Poison in Heartland
Disclaimer: I do not own Heart no Kuni no Alice.
She could remember. Vaguely, but still, she remembered.
The sunlight had been golden; grass swaying with the breeze. Her dress was of white billowing cloth. Her bare feet trekked across this swaying grass; skin exposed to this golden light. Everything seemed surreal. It was like a dream.
She remembered blood. It had felt like warm rain going down her figure; thin and sticky between her fingers; a bitter tang within her mouth. Her vision was leaving her, along with the precious drops that speckled a trail behind her. Any sense of feeling had long ago abandoned the blood-crusted fingers clutching her side.
With every step she winced. Her body trembled without consent. Her tears flowed down her face exactly like the blood. It was here she knew she would die; fly away like cotton on the breeze. She was afraid, yes, but had no protest.
With that decision, she fell. The world turning, followed up by a slam so hard it knocked the breath out of her. She choked out crimson blood through her chapped lips; finger nails digging into the earth. The sun now glared directly in her eyes; a merciless white. She reached out towards the magnificent sun with blood and soil crusted fingers, gripping nothing but air.
She wanted to grasp the gentle hands of an angel. If this was death, then where was her angel? She searched with her fingers for another moment, but then they stilled in defeat. Of course she had no angel.
With that, she closed her eyes. There was no longer a world around her. Just the light shining through her eyes lids. Crimson continued to spill out her mouth. Breathing was becoming the hardest task. She wondered what awaited her. Was it Heaven? Hell? Was it nothingness that stretched on forever? She would find out soon.
So soon, that it startled her; the strong arms of what she assumed could only be God wrapping around her, lifting her up into the sky. There was a sway as she traveled, like that of a willow tree; the feel of cotton on the breeze.
Then a long terrifying fall; a fall that stretched on forever; her hair whipping around her face; wind roaring in her ears. Heaven was not down. Were these the coiling arms of a Demon instead? Was she fated to be taken to depths of Hell?
She opened her eyes just barely enough to see hair of flowing white, and eyes of red. Sinister and beady red eyes; definitely a demon. With an unheard plea of protest; she slipped into the chambers of unconsciousness.
She next awoke to the ink of night; winking speckles of light scattered across the above. She raised trembling fingers once again, an inaudible whisper of confusion passing through her lips.
Though inaudible, it caused the grass to respond in a subtle rustle, and then a delicate thud, as something settled beside her. She turned her head weakly to the right, and was regrettably greeted by familiar eyes of red, coming to lean over her, blocking her view of the starry above. Such a figure made her cringe. She was afraid.
A gentle gloved palm came to rest on her cheek; warm and soothing, a touch not foreseen to belong to a demon with sinister eyes of red. She leaned into it; fore an act of affection was unfamiliar to her. Something she thought she had forgotten long ago. Perhaps the red–eyed demon was an angel after all.
Before her dazed mind could react, the gentle hand slid to her chin raising it, and then the whitest of hair brushed against her cheeks. Ghostly lips came down to cover hers, seconds later the taste of liquid fire passing through them. She winced as it burned down her throat; raising her arms to fight back, and shoving the demon away with fist force. She coughed violently, liquid trickling out the side of her mouth.
She shook with protest as the demon's arms wrapped around and under her, lifting her up; raising her to the sky as it had before. A vial of cold glass was placed within her palm. She gripped it tightly, the taste of spicy liquid still attacking her throat. She coughed again; flailing with new determination, but the demon failed to budge. Her actions in protest were futile, so she relaxed in defeat. Her head fell to the demon's arm, and she retreated within the chambers of dark once again. The vial fell from her fingers. Different hands would stop to pick it up.
There were whispers, many of them. They were blurry, an annoyance to her half-conscious state. Her eyes drifted open, sunlight painfully greeting her. She swallowed, though none of the burning liquid remained within her throat. Thirst and hunger bombarded her.
She propped herself up on her elbows, messy black hair fell in her eyes. It was crusted with dried blood. Blood! She recalled her memories from before, her death and the…demon! She looked around frantically from side to side. He wasn't here now. Then what were the voices? How come she was no longer injured? Surely where she was now couldn't be Hell. Hell was supposed to be a horrible place.
She inhaled a deep breath. Well, she was certainly alive. She turned her head to the voices; blocked behind a heavy oak door. She retreated back down into sheets of pale rose. A gold-trimmed blanket of white enfolded her frame. Her dirtied hand moved to grasp it, casting it swiftly beside her. She swung her legs to the side, her bare feet meeting the cold wood. It made her slightly shiver.
What was once crimson casually flaked off of her dress as brown. The white fabric could be describes as nothing other than ruined. She looked around the room once more. A wardrobe existed not fifteen feet away. An open doorway leading to a small bathroom was beside it. She hesitated to go near. Would it be ok? Wasting other peoples shower water? Putting on their clothes? She couldn't go out anywhere dressed like this, but if she used the shower, she could be doing something wrong.
She shook off the thought, deciding to take a risk, and apologize later. Her feet traveled across the wooden floor to the bathroom, and she entered tentatively.
After showering, drying off, combing her hair, and etc., she opened the heavy wardrobe to find nothing inside but dresses. Layers and layers of strange dresses, resembling a fabric rack. Well, that, and strange guy clothes. The white one which she had worn had been nothing to her but involuntary; the most loathsome of obligations, now residing at the bottom of the bathroom trashcan.
She pulled out some of the male attire, deciding with quite unique logic that being a cross-dresser was better than wearing another dress. She quickly dressed herself within the fabric, and then touched it gently in admiration. A little heavy, but not something she would sweat in. The clothing was grand. It reminded her of the Knights of the Round Table. She lacked nothing but a sword.
In a newly somewhat good mood, she stepped with valiant leather boots across to the intimidating door of oak. It swung open with power. Predictably, a hallway was on the other side. The voices that had once been, now were vanished. She placed her foot tentatively out into the hall, hesitating for the longest of moments, before making a decision that it was safe.
Her knightly-clad form then embarked down the hallway, until she reached fine carpeted staircases, feathery crimson upon the hard surface of wood; step after step downward spawned another great echo; voices below traveled up to her ears. A palace, she assumed. A palace of vibrant color, yet doused within grimly aura. Such an aura she was familiar with.
Nearing the bottom, she sped up; another step of too-large leather boots. A stumble was not foreseen. She let out a cry, tumbling ungracefully forward. She knew she was going to be severely hurt. Would it magically heal like the last time? Or would the land be fatal?
She braced herself for great pain, but that is not what greeted her. It was a feeling that was quickly becoming familiar. The grip of gloved hands pulled her back, and then captured her in secure embrace. Her heart had jumped with panic, now pounding as hard as a hammer. Just seconds before, she would have landed on her neck. How ironic it was her demon that had saved her, he who had fallen with her fall before.
She stood frozen for a second, her breathing fast, until she was brave enough to turn around. She was not met with the sight she expected; instead, an impassive human face, round rimmed glasses, and the long soft ears of a rabbit. She instinctively tried to bounce back in surprise; however the arms did not release her, their grip tightening. Was this creature not a demon at all? Like some kind of albino anthropomorphic human-rabbit crossbreed? How was that even possible?
"Thanks...You saved my life…but what are you?" She whispered. The demon's expression became solemn, a hand moving to his chin. "You don't remember anything...do you Gwendolyn? You tried to kill me." Gwendolyn's eyes became large. "What? I would have never tried anything like that!" Her voice was tinged with slight doubt.
He watched her closely for a second, and then responded with a simple: "I see." The arm uncurled from around her, a gloved hand now grasping her own. "I am Peter White. You may seek me out at any time. For now, though, we mustn't keep Queen Vivaldi waiting."
Blue eyes widened in alarm; refrained questions now spilling out. "Wait, a queen? Just where am I, and how did you bring me here? How did I heal? What are you? Why would I try to kill-" His finger silenced her lips. "You will find out all that soon. Come on now, we mustn't be late." He tugged her forward a step, however, she pulled her hand away. "How can I trust that a demon is telling me the truth?"
Peter blinked, head tipped to the side curiously. "You think I am a demon?" Gwendolyn nodded. Peter raised his fingers to his chin again. "Ah, that is interesting." His expression then changed, becoming a wide grin. "Gwendolyn, I promise you I am nothing of the sort." She backed up a step. She was not convinced. "Then why did I try to kill you?" His only answer was a smile.
Quite an intimidating sight, she who was empowered and confident, perched upon the throne. Gwendolyn felt uneasy being in such a presence. The towering queen observed her for a bit before speaking. "Welcome to The Country of Hearts foreigner. We are Vivaldi, The Queen of Hearts. White has already informed us of your arrival." Gwendolyn nodded; her feet shifted from side to side. "Um, thank you for welcoming me." She said in politeness.
The queen nodded. "You will be living here at Heart Castle." Curly purple hair shifted as Vivaldi tipped her head. "Though, we do not see the vial within your palm. Where is it?" Gwendolyn frowned, shaking her head. "Vial?" Suddenly surfacing, the memory of glass placed within her hand by gloved fingers. "Wait I remember." Her expression turned malicious, a finger now targeting Peter. "Hey, what the hell did you make me drink you demon!"
The queen answered for him. "By drinking the liquid within the vile, you are now a part of the game, outsider." A frown formed on Gwendolyn's face. "The game? Is it a special game or something?" Vivaldi's face remained impassive. "That's right. A very special kind of game; the more people you become acquainted with in Wonderland, the more liquid will appear within the vile; only then, may you return to your world, though it cannot be alone." She bit her lip; a skeptical tone to her voice. "So, in order to leave here I just need to fill the vile up , drink it again, and then leave with some volunteer?" Vivaldi nodded. Gwendolyn's eyes darkened with suspicion. "That's too simple. There's a catch, isn't there?"
A small chuckle came from Peter; the queen's face was unreadable still. "You need to find your lost vial first, outsider." A nod of her head, before her face switched from frown to one of anxiety. She shifted her eyes to the ground, before hesitantly addressing the queen again. "If I go back, will I die for real this time?" Once again she got no answer. Vivaldi's face betrayed nothing, nor did Peter's. Silence carried on for a minute before the queen dismissed her.
Peter joined her on her way out. It was a silent reunion, a simple exchange of indifferent expressions. It was only after they started walking, that gloved fingers slipped in through hers, intertwining. This action was performed as if it had been done time and time before; the most natural thing in the world; a habit not yet broken. Even with lack of memory, it was from this action she knew; Peter White had to have been telling her the truth; why she would try to kill him, she could not be certain.
One thing for certain, though, was that Peter White knew her far better than she had realized before.
Gwendolyn is a little twisted, no? You have seen nothing yet. Lol.
Is Peter in character?
This is my first story, so I am very knew to this story posting stuff. :d
Flames are welcome. Yay fire!
I could also use all the help I can get, so add you opinions and input. :3