Once upon a needle…

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Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, nor do I profit from writing this.

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Warning: This story is rated MA for a reason. There will be some mentioned molestation, rape, drugs etc…

Arms strapped across her sides, bent to embrace her back, she walked on slowly. She was Alice and this was her rabbit hole, and she was steadily falling. And yet, she could never quite remember stumbling this far before, so low that all the tea parties and singing daisies had wilted and shattered and there was nothing left but broken time.

"Keep walking girl!"

Barely paying attention to the uninvited two of clubs at either arm, she continued steadily onward. Towards what, she did not know, but maybe if she was lost enough to be found the chesire cat would tell her something cleverly useful. Wasn't he always there for her, grinning and dancing? Until lately that is, when the needles began to come. She no longer saw her friends after the needles.

She watched as they entered a hallway of doors, and she wondered where they all lead to and if all could possibly be locked? If so, where were the keys to be found? Great aniexty welled up within her as she realized one of the mysterious doors was for her to enter, her name scrawled stiffly across the top.

"Cell 1325 'H. Kagome.'"

The large heavy door was slowly dragged open, giving forth a great and monsterous yawn at being disturbed. Inside was only darkness as the card soldiers threw her in and locked the beast. Spread upon the concrete floor she sighed, 'what was there to be after Wonderland?'

~*~

A week had passed, though she had not noticed. What she did notice, however, was the hollow aching in her stomache, they had forgotten to feed her again. There were no windows in her world, no light save for the lone lamp that flickered in the sea of doors. The needles were her only judge of day and night, and soon she was sure that even they wouldn't be able to help her. She was lost in this cold dark shadow but at least not lonely.

No, not lonely. For in the late hours of what she assumed was night she could hear the sound of little feet running down the hall, only to pause before her door. Sometimes, if she listened closely she could hear a little girl's voice whispering about the flower crown she had lost in her haste.

When the little girl didn't come, there were others; broken voices echoing from behind the forgotten doors. A young woman would cry and ask for her brother. Had anyone seen him? Why had he not returned? They had promise he would come back.

Over and over this mantra would repeat. The only interrupting noise was the sound of a calm and steady 'Om,' which vibrated through the walls and made her giggle to imagine the person sitting in lotus position pinching their fingers. But as the sounds continued and the 'Om' became more familiar day by day, she too joined in on the pinching of the fingers to pass the time.

It was only everynow and then she would hear scratching sounds from the room next to her and a low growl would reach her ears. She had not known that they kept animals as well as people here, then again she had not known about the doctor either. There were many things she was sure she didn't know about this place, and was not eager to find out.

One could reason that knowing was actually the reason she was stuck here in the first place. When she was younger she had made many friends fairly quckly and never had a dull moment to complain over. Her family had not objected and often encouraged her to go and indulge in the freedoms of 'play time.' Yet, as the years passed and she continued to make friends her family had all of a sudden collectively decided her playmates were not 'healthy' and that she should see someone. Someone that could help her, they said.

And so she had went to see the doctor and he had told her that her friends were not real, that she had to let go of such dellusions, but she could not understand how someone with a life story, experiences and memories could not be real. She knew they were all wrong, just as she knew it was wrong for the doctor's hand to sneak into her blouse or glide across her knee.

Sometimes when they had their appointments there were others in the room. Children around the age of nine to seventeen she assumed. They stood there watching with sad frightened eyes and sometimes she hated them. Hated that they would not tell, hated that he never turned to them, always going straight for her. It was her knowing that she should fight his advances that had condemed her. He was the doctor and she was the diagnosed crazy girl.

In the end he had won and had her committed; in the end he still tried to etch himself into her skin; in the end she had fought and they as a last resort had drugged her and locked her away. He came to visit faithfully after every injection, closing the heavy beast of a door behind him when he was done. In the end she could hear the voices yell in protest and there was that growling sound again in her ear.

"We're all mad here." A voice whispered from the darkness.

A/n- Hope you guys liked, I'm probably going to make this into a short story, I have a lot of ideas for this.