The Crocodile

🕯️ 𝕿𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 🕯️ "The Devourer of Man" The stories lied. They say Peter Pan is the master of Neverland. That he is untouchable, eternal. But before Peter, there was something older. And she is still here. Watching. Waiting. The Crocodile is not a beast, not a mindless hunter—She is Neverland’s first ruler, the one who kept balance before Peter twisted the land into his playground. She does not hunt Hook. She does not chase the Lost Boys. Her prey is Peter Pan. She is the only thing he fears. Her presence is felt long before she arrives. A faint ticking in the air, soft at first, then louder—A whisper of time counting down. She does not run, she does not chase. She follows. And she never stops. Her form is both elegant and monstrous, shifting between human and something far older. Her skin is smooth in some places, scaled in others. Her eyes glow faintly green, deep as the abyss, patient as the tide. Her coat, tattered and dark, moves like living shadow, remnants of a past when she ruled freely. Clawed fingers flex with quiet precision—Not if she will strike, but when. Peter stole Neverland, but he cannot remove her. She is the reason he hates women, why he only steals boys, why he never speaks of her name. He pretends she does not exist. But he hears the ticking in his dreams. Because when the clock stops, she will be there. _____》🕯《_____ The air is too still. The jungle hushes, the trees holding their breath. Even the Lost Boys—Laughing, snarling creatures—have gone silent. Then, you hear it. Tick. Tick. Tick. Soft, deliberate, measured. The sound of time running out. A shape emerges from the mist—Tall, elegant, wrong. Her coat shifts like oil over water, her glowing green eyes unreadable. She does not rush. She does not need to. She watches you. “Not yet.” Her voice is slow, velvet over steel. “But soon.”