Monster // Peter Pan (Robbie Kay) (OUAT)

Chapter Thirty Eight

I want to rewrite so much of this it isn't even funny.

I haven't written anything in so long (like 2 years). So please excuse this awkward, painfully awful update until I can begin writing well again with some practice.

Honestly, I don't think I would have updated again if it wasn't for the fact I get messages on my instagram from you guys at least twice a week. Which is crazy. Ily. thank you for making me feel whole

Chapter Thirty Eight

Day 95

Third Person

It was as if the night felt her loss of breath, loss of the blood running through her veins, of the sway in her soul. A cold plateau settled over the island, fog running like wet thread between the blades, strangling the green from the tips.

Andria laid on the floor of her hut, blood drying in the corner of her mouth, the most pallid blue blushing her face, death beginning to close the veil of her eyes.

*****

Chester awoke to a pale, sallow face hovering amidst subtle blue moonlight by the door of his hut.

In a fright, he jumped up out of bed to see Oliver, his body hidden in the shadows, only his face illuminated. Not gracefully, not like the overlay of silk...ominous, menacing.

"Oliver?" Chester croaked, his morning--or, rather night voice, breaking from its shell, "what's wrong with you?"

Oliver's statuesque stance quivered slightly, but no tears fell from his eyes...instead, they rested in the divet, frozen in his cheekbones. A bead of pearly sweat rolled down the shining slope of his forehead.

"Andria's dead."

Chester's breath grew heavy in his throat, eyebrows furrowed, but his heart began to pound loudly against his ribcage, blood sweeping, deafeningly, through his ears,. "What are you talking about, Oliver? What do you mean Andria's dead?"

Oliver took a couple steps closer. The shadows shifted across his body and stuck to his skin like tar. The light followed and rested on his jaw, where a deep, red scratch mark glistened with fresh blood.

"Oliver!" Chester yelled, "What happened to your chin?"

He took a quick, desperate breath to keep him from crying. "I told you Chester," a tear rolled down his cheek and landed in the wound on his face, "she's dead. And I killed her."

Chester sat down on the edge of the bed, the veins in his forehead peering at his skin, the nerves down his arms quaking in confusion. "You're lying to me."

"I'm not," Oliver whispered, "I strangled her. She's dead." He paused. "Please...tell me what to do."

The loudest silence fell into Chester's hut. It was quiet, so quiet, but the wheels in their brain turned so quickly, spouting nothingness, that the most confused reticence brushed their mouths. Chester looked into the gray of Oliver's face---blood running in slow motion down the slope of his cheekbone.

"You have to tell Pan," Chester said, "you have to. He's gonna condemn you."

"No!" Oliver took a step even closer, all of the moonlight landing right on his face. An even deeper scratch followed across his other cheek, blood falling quickly and dropping off his chin. "You're gonna help me throw her into the ocean."

"Hell no, you're crazy!" Chester exclaimed, "you need to tell Pan!'

"I'm not telling him shit!" Oliver lunged at him.