London had always been beautiful from the air.
I remembered it from years ago, when it was just a city, not the giant it is today, before the days of electric and light, when the sky above would be lit with starlight so bright no one could remember it now.
And even as it aged, it was beautiful.
So beautiful it tried to make me forget what this world was really like, the reason I left it in the first place.
Death and murder, hate and war. That was the world when I left it, and that has been the world in years since.
The first world war, then second, then countless battles between countries since then. And even without that, the people on Earth were destroying themselves, stealing and lying and ruining the world.
When the Lost Boys asked me why I left, that was all I could say.
I didn’t want to grow up in a world where people were ruining each other, I wanted to keep the innocence of youth that I was so near to losing. So I ran, far away from the world and from London and the orphanage I grew up in. I ran and I ran until I fell headfirst into Neverland.
And I have been there ever since, my home, my adventure, and my life.