Chapter 1: The magical portal
The Darling School for girls was always immaculate. The hedges were trimmed perfectly, the windows cleaned regularly, and anything that could be maintained was thoroughly maintained. Even though it was fall, there wasn’t a single leaf to be found lying on the property grounds or even in the nearby pond that nestled beside and wrapped around the large brick building that was the school.
The Darling School for girls was always immaculate because Headmistress Darling insisted it would always be immaculate. She watched over every element of the school’s upkeep, including the education of the girls that enrolled in it and made it their home. Everything was always at the highest possible standard. It was said that even the birds that made their nests in the trees had to seek out a permit from the Headmistress before they were allowed to lay down a single twig. Of course, no permits were ever found on any of the birds, but the rumor was still repeated by the young girls that attended the school.
Headmistress Darling was a stern educator. The girls had to be awake at seven sharp, dressed and at the mess hall by seven thirty. Classes always started at eight, and if any of the girls were a minute late they got detention and extra homework. There were a lot of young girls that had to get a lot of extra homework before they learned just how unbending the Headmistress truly was.
But it had to be that way. The Headmistress took great pride in her school, believing that shaping and preparing the future for the young girls at her school was the single most important thing she could do. That was why the grounds were immaculate, that was why the school’s curriculum was so difficult, that was why the Headmistress held all her teachers, girls, and even the birds, to the highest of high standards. Not a single element of their education was not thought out, planned, reworked, and then executed with grueling precision to the dismay of the overworked girls at the school.
Their entire day was planned, down to the last minute, to be filled with learning and preparation. Even their sick days were planned, with the headmistress possessing an uncanny ability to predict when each girl was going to get sick, and then allotting her the appropriate amount of days, or in some cases, hours, to get better.
If the young girl was still sick after the Headmistress deemed that she wasn’t supposed to be sick anymore, then she got detention and extra homework. It wasn’t long before the girls found ways to strengthen their immune systems and avoid being sick for longer than absolutely necessary. It was either that or learn to fake feeling better while sick, another skill that the girls learned very quickly.
It wasn’t so much the extra work that was so terrifying, it was the detention that really made the girls work so hard. No one wanted to have detention, because detention meant being alone with the Headmistress for a great length of time. And no one wanted to be alone with Headmistress Darling for any amount of time, let alone a great deal.
During a typical detention the Headmistress would place a chair in the middle of her office, then she would place her own chair right across from it, not even an arm’s length away. The unfortunate girl would have to sit in her seat and face the Headmistress, who would sit in the other chair, and talk to her.
Normally, talking wasn’t such a bad thing. In fact, the girls at the school found talking quite enjoyable, only slightly more enjoyable than listening, which was harder to do. But talking to Headmistress Darling was quite another matter altogether. Talking to Headmistress Darling could be quite close to terrifying on a good day, and horrifying on another. Unfortunately, it ended up being difficult to figure out which day was which, so most girls ended up leaving detention both terrified and horrified. They then went and quickly talked about it to all their friends, who did their best to console the uncontrollably sobbing girl. Incredibly enough, the girl would manage to quickly recover the next day and avoid any further detention.
No one quite understood how it was possible to be both terrified and horrified at the same time until it was their turn to have detention. It was an experience that couldn’t quite be explained, it had to be experienced, and then quickly buried in the deepest corners of memory, to be truly appreciated.
No girl had ever had detention more than once. No girl, that is, except for Wendy Darling. Wendy was in no way related to the Headmistress, and would probably have disliked it immensely if she was, but every girl at the school was an orphan. After the school took them in and became their legal guardian, they were all fortunate, or unfortunate, enough to have the Darling surname added to their more preferable first name.
Wendy was no different, except when it came to detention. Unbelievably enough, even though the other girls did whatever they could to avoid having detention, Wendy had detention on an almost regular basis. She had detention so many times that the girls at the school lost count. There were some rumors that Wendy had been to detention over a hundred times. Other rumors put it closer to a thousand. The truth was impossible to know because, unlike other girls, Wendy never spoke about her detention.
Also, unlike other girls, Wendy never left Headmistress Darling’s office crying.
Some girls had even said that it was the Headmistress who cried when Wendy left the office, but the girls who had experienced detention would quickly end those rumors with a very frightened and powerful response.
No one was sure what it was about Wendy that made it possible for her to withstand so much detention, but everyone knew why it was that she got so much of it. Wendy would always challenge the Headmistress. She would always talk back, question, and denounce anything that she thought the Headmistress got wrong. And no amount of detention was able to change her fiery ways. Headmistress Darling, of course, was all too happy to keep handing out detention for Wendy’s behavior, so Wendy would repeatedly meet with her, sit across from her, and talk to her.
Today was no different.
Headmistress Darling sat in her office across from the other empty chair, and looked at the clock. She had a stern expression that never quite seemed to leave her face. Her hair was done up in a tight bun that was slightly old fashioned, and her clothes were a dull gray. Her brown hair had streaks of gray in it that seemed almost precise in their placement, mirroring and paralleling other streaks of gray in her hair. Not a strand was out of place, gray or otherwise. Her thin, high arched eyebrows sat above a steely blue eyed gaze. She never shifted or adjusted her position. She didn’t even seem to blink as she watched the seconds tick away on the overhead clock above the door.
She sat frozen in her pose until, finally, the door opened.
Wendy stepped into the room.
Wendy had long, blonde hair just past her shoulders, with a slight wave to it. Her hair was wild, and shifted and flowed as she moved. Her face was youthful, even for her young age, and she looked like the type of girl who always had a laugh and a smile ready.
She was neither laughing nor smiling now. Her intelligent, blue eyes quickly took in the room and the Headmistress, sitting in her chair and staring back at her.
Wendy, like all of her close friends, had just turned fifteen. They were all orphans, and some didn’t know when their actual birthdays were, so they were assigned birthdays in groups. Wendy’s group had just had a birthday. They were all allowed to stay up fifteen minutes later, and have a cupcake. But no singing, hats, cakes, or presents were allowed. Wendy had stayed up twenty minutes later, and now she was in detention because of it. She had never even eaten her cupcake.
Wendy closed the door behind her, walked over to her chair and sat down without a word.
Headmistress Darling regarded her sternly.
“You know why you are here,” she said as much as asked.
“I know why I am here,” Wendy replied, looking directly back at the Headmistress, a feat most other girls wouldn’t even dare.
“Then we shall begin,” the Headmistress said.
“Did we ever end?” Wendy asked, referring to her previous detention.
“Indeed,” Headmistress Darling replied.
There was a knock at the door.
The knock was not part of Headmistress Darling’s plan, so she was quite annoyed by it. To add to the insult the door opened without even being instructed, to reveal the plump, round face of Pamela Misgivings, the school’s secretary. She was a short woman, younger than the Headmistress, but old enough, or worry prone enough, to have deep lines of age etched into her face. She had kind eyes, and an easy smile, and always kept her barely shoulder length brown hair in a state of disarray and untidiness. She loved the girls at the school, and did everything she could to help ease their troubles and make life as bearable as possible for them under Headmistress Darling’s tutelage.
Pamela gave Wendy a quick smile as she stepped in.
With her head turned away from the Headmistress, Wendy couldn’t help smiling back.
“I prepared that inventory list for you to look over,” Pamela told the Headmistress.
“Not now, Pamela,” Headmistress Darling said, barely looking at her.
“If I don’t order it tonight, we’ll be short in the kitchen for a couple of days.”
“Then that is exactly what we will be.”
“We also need to go over the payment schedule for the overpriced electrical bill,” Pamela pressed on.
Wendy knew what Pamela was doing, she was trying to help get Wendy out of her umpteenth detention in a row, trying to give her one night of peace and rest. Wendy silently thanked her for it, but she knew it was not going to work. It never worked. Pamela had a fiery spirit, Wendy knew she did, unfortunately, no one ever saw it.
“Not. Now. Pamela,” the Headmistress clearly enunciated each word.
Pamela flinched and then started backing out, mumbling her apology and then closing the door with a long squeak, and then opening it again to apologize for closing it so loudly, before closing it again just as loudly the second time.
Finally, she left. Headmistress Darling waited a little bit, just to make sure she had really left.
“Now, we will begin,” the Headmistress stated again.
The two of them talked long into the night. The moon rose up above the school, bathing it all in a soft white glow. The lights in the girl’s rooms went out one by one as bedtime was called, and still the light from Headmistress Darling’s office stayed on.
Everything at the school was as it should be, which is to say, everything was as Headmistress Darling wanted it to be.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, Wendy was allowed to leave the office. She shuffled through the darkened halls of the school, stifling a yawn. Portraits of strangers long gone who used to work at the school stared down at her as she walked past. Wendy took no notice. She had seen them a hundred times, had even asked about them on occasion, but was long past caring now.
For all of them, that is, except one. There was one portrait that hung above the entrance to the school that looked surprisingly like Headmistress Darling. The hair was done differently, even more old fashioned than the Headmistress currently kept hers, and the clothes were different. But the expression and the steely eyed gaze were the same.
Wendy had always assumed it was a relative of some sort, but she couldn’t help feeling like the Headmistress was watching her whenever she went past that painting.
Wendy went past it again, feeling only slightly better when it was staring at her back. She went up the stairs and into the wing of the house where her room was.
Everyone had gone to sleep a long time ago, Wendy’s detention had lasted even longer than normal. She continued dragging her feet on the rich carpet, willing herself onward until she reached her room. Hardly slowing, she turned the knob, opened the door, entered the room and closed it in one fluid, mechanical motion.
Her bed and blessed rest lay before her. Wendy walked over to it and face planted herself onto the soft mattress.
A head popped up from the other bed across the small room, Elizabeth had stayed up waiting for her friend and roommate. It always took her forever to fall asleep, and that night was no exception. Elizabeth liked to keep her straight, jet black hair extremely long, so that it hung down to her waist and got in her way when she was having a hard time sleeping. She parted it so that her green, cat like eyes, could look into the dark of the room. Those eyes had a keen attention to detail, they missed nothing, so that she missed nothing when she took aim at it.
“Wendy? Is that you?” she asked, knowing perfectly well that it was.
“No,” Wendy replied, her voice muffled by the pillow.
“Okay, stupid question. Are you okay?” Elizabeth asked.
“Another stupid question,” Wendy’s muffled voice replied.
Elizabeth nodded, conceding the point, even though Wendy couldn’t see it.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Elizabeth prodded.
There was a pause before Wendy finally replied.
“No.”
“I know you don’t like to talk about your experiences in detention, and from what I’ve heard there’s a good reason for that, but it’s a good idea to get your feelings out. I know you don’t believe it, but it sometimes helps to have someone just listen and sympathize with what you went through, someone who happens to be exactly like me.”
Elizabeth paused, listening for Wendy’s response.
There was none.
“Wendy?”
In the quiet room, Elizabeth could hear a soft snoring coming from Wendy’s bed.
Elizabeth sighed and shook her head, “I was practicing that speech for over an hour.”
Elizabeth turned over and laid her head back down on the pillow. It took her a long time to go to sleep, but then it always did.
Meanwhile, after Headmistress Darling was done with dispensing her detention duties, she made her own way through the large, darkened school and over to her room.
She sat, hunched over her desk, planning and writing out further events and lessons with her meticulous detail, in her meticulous handwriting.
Everything was as it should be at the Darling School for girls. Everything was exactly as Headmistress Darling wanted it to be. So it was probably with a lot of nerve, and not a little presumption, that the magical portal chose to open itself within the large pond beside the school. Its soft, yellow glow was mostly lost amongst the depths of the water and the pale moonlight reflected against the surface, further helping to conceal the magic within.
And anyone who might have noticed it, or could have noticed it, had long ago gone to bed. And anyone who would have noticed it, would have most certainly told Headmistress Darling about it. And Headmistress Darling would not have approved of a magical portal opening on her school grounds.
But there was no one to tell her. So the portal opened, and it stayed open, waiting for the thing that all portals wait for: someone to go through it.
* * * *
In a long forgotten room, buried deep in a mysterious land, a dark and powerful Queen tried to work magic that should have been forgotten a long time ago. The land, called Neverland, was a place that everyone knew about when they were in it, and didn’t when they were not. It took a very dedicated mind to remember its magic and wonders when more pressing things fought for distraction.
The Queen, Magenta was her name, was regal, both in her bearing and dress. Long black robes hung down her willowy frame, spilling onto the hard stone floor and spreading out from her in all directions. Her hair was as black as her robes, and fell freely from her head. Her skin was pale, and looked hard as marble, almost shining in the poor light of the room. She looked unnaturally young, with only her eyes and the edges around them betraying a wisdom and knowledge far beyond her deceptive youth. Those eyes took in everything, and gave back nothing. They were too blue, the depths of an ocean, but they had a golden ring around them, giving off a predatory nature that lurked beneath the beauty. Her arms were outstretched, and she was concentrating on the empty space before her.
All around her was darkness. Above her was the only source of light. A fire, burning nothing for fuel, suspended in the air. Whispers seemed to come from the darkness. They would build in volume, before dying out and being replaced by other voices. A slithering noise, something moving, something being pulled or sucked away, something crying. The Queen noticed none of it, she focused entirely on the empty air, even when the sounds of sobbing threatened to deafen her.
This was magic that hurt and killed. This was magic that perverted and destroyed. This was magic much too dark, and much too horrible to be practiced by such a beautiful looking creature. But if her beauty was more than skin deep, this Queen would never have been in that room.
Queen Magenta exerted her will, pulling at the darkened space before her with some invisible force. At first, nothing seemed to happen. But, little by little, the darkness at the edge of her false light began to creep in. Little wisps of shadow were pulled slowly from the dark, elongated strands tore free and began to form before the Queen, collected in a small dark ball that was beginning to grow.
The Queen focused more, and larger strands of shadow were ripped and stuffed into the ball. The shadows would not relent so easily, and the ball would pulse and bulge with the power of the dark trying to be free.
Queen Magenta gritted her teeth and tried to will more of the shadow stuff to fall under her control, but her grasp was slipping. The ball began to bubble and boil. It spawned aberrations that grew like pus upon the smooth, solid surface she was trying to shape. They grew in number, feeding and spilling and drowning off each other, until the ball was more a lump of melting liquid that burst apart in a shower of sludge.
The black, tar like substance splattered against the Queen, hissing and burning her skin like acid. Queen Magenta stared grimly at the empty space where her ball had been, letting the tar burn and disfigure her.
“Not powerful enough,” she told the dark.
She closed her eyes and concentrated, and her marble skin knit itself back together and smoothed over the burns. Queen Magenta opened her fierce eyes. She stared into the darkness, angry, rejected, not willing to accept defeat.
“I need more,” she said.
Unseen feet shuffled in the darkness, and numerous hands thrust a young, wide eyed faerie into the middle of the light.
The faerie, just a bit shorter than the Queen, fell to her knees and quickly looked up at the regal form of Queen Magenta, standing in the light but living in the darkness.
The faerie flew to her feet in a flash, her eyes darting around and looking for a way to escape.
“Do not be afraid,” Queen Magenta told the faerie.
But if the faerie was anything, it was definitely afraid. It fluttered its wings furiously, and released specks of faerie dust that fell slowly to the ground around her.
The Queen eyed the dust, not able to hide her covetous nature.
The faerie flew up higher, barely dodging the floating flame above in her haste.
Queen Magenta reached out her hand and some unknown force stopped the faerie in the air. Slowly, the Queen reeled in the frantic faerie. It pulled and yanked, strained and screamed in furious desperation. But it also got closer and closer to the Queen.
“Do not be afraid,” Queen Magenta told the faerie again, settling it down on the ground in an invisible net. The faerie was forced to lie on its side.
The Queen walked around it, kneeling before it and stroking its head.
“I need your help.”
The faerie wasn’t listening. Its wings were restrained, pressed down into her, but it struggled to move them all the same.
“I’m not powerful enough to yet work the dark of the shadows. But with your help, I will be.” The Queen said.
She reached out her hand to the faerie.
“With your help, I’ll be powerful enough to save the world. All I need, is everything you have.”
The faerie screamed.
