A/N: This is a companion piece to The Path. You don't have to read both, but this story gives a bit of insight as to some of the things Alice can't remember when she wakes up.
While she sleeps in her cabin, the ship rocking her into sleep like a babe in a cradle, Alice dreams of impossible things.
Of the saddest tea party she has ever seen. Dust lies on the table and the pastries are stale. Everything is faded, lost like a myth buried in time. Even the partygoers seem as ended as the burnt out stubs of candles. And as the man at the head of the table lifts his weary head, she can see a pain in his eyes that she knows well, that she had woken up with every day since her father had died. He stares at her like a man of dying of thirst stares at a lake. The dust seems to shake from him, and as their eyes meet his seem to take on a glow of joy and something else that she has never seen before. Something that her heart leaps to try and return.
Of being the size of a mouse and riding upon his hat. Climbing down to his shoulder, trying to concentrate on holding on tightly while simultaneously absorbing every detail of his voice. Shadows and light, rage and joy. He is a study in contradictions. Nothing about him makes sense. "I don't slay," she tells him, so scared she wants to weep. His anger turns on her and only her mother's training keeps her from turning her own feeling of terror and anger towards him. And yet when he tells her to hang on tight and throws his own life away to save hers, all she can think of is throwing her own life away to save his.
Of watching his deft, clever hands as he works. Stitching, cutting, gluing, creating. His fingers flash, impossible to look away. And when he does look up, when his madness takes him she feels no fear. Someone who could create so beautifully would never have it in his heart to harm her. His eyes told her the same every time they looked at each other. She places on her hands on his cheeks, soothing the heat of madness, but feeling a different kind of fire kindle. She saw the longing in his eyes that must be most shamefully mirrored in hers. Shame that keeps her from telling him what was truly in her heart while he shared a small bit of his.
Of the starlit sky on a summer's night. The moon shines down on a balcony of the cleanest white marble. It is cool under her fingertips and the fireflies dance around her like millions of tiny stars. The unchanging marble is a perfect foil for her ever changing companion, as is its coolness under her hands a foil for the heat of his mouth as he kisses her and leads her down a path she never dreamed could exist. A moment of perfection to counter the ugliness she had witnessed. A time of joy to balance all of the sorrow.
Of standing next to him on her battlefield, his fingers interlaced with hers. Fear choking her breath, her barely whispered words. His words of encouragement give her the strength to fight. She has found herself, the woman she was meant to be. A sword forged in the fires of revolution, not breakable. A Champion. "Off with your head," she screams triumphantly and as she lands the first thing she sees is her victory mirrored in his eyes.
Of his eyes, still glowing, but this time with a pain to rival the one she had recognized on what she had believed was their first meeting. His emotions are there on the surface for all to see, but she knows that there is more there for her. All she has to do is stay. And her heart wants to stay. To throw the vial of blood to the ground, throw herself into his arms, and never let go. But she knows she can't yet. For what would be the point of learning to be a Champion if she ran away from her battles at home? So she drinks the blood and she makes her promises and she feels the tears roll down her cheeks as he disappears from her sight.
As Alice sleeps she dreams of impossible things. And her heart breaks a little more every night.