⋆✦⋆⋇ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ⋇⋆✦⋆

Regret twisted an unwanted knot in the pit of her stomach.

She threw her fist against the flaking decaying of barnacle spidered out across the hollowed space. A faint hiss escaped as she examined the meat of skin gouged out from the abrasion. The metallic tang of blood coated the buds of her tongue, a reminder the muscle was punctured from the blunt trauma she'd endured.

All it had taken was a moment. The light snuffed from her eyes, drawn into the depths of unconsciousness. Yet once she'd consciously surfaced, a leaden weight was left to pull at her insides laden with guilt.

First: She should've never let her cousin guide her into what appeared an ancient dusty attic.

Second: Had she followed the rules required of her, she might've remained safe in her room that night.

Third: If she had read the J.M Barrie novel given to her it would've equipped her for what she'd soon face.

Hailing from a world where fairy tales were dead to her and reality was but a figment of a dream until death—she'd never encountered tales involving pirates.

Fairies.

Indians.

The flying man.

The Other World.

As she dared to breathe beyond the stench of decaying fish and mildew whilst trapped within a caged prison that barely accommodated her petite frame, a sharp revelation dawned.

The attic window had been boarded up for a reason.