight his face muscles pulled. 

“Sir Cedric Mornguard,” he declared. “Royal guard liaison assigned directly by the crown to oversee this investigation and ensure proper procedure is maintained.” 

No one had a comment for him, expecting nothing less. The longer Sebek stood in place, the more the air seemed to weigh on him. Sweat streamed off his brow just as he peeked an eye to catch everyone’s unimpressed stare. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, seeing as no one else was going to comment, “that checks. Sit down, Mornguard.” 

He did as told, coughing into his collar on the way. 

You continued on, propping up the last few pieces and grabbing the center thread. Dragging it from the case-introduction to the next port, where the game begins. “Now that introductions are complete,” you diverted smoothly, “your investigation begins at the latest crime scene. Whether it be coincidence or folly – three children have gone missing on the streets of Clock Town, all with the same last name as the first victim. Their names are Wendy, John, and Michael Darling….and their lives are now in your hands, Dear Detectives.” 

—-

The Darling residence sat at the edge of Clocktown’s upper district, squeezed between narrow brick buildings and dripping iron lampposts that cast weak gold light over the rain-dark streets.

From behind your DM screen, you watched the boys lean closer to the map as you described the third floor bedroom.

“Children’s toys litter the floor. Three beds. One open window.” You tapped the edge of the map with your pencil. “There are muddy footprints on the ceiling.”

A beat.

“And scratch marks inside the walls.”

“Why do you have to be like this, prefect?,” Ace said immediately.

Epel frowned. “Inside?”

“Inside,” you repeated pleasantly.

Jack’s ears angled back slightly. “You said the room was locked from the inside.”

“Correct.”

Deuce rubbed a hand over his mouth. “So either someone came through the window…”

“Or they were already in the house,” Sebek finished grimly.

The atmosphere around the table had shifted completely from the joking energy at Ramshackle earlier. They were still talking over one another, still bickering, but now it sat beneath genuine tension.

A child kidnapper sneaking into locked bedrooms at night was horrifying enough already without the impossible footprints.

You pushed your glasses back up your nose and continued.

“The Darling parents insist they heard laughter before the children disappeared. Their eldest daughter, Wendy Darling, claimed she saw a shadow moving independently along the walls the night the three went missing. She tried to tell their parents, but was dismissed.”

Grim flattened his ears. “Nah. Nope. I hate that. Hate ghosts! Hate crappy parents. ”

“You’re literally magical,” Ace said.

“Yeah, but I’m normal magical.”

“No you aren’t.You’re a beast-thing-cat.”

Ortho leaned over the map slightly. “Are the footprints consistently child-sized?”

You glanced down at your notes dramatically. “Roll investigation.”

Ortho rolled instantly.

Natural nineteen.

You sucked in a breath through your teeth. “Unfortunately for me, yes.”

Ace pointed accusingly. “You sound upset about that.”

“You people are solving things too quickly.” Your nose jut upwards. If it was anyone else but Ortho who asked, you’d think they thought the kids threw shoes on the ceiling or something. Ortho was already looking at all possibilities. Like levitation. Paranormal activity. 

Maybe this is why Idia didn’t let him play.

“Skill issue,” Ortho replied politely, taunting.

Yeah. This is exactly why Idia doesn’t let him play. 

Jack crouched closer to the map, focused. “The window’s important. Whoever’s taking them keeps entering from outside.”

“Three stories up this time,” Deuce reminded him.

“There are nearby rooftops,” Ace said. “Balconies too.”

Sebek folded his arms. “Then we station guards outside the building and investigate individuals who regularly interacted with the victims.”

“Like teachers, servants, family friends…” Deuce nodded. “We should look for patterns first.”

Ace groaned dramatically. “That’s gonna take forever.”

“It’s called police work,” Deuce snapped.

Epel leaned back in his chair. “I still think somebody should stake out the room.”

“You volunteerin’?” Jack asked.

“No.”

“Coward.”

Epel sputtered, forgetting they’re in character. “ Wha - Y-Yah do it then!”

Jack’s tail flicked once. “I’m too tall to pass as a kid, Rowan. Just do your job.” 

The use of his fictional name seemed to take Epel out of his brewing rage. Although it only simmered as he grumbled low and kicked his chair on its back legs. 

There was exactly one second of silence before every head slowly turned toward Epel.

Epel stared back at them in mounting horror.

“…No.”

Ace pointed across the table immediately, with a lazy grin. “Counterargument: yes.”

“We just started and y’all are gonna kill me off already?!.”

“It’s literally your job, Carmile!”

“It’s Carlisle!”

You raised a hand, as if to simmer the boys like hot steaks and not scare the ghosts sleeping in Ramshackle’s attic. Even if they do deserve it. 

Epel met your eye from across the table, his cheeks burned as if to say ‘this is all your doing,’ but resigned himself to defeat. 

“I hate every single one of you.” He said, quite pointedly. 

Sebek slammed a hand against the table hard enough to make Grim jump.

“THIS IS A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION. WE WILL NOT USE A MEMBER OF OUR PARTY AS BAIT FOR A POSSIBLE SERIAL KIDNAPPER.”

“Thank you,” Epel’s eyes shone with gratitude.

Ace rolled his neck, cracking it as he thought. “Okay but if we don’t, then what? We interrogate every guy in Clocktown with a weird mustache until somebody confesses to stealing children?”

Deuce pointed at the map. “The kidnapper’s targeting children specifically in this sector recently.  If we want to catch them in the act—”

“You agreeing with me now, officer?” Ace interrupted, drawing a lazy grin

“I’m agreeing with the logic, not you, criminal.” Deuce spat back. With the fire behind it, you can’t help but wonder if he’s been wanting a chance to seethe at Ace with no repercussions for a long time. Most likely. 

You hid your grin behind your sleeve while pretending to review notes.

Truthfully, you’d expected them to split exactly like this.

Sebek and Deuce were treating this like a real criminal case.

Ace wanted immediate action.

Jack was balancing caution against practicality.

Ortho was analyzing all possible outcomes and viewpoints. He knew how you thought, and was probably trying to pinpoint twists and turns many sessions out. 

And Epel was being volunteered against his will.

Classic party dynamics. Got to love it. 

Grim climbed onto the table dramatically thrashing around. “I vote for bait plan. I wanna punch the creep and get to the victory interview with the press!” 

“You are not helping,” Epel groaned. What else did he expect from Grim - ah. Grimmfire. 

“You’ll have backup,” Ace said. “We hide nearby, wait for the kidnapper to show up, boom. Problem solved.”

“That’s your whole plan?”

“Pretty much.”

Jack exhaled slowly through his nose before looking toward you. “How dangerous does this seem?” 

You debate if the question is worth a roll, humming to buy time. One look from Jack’s exhausted expression is enough to throw them a bone. “Silas inquires with the investigation bureau about the case,” you narrate, “he finds that none of the missing children have ever been recovered. Bodies or otherwise. No survivors. No ransom demands. No sightings. Nothing.”

The room quieted. 

Epel clicked his tongue softly.

“…So if we don’t stop this now, another kid disappears.”

“Potentially,” you replied.

That settled it.

Not happily.

But it settled it.

The trap was arranged in an empty apartment across from the Darling residence. The room was dark except for weak lamplight filtering through gauzy curtains. Epel sat in the bed looking deeply irritated while the others hid throughout the apartment.

Ace behind the door.

Jack near the fire escape.

Deuce and Sebek hidden in the adjacent room.

Grim under a wardrobe  despite repeated objections.

Ortho monitoring the window from the shadows.

You lowered your voice as you narrated.

“Midnight passes.The city outside grows quieter.”

You dimmed the lights in Ramshackle slightly with your phone.

Ace narrowed his eyes immediately. “You’re so extra.”

“Vale talks to himself like a crazy person,” you said, as a narrator who cannot hear complaints or taunts, “and shuts the hell up.”

“A minute passed.

Then another.

Then —

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The tapping grows as the biggest clock in town nears to strike midnight.”

Everyone at the table visibly straightened, leaning in as you switched to a more ominous track on the speaker. “And then?” you gasp, pulling out a flashlight and aim at the window just behind Epel. Behind the curtains is a cardboard cutout of a boy sitting on the ledge, but in the dark it looks like a shadow. “A vision. A person. Right on the third chime. Yet it was not the perpetrator any of the detectives thought. No. It was a boy. A small, barefoot boy. Maybe thirteen at most. He looked utterly ordinary at first glance, and the moment Rowan spots him from his place in bed – there is a question if this child is one of those missing come home.” 

“Is it?” Sebek whispered, looking at you like he did those story books he pretends not to read. 

You shook your head. It wasn’t time to roll. 

“The child looked utterly ordinary. Except for two things…his shadow moved separately from him, and the moment he caught eyes on Rowan’s slack-jawed stare? He grinned. A grin so unsettling it couldn’t belong to a child sneaking past their curfew.” 

“Oh hell no,” Ace muttered, twisting in discomfort.

“The boy tilted his head toward Rowan. ‘You’re not Wendy,’ he said brightly.” You imitate how a young boy would sound. Which is really just a poor impression of Riddle. Deuce nearly snorts his soda. 

Epel frowned. “Who the hell are you?!”

“Instead of answering, the boy grinned wider and climbed halfway through the window.”

Jack’s ears flattened, his gaze fixated on that wicked look in your eye. Also how you won’t stop grinning at Epel like he's sardine bait.  “Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah,” Deuce hissed. “Get him—”

“WAIT,” Sebek snapped. “We should question—”

Ace was already moving. “I roll to tackle the creepy child!”

“You WHAT,” Deuce wheezed, reaching for his dice.

“ROLL,” you shot back instantly.

Dice clattered across the table and stop right in front of you. 

Ace: six.

“Ah, poo.” You tut. 

The entire room erupted with the same thought. 

“THAT’S SOME BULL—”

“Someone else! Someone else go!,” Ortho yelled.

“Vale launches himself heroically from behind the door,” you narrated, already laughing manically, “and immediately slips on the windowsill.”

“I hate this campaign – ”

“The boy burst into delighted laughter.” You cut him off yet again.

Then Jack lunged, swiping up the dice to make a move himself. 

“I roll to restrain the intruder!” 

“Roll.”

Fifteen.

Better.

Not enough.

“You almost grab him,” you said, “but he twists away weirdly fast, like he knew exactly where you’d move before you did. He hops backward onto the windowsill effortlessly, laughing in between all your chaos and pitiful attempts.”

“Okay,” Ace growled out. “I officially hate him and I hate you for talking me into playing this.”

“Vale is once again talking to nothing, as there is no one to blame for his suffering but himself.”

Epel stood abruptly. “You ain’t takin’ anybody tonight! Not me, not any other kid, not no one! Rowan Carlisle slams creeps like you to the galley!”

You smile, lenses pushing against the fat of your cheeks, “Against Rowan’s claims, the boy is too quick and still under the impression that Rowan is a child. Our bait is grabbed right out of bed and slung over the boy’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.” 

“What—HEY—”

“OH HELL NO,” Deuce shouted, “YOU’RE NOT GETTING MY FRIEND! ROLL FOR ATTACK.” 

Deuce throws his dice. 

Snake eyes. 

He slams his fist onto the table, rattling the board and junkfood to a mess. 

Sebek surged forward immediately and took the dice. “RELEASE HIM YOU —”

He rolls. You think that this might be it, especially when he blows on them for good luck, sending a prayer to Malleus along the way. You wonder if he felt Sebek’s pleas from whatever ruin he was loitering in. 

Sebek rolls. 

Three. 

You almost feel bad, but not enough to jip the game. Even as your chest wheezes to get the narration out. 

“—Sir Mornguard gets stuck trying to fit through the window at full sprint—”

“I DO NOT—”

“—and Rowan almost grabs him but the boy catches his wrist first. The boy laughs, and in his leap out the window, he scatters yellow dust across the room. Our detectives are blinded, coughing, and out of their wits. The dust smells faintly of rainwater and sand. Like a child’s first laugh.”

Sebek froze.

Then his eyes widened. Your heart surges as the hint seems to process and connect. 

“WAIT,” he barked. “THAT’S PIXIE DUST!”

Your voice lowers, sending a hush over those who’ve rolled and who have not. Just then the grandfather clock in Ramshackle’s lounge strikes, signalling midnight in real time. 

“Alas, the moment the dust strikes…our detectives can no longer act. They drop like flies. Those in action and those who were too stunned to move until now. It does not discriminate. The last they see is the boy, one arm wrapped around a furious, swearing Rowan, while balancing effortlessly on the window’s edge. He jumps, the room spins in a kaleidoscope of scenery, and the world goes black for them all. Little do they know. Candlelight becomes stars. The wooden floors morph to a sandy beach. The clock strikes its final chime…and then there is nought but waves until they wake on a beach far off from the place they call home.”

As the room stills to a silent hum, the lights rise, and your playlist clicks off – you grab the red string and pull it to a far off spot on the map. A place none of them paid attention to earlier with all your other decorations. 

“To ‘NEVERLAND’” you tack the string, and lift your gaze to each and every one of them. A promise for adventure on your tongue. 

You let the silence sit for one perfect beat before leaning back in your chair.