My tale doesn't end there, for the end has yet to be written.

Peter finds the lost, the left-behind, the abused. Is that not why you are here? Did Peter not save you?

Don't let them win. Don't let them beat you. Don't let them steal your magic.

There's a reason why we're born with brains in our heads, not rocks.

And Peter laughed, and when he did, all the Devils grinned, because Peter's laugh was a most contagious thing.

There is always something left to lose.

Had not enough gone wrong?