A/N: Basically, Alice's life...from birth to asylum. And anything else she has no memory of. =)
1901.
"...Mary Alice Brandon..."
"Isn't she just a beaut?"
"Her hair..." A gasp. "...how unusually /dark/ it is..."
"She'll be the perfect lady...ah, the men that this little one will fluster..."
The room roared with giggles. In the middle, a small wooden carriage stood; the bundle of joy only merely slivering through the thick of blankets and garments that she bore. Her blue eyes twinkled with glee at the attention that she was gathering. Small, olive toned hands clenched at the hem of her dress, feet kicking as her eyes scanned the room around her.
Grins flooded the faces.
"Look at her!" One chirped, picking the girl up in a fluid movement. Her hands hooked around the little one's arms, perching her upon her side with a flurry of giggles.
"Energetic little Mary..." The woman tapped the tip of the girl's nose. "You'll make your dear ol'mother proud. I just have that feeling that /you'll/ be the one. To continue our name well into the next century..."
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1906.
Her gown clenched at every which way, leaving her back stiff as she leaned back against the dining room chair. A blur flashed across the side of her eye. Snapping her head, she came into sight of her little Mary Alice, tumbling down to the freshly drawn out carpet.
"Oh, Mary!" She cried with a tsk of the tongue.
The mother's hands clenched at the hem of her dress, heels clicking as she made her way to her fallen angel. She crouched down, and -- forgetting completely of the grand possibility that her dress could wrinkle in a manner that simply could not be fixed -- her hands dropped with a furrow of a brow.
Her green eyes bored into Mary Alice's widened, seeming lifeless eyes.
Fluidly, they sought the skin of her first born, to comfort her shocked child....but as her hands picked her brunette Mary Alice up, the reel had taken a dramatic cut. Leaving the girl in a state that her mother thought not that she could remove her from. Cries escaped her rose-toned lips; Mary's head creasing as her lips quivered in utter fear.
Underneath the widened eyes of the toddler, the scene played out once more. The images seemed to be sketched through her mind as her mother lifted her up, heading towards the chilly evening in hopes that the change of room would be a comfort to her dear little one.
A revolver to the head. Blood smeared in every which way. Cold, sweating hands clenching around her.
It had flashed in and out in less than a minute.
Tears continued to swell in her blue eyes, as her dark lashes fluttered at the scenery about her. "Mama?" She spoke in a soft, brittle hush. She could feel warm arms twisted around her, but no face to ease her nerves. Turning her head about, she was met with a sight of darkening blue eyes whom too were welding up with moisture.
"It happened again. Didn't it?"
Mary Alice's head pressed against her mother's chest, hiding herself from the accusing glare that she knew well that she had bored upon her face. "N-no."
Her mother's hands pressed against her back, soothing her muscles with a sigh. No words were spoke, but inside of the caregiver's mind, havoc and chaos reeked with thoughts that she never dared nor dreamed of ever having.
What /was/ she suppose to do? The outbreaks of 'dream' like states flooded her baby's life; she could remember more of her 'moments' than she could remember of the times that were keystones of her life.
/This/, she thought with a stern sigh, wasn't at all how she wanted her firstborn's life to be. Having the focus put upon her 'flaws' rather than her achievements.
She had spoken to her husband concerning the manner...but, the conversation had ceased as his fist pounded on the table, his eyes ending the conversation into it's entirely. Or, at the least, for that day. The next, she had heard, he had spoken to a mental hospital near by and then a local church.
The church, she knew dearly well, was brought into his small expedition for the manner of whether or not Mary Alice was becoming an unspeakable was conversed heavily in their short lit discussion.
She shuddered. /Her/ angel? Being one of...them? Never, she thought, as arms tightened around her little one. If she were to be convicted of witchcraft, she would taint the name that they worked to gain. Rumors would spill left and right, their name, their blood becoming filthy; monsters in the eyes of society.
Her heart wrenched as a final thought flowed through her mind as a gunshot bombed through the forest about them.
Mary Alice would be taken.
Screeching Mary Alice's hands clenched against her mother's dress. "It's happening! It's happening!" Her voice was creaking on the line of sanity and insanity; the tone of how she spoke being not human in any sort of manner.
Mary Alice's body tensed, anticipating the scene that she was playing through her mind like a broken record.
Revolver. Blood. Hands. Revolver. Blood. Hands. Revolver. Blood. Hands. Revolver. Blood. Hands. Revolver. Blood. Hands. Revolver. Blood. Hands. Revolver. Blood. Hands. Revolver. Blood. Hands.
Eyes shifting around, she began to see shadows. Shadows every which way; all who seemed to be clenching around her.
Her small hands slapped against each ear, eyes shutting closed with a whimper. Her voice faltered as she spoke, but yet she continued. "It's happening! It's happening! It's happening! It's happening! It's happening! It's happening! It's...h-happening....h-happening...."
One of the shadows stepped out of the shadows; a sliver of silver gleaming against the night moon.
Blood dripped in every which way, as it's shadowed hand clicked the gun against it's side of it's head.
Another explosion.
Chilled hands clenched tighter around her, as wind whisked through her dark locks. Her small hands outstretched towards her vision, tears welding once more.
"W-wait....p-please" She wanted to help, somehow, somewhere. To have it -- whatever it was -- to tell her the answers that she wanted to know. Why was /this/ happening to me? Why do I dream the way that I do?
Her words were far too late.