Note: TO BE READ IN A BRITISH ACCENT. UNLESS YOU CAN’T DO ONE. THEN PLEASE STOP TRYING YOU’RE HURTING MY EARS <3

She was looking in the mirror, obsessed with each imperfection on her own face. She raked her fingers through her hair, across her face. She'd find a zit, place her fingers on each side, and squeeze until it exploded outward, leaving a spot of yellow goo on the already dirty glass. Then blood would start to come out, and she’d move on. She had half a dozen bleeding sores on her face, and too many tears to count dripped off her chin.

Her breathing came faster as she was overcome with a strange and powerful hate. For a moment, she regretted her lack of a knife. She couldn't stand to be in her own body. Then she looked down at her long painted nails. She raised a hand to her face and, fascinated, dug into her forehead, pulling it across and embracing the pain she deserved. Her tears began to dry, though her rage only got hotter. And her hate. So much hate. How dare she be alive. How dare the world bring her to this. She wanted to burn the world to ashes and watch it crumble…she hated her face, hated her body, hated everything she saw in the mirror and many things she did not.

She didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, when she finally noticed him. Her window was open, as she’d left it, but now there was a boy framed against the darkness. He smiled. She shrieked, backing up against her mirror. “Get out of my room!” How did he even…this is the second floor! And then, quieter, I hope he’s here to kill me.

“I’m Peter,” the boy said.

It was so absurd, she laughed. “Peter? Like…Peter Pan?” I suppose it would explain how he got up here…

He waved. “That’s me. And you are…?”

“Emilia,” she said quickly. “But everyone calls me Milly.”

“Milly it is, then,” Peter said, sitting down on her windowsill. “Tell me, Milly, why is it that I’m here?”

She blinked. “Why…why you’re here? How should I know?”

He shrugged, winking cheerfully. “I heard you.”

She blinked. “I wasn’t…being loud.”

“Not with my ears.” he hesitated. “I guess it’s more accurate to say that I felt you.”

“You…felt me,” Milly said flatly.

He flushed. “It happens, sometimes. The most desperate moments, the stars that are close to winking out. I feel them—you—and so I come. So…why am I here? Are you lonely, angry, afraid?”

“I…” Milly looked down, her eyes wet. “This isn’t real.”

“I’m just as real as you are, Milly.”

“No you aren’t,” she said, looking at him. “I…I must be imagining you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you won’t mind if I leave, then?”

“No!”

“No?”

Milly huffed. It was crazy, but it was the sort of crazy that she needed, just then. “Please don’t go, Peter.” He was quiet for a long moment, and she sighed. “I am lonely, if it matters. And I’m terribly afraid, and angry too. And if you’re here to help, well…I could use a friend.

Peter smiled, and this time Milly smiled back, the movement making the dried salt on her cheeks flake away.

“Would you like to come home with me, Milly?”

“What, to Neverland?” Milly laughed.

Peter nodded seriously. “As I said. Home. You seem like you’ve been looking for home.”

Milly’s lip trembled.

“Hey, hey,” he said. He slid off her windowsill and into the room, walking over to her and pulling her into a hug. It was so...so stupid. There was no world in which this would be at all okay…but somehow, it was. “It’s all right to cry,” he murmured, and suddenly her tears were soaking through his ragged shirt.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered. “I want to go home.” She hated herself for even daring to say it, for being this weak. But Peter seemed to understand.

“It’s not weak,” he said firmly. “You were born for a world that isn’t this one, that’s all. And I’m going to help you find it, all right?”

“All right,” she said, drying her tears.

“Is there anything you want to bring with you?”

Milly looked around, suddenly overwhelmed. “I…”

“It’s okay,” Peter said quickly. “You can always come back if you find that you’ve forgotten something. And this choice doesn’t need to be forever.”

Milly nodded. She picked up a notebook and pen, then looked at Peter and nodded again. “I’m ready.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the window. “Have you ever wanted to fly, Milly?”

She laughed, blinking away tears. “Of course, Peter. Are you going to sprinkle me in stardust?”

He shrugged. “Do you need it?”

Instead of answering, Milly closed her eyes and jumped. Her fear spiked, just for a moment, and then…and then she wasn’t falling, and Peter was holding her hand, and he was warm and strong and safe.

“You’re very brave,” he said.

She flushed. “No. I’m terrified. And I have been, my whole life.”

“Then you are that much braver for it,” he said, meeting her eye.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He pulled on her hand, and suddenly they were shooting up towards the stars, the wind dancing through her hair. Peter’s laughter echoed through the darkness, and soon her own joined it. And though she hadn’t quite forgotten her despair, it faded, giving way to his magic. Perhaps...perhaps there was a place where she could belong.

“Welcome home, Milly,” he whispered, his breath warm in her ear.

“Welcome home.”