This is a Too Old for Neverland story.
Summary: She wasn’t Wendy, but she never had been.
She wasn’t Wendy, but she never had been; that much she could remember. Whatever name she’d worn, whatever life she’d lived before these shadowed years, it had all been traded away for the threadbare immortality that clung to her skin like cobwebs.
She’d spent a day once trying on names, but none of them fit. Helen was too small and Clarabelle too wide. Miriam, Amy, Shea, they rolled from her tongue and slid off her skin like raindrops, puddling at her feet. She shrugged and left them there; still human enough to feel the loss, but not enough to care.
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