Summary: Emily is having blackouts: blackouts filled with vivid images and events in a strange, colorful world. Convinced she is going crazy, she seeks help…but all the psychiatric help in the world couldn't help her when she tumbles down a rabbit hole and finds herself in the place that has filled her blackouts.

Author's Note: Eventually I'll get around to the original idea I had for 2010 Alice…which was a rewrite of the end (I didn't like it. Boo.), but for now, this one seems to be taking precedence. Please excuse my late updates in advance. :P This is just a trial run, because I haven't posted in FOREVER. Let me know if I should continue, please. :)

PS: The title for this story comes from an incredible song of the same title, by a Dutch symphonic metal band called Epica. (Recommended for listeners of medium-heavy music, no less. THERE IS GROWLING. XD)

Pronunciation Notes: Papier is pronounced PAH-pee-yay.

"So, you've been having blackouts, Miss Harper?"

I nodded, resisting the urge to snuggle deep into the squishy sofa.

Mr. Millington, my psychiatrist—my third, in fact, in the past four months—made a note on his notepad. "And you see things during these blackouts?"

"Yes…the same place, usually. But different events."

He raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate?"

I pondered how best to describe my experiences for a moment before replying. "Well…I mean different events in the same place, same country, whatever you want to call it. It's like I'm seeing pieces of a country's history—taking part in them occasionally, too."

"How well do you remember these…events?"

"Perfectly. They aren't the clearest things to begin with, but I remember everything I saw…like it really happened." I sighed. I was sounding crazier by the second. Any moment now I'd be referred to an asylum, just like the last two times. I wasn't going to an asylum, that was for sure.

Mr. Millington made another note. "Could you describe a specific event for me? A really vivid one, if you please."

That took me a moment—I'd been having these weird blackouts for five months, and selecting one happenstance would be tough. After a while, I settled on a semi-recurring one. "There's one that's happened several times, but each time it's slightly different—the conversation, where I'm sitting, the weather… I'm at a tea party, with some really—odd people."

"What do you mean by odd?"

I frowned. "Mad, if you want the truth. They're completely and utterly mad."

He made a note. "Do they have names?"

"Sort of?" I posed it as a question, beginning to feel more and more unsure.

Mr. Millington looked at me over the top of his glasses.

"I mean…they have weird names. The March Hare, the White Rabbit, and the Mad Hatter." I swallowed after saying the names: I was embarrassed. At one point I figured I just had an overactive imagination, but after I'd blacked out in the middle of a busy street, I sought help—it didn't change the crazy aspect of the sequences.

More notes. "The March Hare and the White Rabbit, you say? Are they animals, or are those just names?"

I blushed lightly. "They're animals. A hare and a white rabbit."

"And this Mad Hatter, is he…?"

"He's a hatter, yeah."

Mr. Millington made yet another note. "And you say you're at a tea party?"

I nodded, trying to regain my composure. "Yes. And it's more than just sitting there—I drink tea and eat cake, and I can actually taste it…I've blacked out when I was hungry, gone into a tea party dream, and come out not feeling hungry at all."

"The mind is a strange thing, Miss Harper." He paused to make a few more notes, then asked, "How is your home life?"

That was unexpected. "It's…not wonderful. I live alone. My parents died when I was ten, and I was changing foster homes until I was old enough to leave."

Mr. Millington looked truly sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Miss Harper." He hesitated, then said, "Your dreams could be a result of your childhood trauma—a result of some hidden desire to go someplace better, perhaps."

It was an interesting theory, one that I didn't subscribe to. "I'm happy being out of those foster homes, Mr. Millington."

He smiled. "Yes, but how happy are you? My guess is even you don't really know that—we're all capable of deluding ourselves. And when we are, it's such a task to stop the delusion."

I went home with a prescription for anti-depressants, one that I would probably never fill—I wasn't depressed, I knew that. I'd even taken almost every single online test for depression I could, and I never was told I was depressed. And there was no way I was "deluding" myself into thinking I was happy: I had an apartment, a steady job, and an overall stable life, despite my glaring lack of family and friends. Sure, it might've been nice to have friends…but I tended to scare everyone away with my weird blackouts.

Ok, so not everything was perfect: there was the whole issue of the blackouts, but I was working on it. They weren't getting better, but…I still had hope.

I spent the rest of the day on my sofa, reading a book: The Two Towers. I always enjoyed reworking my way through the Lord of the Rings trilogy, preceded by The Hobbit and with a follow-up of The Silmarillion. I grinned as I read one of Treebeard's mildly nonsensical lines.

I was at a party—all around me were happy, dancing people, laughing and talking or just sipping drinks and enjoying each other's company. About twenty-five feet away was a beautiful woman with white hair, in a white dress and on the back of a white horse. She caught my eye and smiled, mouthing, 'Welcome back, Emily.'

This took me aback, but I waved all the same. Who was she, though? A name floated on the edge of my memory, just out of reach… Of course. Mirana, the White Queen.

"Emily!"

I looked up sharply to see a pale-faced man with colors around his eyes, a top hat, and bright orange hair coming up to me, a big grin on his face. His eyes were electric green, fitting rather well with his colorful attire and altogether eccentric appearance. "You've returned after all," he said warmly.

"Erm—yes, I have." I grinned nervously. "How are you?"

His voice grew dark, suddenly gaining a Scottish lilt, and the color around his eyes turned to grey. "Oh, rather wonderful."

I was taken aback by this change, but something told me it was nothing to worry about. "That's always good to hear," I responded. "So…what's the party for?"

The darkness around his eyes faded back to its usual color. "There has to be a reason?" He asked, confused.

"Well…I suppose not," I conceded. What was his name? I was so close, so very close… Ah! He was the Mad Hatter—someone I'd told-

-my psychiatrist about.

I let out a cry as I realized I'd blacked out again. Looking around myself, I discovered, to my horror, that I was on the roof of my apartment building—a cold gust of wind whipped my hair around, chilling me further. Thankfully I wasn't anywhere near the edge, but still…what if I'd stayed in the blackout for longer? Would I have killed myself? It was a sickening thought.

Almost going at a run, I returned to my apartment, sinking gratefully back onto the sofa. My book was bookmarked, sitting neatly on the table—it was as if it was mocking me. Apparently I cared deeply for books, even when blacked out.

That had been a bad blackout: it had lasted for more than fifteen minutes, an abnormally long time. Usually they were only about five minutes in length, if that. But this one…this one had been scary long. I had a sinking feeling they were getting worse.

I went to the bathroom, peering at myself in the mirror. My eyes were blue, but reddish around the blue—my red hair, usually nicely wavy, was somewhere between straight and waved from not having been washed in a few days. I had on no makeup, my pale red eyelashes sharply offsetting the blue-black circles underneath my eyes.

In short, I looked awful—sure, I could clean myself up, but why bother? Who was I going to show off to? Sighing at myself, I slouched into my bedroom, flopping down on the bed and curling up, hoping to avoid anymore blackouts.

I did, sort of. I relived earlier blackouts, replaying them all like some sort of twisted movie—I was the fly on the wall, forced to watch everything I'd done in that strange land. It was particularly hard to watch the time I'd slapped the Mad Hatter when he'd gotten angry at me—needless to say I left the dream-state right afterwards, and next time apologized, but still…I had slapped someone. Even if it was inside a dream, I felt awful about it. It was the sort of thing I would never forgive someone for, but the Hatter had.

"Oh, listen to yourself. You're talking about figments of your imagination!" I berated myself, upon exiting up after a particularly nasty dream-memory, when I'd nearly fallen off a cliff. I then groaned. And now I'm talking to myself. Great.

The phone rang suddenly, jolting me out of my thoughts. I hurried to pick it up—but the second my hand touched the receiver, the ringing stopped. Startled, I removed my fingers…

Ring! Ring!

Ok, this was getting seriously off-kilter. I pulled my mobile out to check it, but it wasn't ringing, and there weren't any missed calls. My landline was still ringing insistently, so I went to pick it up again—and yet again, the ringing stopped. Irritated and more than a little unsettled, I picked it up…only to hear the dial tone.

"Whoever's messing around with me, you can stop it," I said aloud, trying to swallow my fear.

Something sharp poked my ear, and I hurriedly dropped the receiver, wondering what had hurt me…and then I noticed the envelope squeezing itself out of the phone. I screamed, but then clapped my hands over my mouth—it was just an envelope, after all.

The envelope finished its difficult journey out of the receiver, only to fall harmlessly to my kitchen floor. It lay there innocently, face-down so I couldn't see the front.

Swallowing past my dry throat, I bent and picked it up, turning it over. Black ink in swirly lettering spelled out my name: Emily Harper. This was getting too freaky—I wondered briefly if I was having a blackout, but that particular tether to reality didn't jerk me out like realistic things usually did, so I had to accept that this was very real. Or I was crazier than before.

I opened the envelope, pulling out the folded parchment.

It was blank.

This was quickly becoming a very sick joke. I tossed the paper and envelope away, about to scream something, when…

"Ouch! That wasn't very nice, now was it?"

This time I really screamed, until my voice gave out from the exertion.

"Hmph. Are you quite finished? That was rather painful, Miss Harper."

It took me several seconds to get my breath back, and my voice—and then I noticed the ink-face that had appeared on the parchment. This was quickly becoming like one of my blackouts. "Did you just talk?" I asked softly.

The face rolled its eyes. "Duh! Who else would be talking? Unless you happen to have any animals, of course." Its expression became sour. "I really hate cats," it grumbled. The voice was definitely male, and sounded…irate.

"Paper doesn't usually talk," I protested, sitting down beside him. My head was spinning wildly—it was all I could do not to run away, and very fast.

He smirked. "Well, I'm not just any paper."

"So I see," I said dryly. Jeez, this conversation was quickly leaving the 'believable' and going towards 'ridiculous.'

The ink-face cleared his 'throat' and said, "Right, then. You are Emily Harper, yes?"

I swallowed. "Um…yeah…how did you know that?"

"I was sent here, duh. How else would I know?"

I was really beginning to get freaked out—this was totally insane, just like me…hah. "Right, so, um…Mr. Piece of Paper-"

"Papier."

"Excuse me?" It sounded French, but I couldn't be sure—I hadn't taken French in years.

He sighed. "My name is Papier."

Ok, so it was French. "Isn't that French for paper?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's Underlandish for glorious messenger, if that's what you mean," Papier corrected haughtily. "Anyway, Miss Harper, I was sent here to invite you most cordially to a party in honor of the one-year anniversary of the most glorious Frabjous Day."

It took me several seconds to process what he'd just said. "Excuse me?" I finally asked, feeling hopelessly lost.

Papier rolled his eyes. "I said, I was sent here-"

"No, I know what you said…I don't get what you mean. What's the Frabjous Day?"

Another ink-eye roll. It was getting irritating. "Ugh, you stupid Overlanders. The Frabjous Day is the day Alice slayed the fearsome Jabberwocky! Honestly, do I have to explain everything?"

"Well…you're a messenger, sort of, right? Isn't that kinda your job?" I suggested. This entire thing was 100% surreal now, past the stage of ridiculousness. I was having a conversation with a piece of paper that called itself the French word for paper. And here I was thinking Papier was crazy… The irony was almost too much.

Papier smirked. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Anyway, you'd better get prepared for a bit of a journey, Miss Harper."

"Woah, who said I was going anywhere?" I cried, springing to my feet.

With a sigh, Papier floated to eye level—I nearly shrieked, but managed to keep the sound inside. "Me. You were invited by the White Queen, Overlander. You'd be stupid not to attend."

I grimaced. "Who's the White Queen?" I asked, feeling a little sheepish—I'd been invited to something by a queen?

"Mirana of Marmoreal…haven't you heard of her?"

I shook my head, eliciting another eye-roll from Paper. "Honestly! She's the queen of Underland, silly."

Once again, I had to pause to take everything in. "So the queen of the place you're from—Underland—invited me to a party for the one-year anniversary of the slaying of some creature by some girl named Alice?" I clarified, in one breath.

Papier nodded, beaming. "Yes! Alice is an Overlander, like yourself…we're having some trouble locating her. Do you know her, by any chance?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so. What's her last name?"

"Um…Kingsley. I think."

For once, Papier was unsure of something. I had to fight not to grin. "Nope, sorry, I don't know any Alice Kingsley."

Papier circled me, looking as if he'd seen me for the first time. "What sort of ridiculous outfit is that? You're not at all proper—I've got no idea why the White Queen would want you around," he sniffed arrogantly.

I glared at him. "What are you talking about? This is perfectly normal!" I was only wearing jeans and a t-shirt, for heaven's sake. Papier was really beginning to get on my nerves.

"Normal? You're mad. Not saying I'm not, of course, but you're madder than me! Why aren't you wearing a dress?"

"Because I hate dresses," I growled, turning away from the infuriating floating paper.

Papier snickered. "Well, you're going to have to wear one when you go to the party."

I struggled to maintain my composure. "I'm not going to any party," I said stiffly.

"You have to."

Finally, on the verge of losing my temper, I rounded on Papier. "No. I. Don't," I snarled, pointing a finger in his direction. "And you'd better leave now, before I stick you in the fire!" I probably wouldn't, but he didn't know that.

Unfortunately, my threat did nothing. "You've got no choice," he laughed, obviously pleased with himself.

"Oh, really?" I grumbled. "I beg to differ."

"Beg all you want," said Papier. "You've got to go, because you're the only way I can get back—so if you don't go, you're stuck with me. Forever."

I froze, staring at the paper in horror. And then I passed out.