#comeawayopen

Tinkerbell sat perched on a rock beside the ocean, knees drawn up to her chest, chin resting upon them while she watched the waves crashing against the sand. Freedom had been jarring for the fairy, as had life ever since the witch had peeled her wings from her back like a bullying child might do to a butterfly. She stretched her back a bit, wincing in pain, and settled back into her arched position, sniffling against her skin. Peter had once looked at her as though she were the rarest, most beautiful thing in the world; when he saw her again, his eyes were vacant, as though he’d never seen her before. She knew him; she knew he didn’t want to accept that she had been changed. But she’d hoped he would be kind to her. His apathy towards her was worse than being forgotten. He’d offered her a home among the Lost Boys, but there was no big embrace, no emotional greeting. She tucked her feet under her skirts, turned her head to rest her cheek on her knees, and closed her eyes.