Author Notes: This is the first time in a few years that I've been on and writing a story and publishing for the world to see. I've recently gotten into the Alice in Wonderland fandom and I'm a big 'Halice' fan so expect to see some Alice and Hatter one-shots popping up from time to time – but for now, I'm happy to introduce this one and I just hope all the time away from writing hasn't made me rusty and that my original character Marianne doesn't become a Mary-Sue. [Really funny as her nickname is Mary].

I don't own Alice in Wonderland or the movie version this is based on, I just claim ownership of Marianne Kingsleigh who is the granddaughter of Alice Kingsleigh – so I don't even know how I can claim ownership of her after all XD

Chapter One

"Hurry up…. Hurry up…" The five year old grew more impatient with anticipation as she bounced on her bed staring at her grandmother who was at the bedroom door. "Grannnnndma." She whined as she clasped her legs to her chest and batted her eyelids. "I want to know more." Marianne Kingsleigh was always this way. Whenever spending the afternoon with her grandmother she would become hyperactive and excited by the stories that she told her.

"Relax, dear, I'm coming." Her grandmother spoke finally making her way and gently sitting beside her on the bed. She pushed stray strands of ebony hair that had fallen out of the child's ribbon behind her ear. It was almost as if she had the same problem with her hair that she had. It never wanted to be restrained apparently. "Which of our friends do you want to hear about today?"

Marianne glanced up at her grandmother studying her kind face. At forty years old she didn't appear like any other grandmother she had seen around in their little city. Her long blonde hair was always shiny and she didn't have any wrinkles. It hadn't come into the little girl's mind to know that this was just because her friend's grandmothers were older than hers.

"Ummm." What a question! How was she supposed to answer that one? Marianne loved every single one of the 'friends' that her grandmother told her about. She loved every character so much she almost believed them to be real. That was just the true magic about stories though. They could come alive when you hear about them. If only she could have dreamt about them. Marianne never seemed to have the blessing her grandmother had. She always told her that they were found in her dreams.

Green eyes of curiosity dashed between one sides of the room to the other as she thought. She was one of those children that wouldn't sit still unless she was given a reason to sit. The stories were a good enough reason for Marianne, but when she couldn't think of which to hear, her mind always began to race – when she imagined the characters – her mind became active once more. Her grandmother knew this look – she placed her hand onto Marianne's hands.

"Well Mary how about I decide and make it a surprise?" This question seemed to be enough for Marianne as she nodded her head frantically as if she was thrilled with the concept. That was something that was different between the two. Her grandmother detested surprises and Marianne seemed to love them. She had noticed a contradiction in this though – if the surprise involved Marianne, like a birthday gift, or any gift of any sort, Marianne had to know instantly. Wasn't that the same with any child though?

Her grandmother sat back on the bed and pulled Marianne close. "I want to hear about the Cheshire cat." Her grandmother gave her a look. Wasn't she supposed to decide for her? Marianne giggled as she moved her hand to her face realising she had decided for her as always. She loved watching her grandmother's nose wrinkle up as she rolled her eyes and nodded her head. Marianne's pulse raced in excitement – these stories entertained her more than the real world.

Marianne enjoyed hearing the stories of the always grinning cat, the Mad Hatter, the March hare, the Dormouse and the two Queens. What she almost loved more than those characters was the champion of Underland – that was the place where the stories took place – the champion was apparently a young blonde woman with unruly hair and kind eyes. The champion was named Alice. Marianne always countered her grandmother when the champion was mentioned.

"But that's your name!"

Fifteen years later

She wriggled with the fabric of her heavy dress as she walked her way from the top landing to the bottom floor, the footsteps echoing around the stuffy room as Marianne Kingsleigh – now a twenty year old young woman – opened the front door to her grandmother's house as she decided she would go for a read in the park. Her long hair flew behind her like a dress train as she looked around the garden.

"Good morning." She whispered as she walked past a neighbour with her grandmother as they were enjoying a 'spot of tea' in the morning. How her grandmother loved tea. Marianne could vaguely remember the reason why. The more she grew up and the less her grandmother told her of her favourite stories, the less Marianne remembered. Yet, she still remembered enough to know she loved the stories.

"Now Mary, don't forget you have your lesson today." Marianne stopped dead. She was so hoping that trip to the art gallery would have been forgotten. She didn't like the educational visits to somewhere that would almost feel like hard work. The girl loved learning things when it seeped naturally into her brain – not when it hard to be forced. Marianne turned to face her grandmother. She smiled slightly as she glanced at the neighbour.

"I was hoping that would be off." The neighbour who was casting disapproving eyes on Marianne for speaking back to her grandmother was none more than Mrs Krevoy. She was as thin as a rake and her clothes almost seemed as if she made a wrong move they would slip off of her. She was much younger than her grandmother but she always took time to ensure her grandmother had company – which Marianne guessed – in a way – was nice. "Do I have to?" She knew from the way her grandmother looked at her, that yes, this trip to the museum appeared to be something she couldn't ignore.

Marianne was one of the lucky girls around this area of England. Where all the other young women of her age were being carted off to find rich husbands, forced into corsets and stockings, and became bland, thoughtless girls who did only what their newly found husbands asked. Marianne was being taught to think her own mind, read and write – to become educated – so that one day she could find a job for herself, or become part of the family business her father took over from her grandmother after her grandfather died. This was mostly why Marianne lived with her grandmother.

Her mother died giving birth to Marianne after a complication. Her father being the man he was; dull and boring as Marianne would say; always spent time away in China or America with the trading company to find new deals and – as he would put it – keep a roof over the family's head. Edward Kingsleigh-James was one of the men who knew his position in life and would do anything to keep it there. He was frown upon more for leaving his daughter to be raised by his own mother, but he was doing his best to keep his face known on the upper level of this Victorian society.

"Why can't you come with me, it would be good for you to leave the house." Marianne spoke, although her grandmother left the house frequently – she might have been sixty but Alice Kingsleigh never would let herself grow old without fighting against it. She was always strong and thought for herself, which was why when she got married to a man she met aboard a ship to America when she was dealing for the business she kept her own surname and hyphenated with his. This was out of respect to her father who she honoured and loved as much as Marianne loved her.

Marianne never expected her grandmother to be the type of woman to have married. She was thankful – for if she hadn't then it would have been very unlikely that Marianne herself would be standing here breathing. When her grandmother told her just to go and get ready for her lesson, she had no choice but to listen. What was so important about this art gallery – she must have been there half a dozen times a year since it opened. Her grandmother taught her the beauty of art. She explained how sometimes even when you have the ugliest of paintings before you if you look at it hard enough, you'll see the beauty inside.

"Yes, grandmother."