Buried in Water
"I love you so much, I'm going to let you kill me."
…
Summary:
Wonderland is not that whimsical thought anymore. And for the moment, Alice awakes, only to find the sun glaring down at her and her sister's ghost haunting her. Her dreams lied to her so sweetly. Why couldn't reality do the same?
Warnings/Author's Notes (Please Read).:
This was going to be the ending from my story: No Sabbath on Sunday. But I've been too busy to finish the blasted fic (I'm signing up for the Peace Corps, and I'm volunteering for Red Cross). This two-shot was going to conclude the ending, but I transformed it to something more horrifying: reality.
You'll see everyone, no worries. But this explains Alice's time in Wonderland and how she'll never be truly right with the world she was born in.
This leaves Alice with questions, like, is Wonderland real or not? Was Wonderland created to hide a deeper, darker problem? It wasn't Alice's love life that suffered, it was the mention of her older sister.
Rating:
High rating. I balanced it between a Teenage – Mature rating, considering I didn't detail the adult situation. Though, this could be triggering to some. So read with caution! Heaven knows, I wouldn't want you all to feel uncomfortable.
Dark, horror, mystery, romance.
…
Part one.
1.
"Never fade in the dark."
Wonderland burned underneath her, glass shattered, and the looking-glass mocked her. She thought she was doing so well, too. Certainly, Alice believed that time slowed and favored her. Really, she spent too much time looking out of rose-colored glasses; she was charmed with rhymes from Wonderland locals, bewildered by animals that showed a hint of gentleman ethic through honeyed words and pinstriped clothes, and distracted by various, exquisite teas and cakes she never learned the names of.
That was clearly her downfall; a folly that she must swallow and freely fall into the void of nothingness and colorless backdrops.
All Alice remembers is staring up at the smog-smitten skies, thumbing over portraits of blurred stars with her ocean eyes. She's talking, but no words come from her busted lips, and then she remembers she was chanting a prayer to save her soul in her delusion; her undertones are broken, the back of her throat burned by inhaling the ash around her. Her mouth is dry and dehydration sits in rather cruelly while she licked at her dry lips, tasting iron and salt that stained her porcelain flesh. She clearly hoped God had an apology to give her for all that he's done to her here.
Alice fought so hard; she tried not to forget who she was – or where she hailed from, but all that waltzed into her mind was the repetition of her name. Over and over again. The name on the tip of her tongue drove her mad, for it was the only link to her sanity. Her past. Her old world that prided upon literatures and the norm over everyday life such as religion and politics and family status.
She's still, fumbling over the current event and the peaceful dread of dying. Alice has thought long and hard over how dying would feel like. How the idea of being replaced would never occur. Thankfully, she embraces that idea of morbid glee; she would never wish for someone to live in her shoes - that would be too evil on her end. She continues to ponder over the feeling that dawns upon her, limbs unable to move, her preferable vision aware of the illuminating fires that bloomed around her in separate bonfires. She's so tired, though, it was a peaceful feeling. Her feeling is harmonized, and she hums an old sailor tune to make the process seem bearable.
What does dying feel like? Alice often asked one of the Jokers during her stays at The Circus, flipping through colored cards and raising her debt in Black Jack, staring at one of the personas behind a dealing table, a flicker of an oil lamb separating them within a smaller, personal tent that sat at the outskirts of forest. The men would answer her with silence and the regretful nature of a tragic smile. Silence was their answer, but the silence would leave Alice bitter; she merely believed they were toying with her, manipulating her with soft chuckles and lulling tunes. Now, silence spoke volumes to her; she understood the principle of silence, now.
Dying feels lonely. Dying is quiet and meek. A flame flickers on a wick, dulling, unknowing when death would blow it out. That – was the nature of dying. Alice didn't know if she should mourn over the silence, or rejoice over the absence of sound. But she now understood why The Jokers kept quiet. Not even their silver-tongue and brash language could save them from the creeping darkness of oblivion.
Alice slips into darkness, cradled against a warmth that floods then drains. Her fingers clench, strains, then falters against the fabric of her dress. The light behind her ocean eyes slowly fades, riddled lifeless and crystal in texture.
Alice dies looking up at the stars; constellations that subtly told stories of fabled foreign tales that she'll never learn.
Oddly, she feels water rush her in the afterlife, like laying out on the edge of a beach. This gives her a reason to jolt. Unlike Dante's Inferno, there was no River of Styx, only the horrifying truth of reality.
2.
"If I could be with you tonight, I would take you to sleep."
Alice wakes with a start. Her arms tangling in bedding, smothering out her heavy breathing that rises from her chest and haunts her ocean-complex eyes. She wants to scream under the pressure of never ending darkness, fingers grasping out in oblivion to touch a solid surface; she's greeted with the feel of flesh and the sight of an illuminating candle that draws near.
"Alice, stop, stop! It's me, my girl!" Alice is startled by the orange glow of a dancing wick, a low warmth pressed to her cheek to pull her out of illusions of false death. It's a hand. Her father's hand. She settles, eyes wide like the moon, following the aging eyes of her father's, staring at the shadows that defined her father's facial structure: solemn and tired. "There, there, little one. It was merely a dream."
Alice did not lift her head from her feathered pillow, her rope bed laid dead still under her weight. She hears an old creaking of wood, and the swaying sound of a familiar – yet foreign noise of her mother's old rocking chair that Alice bequeathed shortly after her mother's death. Her father settled on the wooden surface of the chair, leaning back and chuckling lightly over the situation.
"You've given me quite the scare, Alice. I had no idea you were sick. My, and out cold with a high fever for a day and a half." Mister Henry Liddell shifted and placed the candle holder back on Alice's nightstand, fingers clutching back over the frame of a bible that rested on a suited knee. He stared at his daughter for the moment, a soft smile replacing his usual thin line, his rounded specs hung low on the bridge of his nose. "Though, it shouldn't surprise me, my dear. You always seem to have a knack of falling asleep under the old oak around an odd hour of three.
"You're lucky an old student of mine was visiting to find you in your sicken predicament. He came rushing in through the kitchen of the manor, scaring your ol' Nan half to death. You know how she is with you around men. Poor fellow got quite a tongue lashing in the way he was holding you when he ran through the door." Alice is quiet, but Henry continues, slowly studying her. "Mister Comstock, the city doctor, came in around five today. Said you were the picture of health, but mentioned your lack in not drinking enough fluids. Truly, he was rather pensive in the reason why you wouldn't wake up. That goes saying, Alice, my dear, how are you holding up?"
She wasn't in pain. Her skin was not smothered in soot. She didn't smell of ash. She stared at her father quietly, ebbing away her horrifying nervousness.
"Truly," Alice finally inquired, her fingers feeling for clean sheets, untangled in a sea of creamed blankets. "It was only a dream." She mutters, but her eyes fail to stray from the matching blue of her father's wise-stricken ones.
"Pardon?" Henry quirks a gray brow, his glasses pushed up his nose and he leans closer to his middle child. He moves his bible from his lap and places the family book next to the candleholder on Alice's nightstand. The older man's hand draws near, inwardly distraught when she flinches to the simple touch; his daughter settles and closes her eyes to the soft touch of her father's hand against the hollow of her cheek.
"Nothing, Papa. But I fell asleep in the backyard? Honestly, I feel just fine," Alice pauses, then fakes a small laugh, too low to be audible to calm her father. "Or as well as I'll be." Her eyes flutter back open when her father's hand withdrawals, slowly sitting up.
"I see." Henry considers his daughter, sighing slowly and remembering just how tired he was, how terrified he was when he heard his former student calmly explain that he retrieved help for his lethargic daughter. "Even so, think about sleeping, my love. I'll have Nan make you a hardy breakfast of milk, eggs, and sweetened pastries. You deserve it, really. I'll sit here for a bit, take down notes for my next sermon." A pregnant pause, loving the soft curve of Alice's smile that silently promised that she was fine and all was well in her little world. "If you don't mind, love?"
"No, sir." Alice spoke so softly, so mousy, it was almost unbecoming of her. Though, the old dean only understood it as the partner to her sickness. She was exhausted, her lids barely bordering between the lines of sleep and being awake.
All was well until Alice asked a question, a taboo one, indeed. The good Mister Henry Liddell almost chocked upon such a request. He blamed it on her fever. She knew nothing of what she uttered. Though, the question was inquisitive enough to make him truly believe that Alice had no idea.
"Perhaps Lorina and Edith will join me if they're not too busy in their studies. I could even ask ol' Nan to make a picnic out of it, Papa. Would you like to join if I talk her into it?"
Henry stared at his Alice, horrified, then grief washed over him like a churning storm wave. The mention of Edith was understandable – Lorina, on the other hand, was dead, for a good three years now. God Bless her. His eldest beauty was captured by a sudden sickness of scarlet fever, the same fate bestowed upon the old dean's wife.
How could Alice ask such a question? She attended her older sister's funeral, she did. She was clothed in black, eyes distant and unnerving; he had to tell the house servants in secret to keep an eye over Alice's movements. He believed suicide was a factor, and her plight to grief would be unending, earthshattering. He's haunted over the lack of affection that Alice and her younger sister, Edith, now share.
He's already lost one daughter to a disease. He only hoped he didn't lose another to madness.
Mister Henry would have to pray, of course.
3.
"So long, my friends."
There is no God. Alice repeats the phrase over and over again in her head, chanting, damning whoever wished her a good morn' on a Sunday. Helplessly, she sits in the front pews of her father's church, holding the weight of a hem book, the frame threatening to fall from her weak grasp. Her lips quirk, and she pretends to sing a praise to God over all the goods he's given her.
Though, her father holding her down, reminding her that her sister has been gone and dead for a long time leads her to hatred. And when her father left her room, alone and startled, she cried. She hasn't cried in so long that it almost felt good – morphing into a throbbing headache, eating away at her sanity. She thumbs over her sister's old dresses, a scent of mothballs and honeysuckle lingers. Her ghost refuses to leave. Alice cannot see or hear her, but she can feel her, feel her beautiful mockingbird smile mirror against her.
She hated Wonderland and God.
She hated Wonderland for showing her a false kindness, and God for reaping whatever he wished.
Apparently, her memories of her sister denying Alice's teacher's advances, an old flame that Alice held dear, was actually a misunderstanding. Lorina actually married Alice's teacher, had a daughter in the union named Elizabeth. And, oh, how Elizabeth looked like her mother – the fine detail of sunshine tresses drawing out the loving low of ash-gray eyes.
She would forgive her older sister, Alice could never hate her for such a betrayal. The girl could never think of hating her sister while she held her sister's daughter's hand in her own. She remembered far too quickly the relationship of her family. Wonderland was simply not kind to Alice when she returned to reality, a nightmare of a gnawing dream. Alice forgot everything that hurt her, but remembered when Alice's father explained everything.
Alice's eyes would linger to the side, watching the way her Ex's eyes returned her wake; her lips thinned, and he returned her look with such mirth, though, the look was innocent enough. She's kind to her brother-in-law for the family's sake, for Elizabeth's sake – she's already lost her mother, she didn't need to lose more family members to petty things like the past.
Alice's eyes returned to the front, idly ignoring the godly message. The preacher's voice is ominous, loud, and reverberating against the solid surface of floors and cathedral backdrops of gothic walls and roofs; the glossy fixture of marble softly reflects the collection of white stemmed candles.
The preacher tells everyone to sit down, the sound of closing hem books follows the sound of his soft demand. Elizabeth fiddles with Alice's dress, sitting proudly on her lap to overlook the man behind the podium. Alice's lips presses against the back of her niece's head, listening to the muttering of babble from the little girl.
To Alice's other side, sits a man. A tall man with great height; he's handsome and fair, his choppy red hair frames his slender, pale face and brushes against the line of his jaw. His fox-tooth vest almost mimics her father's, and Alice can't help but not to stare. He's familiar and it startles Alice over the likeness of this gentleman's features, a man she was introduced to by her father, the same man that found her underneath the oak tree and was a study underneath her father as an intern during his teenage days.
The man's smiles are infections, riddling, and startling; they're hollow-point, and telling. He's missing his left eye; his green, good eye quizzical over surroundings. Though, he told Alice before the church's service that he lost his eye from a gun malfunction during his military service; the gun backfired when a bullet lodged, having the gun blow up in his face. It wasn't Alice who asked the poor man his personal affairs, but Edith during her flirtatious banter that ended – rather awkwardly.
He looked so much like The Joker from Wonderland, and it made Alice hate God and Wonderland a little bit more. Though, this man's coloring was wrong. His clothing was dark and natural, not riddled in reds and gold, just simple attire of an educated British man. Jokers' single eye was red, crimson, and abnormal. Not green and lovely and promising like the texture of a clover. But his smile – that smile tells her something is off and that she begins to question if she's dreaming again, caught between limbos.
Her father's old intern smiles down on Alice, nodding his head to Elizabeth when she grips the man's black undershirt, twisting his sleeve to gander his attention.
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. She does this." Alice whispers low and steady, but her voice is close to breaking. Her broken-china voice pleads for something better, and the man smiles.
"I do not mind, really." The man whispers back, intrigued by the curve of Alice's thin lips, her ocean eyes retreating nervously to the front. He narrows his good eye, his voice whimsical. "Your father mentioned his granddaughter, vaguely, mind you. She looks very much like you, Miss Liddell. She's precious."
Alice pauses, sighing softly. A conversation during a sermon? Now, how interesting.
"You'll have to see old photography of my older sister, Lorina. You'd change your mind, sir -,"
"- John," He interrupts her. "John Hargreaves, I'm the new English professor of Westminster School. And what a pleasure it is to be acquainted with you, Miss Liddell." He extends his hand out to her, but Elizabeth accepts his gesture instead; her small fingers wraps around a single, spiderlike finger. John's smile brightens, enthralled by the moment. Alice's fragile smile breaks the glass, looking up at the man to silently question him.
Edith's gaze rounds the side of John, her frown evident to her displeasure. Alice's brother-in-law looks to Alice's side, sizing the man up.
Service ends, and the church bustles with conversation.
4.
"There's a town there, I've been down there."
"Oh, Mister Hargreaves, you are planning in staying at my father's estate for a while, correct?" Edith smiles lightly, her arm looped underneath John's arm, standing by his side so closely within the courting fashion. Edith looked rather misplaced next to the stick-thin man, she was so much shorter compared to him – though, everyone seemed to look short next to Mister Hargreaves's abnormal height.
"Yes, of course. Only till my teacher's quarters are set up, but that would be the beginning of the next semester in two months." The professor's smile is light, his gaze faltered down at the young girl, quickly averting back to the sight before him.
Alice sat underneath the great oak where her sister used to read to her when she was so much younger. Now, Alice keeps tradition by slowly reading a passage to her niece. However, Elizabeth is distracted to the sway of grass, brushed by summer winds, fluttering the virginal white of her dress. Elizabeth slowly babbles, incoherent in her childlike charm, pulling dandelions by the roots of their beds and showing Alice her product.
Alice twiddled a stem between her index finger and her thumb, holding the spine of her book with her other hand. Elizabeth pulls Alice from her reading by falling onto her lap in a forced heap, leaving Alice to sigh and close the frame of her book; she's quick to grab her niece underneath her shoulders and dangle the little girl over her lap. Elizabeth, in turn, laughs and it strums Alice's vocal cords with the same amusement, bringing the child closer to her face and kissing the bridge of her tiny nose.
Edith frowns lightly to the fact that John gave Alice's frame a look over; his smiles always seemed to be more easily placed when he stared at her older sister. Subconsciously, Edith's grip on the man's arm tightens.
"Lovely day, right, Mister Hargreaves?"
"Aye, it is. A bit warm for long sleeves, however. Silly me for believing otherwise."
Edith, beforehand, had explained to her older sister over how lovely the professor was, and how excited she was in clearing the guest bedroom, a room below Alice's and hers, for Mister Hargreaves. The love-stricken girl would bestow her company to the struggling, young professor around noon for tea and tales. She was vexed by his subtle smile he would give her, leaving his door open to his study, fumbling over documents and transcripts of students whom signed up for his fall semester classes.
Edith asked him about his family and he told her that his father was once a lion tamer for the Royal Circus that traveled the outskirts of London, his mother was a struggling writer; women writers were disregarded, but John explained how much his father was in love with his mother over her skill in storytelling and for her beauty. It was the fact that his father was illiterate and that she taught him and her sons to read and write.
John would then talk about his estranged twin brother that worked as a prison Warden. However, there was not much to say, and he would always cut Edith off with a thin smile if she questioned too much. The smirk wasn't rude, but rather unbecoming. Like a trick, she would forget whatever she was going to ask and sat silently in his study.
Alice told her sister that she was far too young and naïve to understand men, and that she shouldn't give her heart away so freely. Alice would get this look on her face, bitter and recoiling, like she lived some unmentionable war; she had explained to her little sister that she was too young anyways to court, that she was only thirteen and she needed to see the world around her before she pondered upon trivial things such as marriage and children.
Edith accused Alice of being a man hater, threatening to break her older sister's ribs by tightening her dress corset.
Alice only laughed at that, saying nothing more to her younger sister.
Mister Hargreaves was half of her age at twenty-eight, and Edith had never thought about what her father would think if he knew she longed for the older man. Oh, but she could imagine what he would say.
"I see Alice is taking care of Elizabeth again." John snaps her out of her thoughts, her head quickly jerking up at his voice and he inclined his head down to show her a bit of respect, overshadowing her from the blaring sun with his lanky form.
"Oh, yes. My brother-in-law usually drops Elizabeth off with Alice while he works. He thinks it'll be good for her to have someone around rather than sit in her room all day to knit – even if she is our little niece."
"Is your sister well?" John quirks a brow, his smiling curving into something new, a different landscape. Edith swallows hard, nervous for a second, but not clearly understanding why; she was enthralled by his handsome features, waiting to tell him things that she never planned to share. She couldn't explain these feelings, but she felt manipulated in a lovely way.
"Truly? She hasn't been mentally all there since Lorina, our sister, died. Alice is – a sad case. Father thinks she'll go unwed, and he worries that once he's come of age to die – that no one will be able to take care of Alice in her peculiar state."
The couple walks past Elizabeth and Alice, the two girls not noticing them in their play. John lingers his single gaze a little longer on Alice, Edith is unnerved and slightly hurt over his blunt display of interest for the mad middle child.
Edith was so used to getting what she wanted and for Alice living in the shadows of her older sister, Lorina. Alice was never mentioned, she was always pushed to the side. Edith was certainly not used to the thought that someone she liked paid her older sister mind, that the English professor never shared a hint of infatuation with her, but to Alice.
Edith's grip on his arm slackened; she was such a spoiled child, she knew. Much too young to understand the fancies of men and the chemistries of romance and smothered, loving tones.
5.
"You're far too young to die."
"Pardon?" Alice stares at her father hard. Sea eyes narrowing, questioning him if this was some sort of dense joke her father set up for her. Though, she's never known her father to be the type of man to joke and make light over things such as this. Still, his announcement startled her to a sense of shock, plagued to an acquired stillness that left her hands to politely cross over her thighs and brush over the fabric of her blue dress; dresses that her father started making her wear to be more presentable in front of his coworkers and his faculty.
"Mister Hargreaves has showed his interest and sought my permission, a little around afternoon today, to court you." Henry Liddell spoke so plainly, so drolly over formal matters that involved his daughters. He glanced over his documents once or twice before returning his gaze on his daughter, contemplating the exasperation that painted its way over her pretty face.
"And what did you tell the man," Alice inquired, more so out of curiosity than returned interests for admiration; the thought that a man that looked so much like The Joker, that fancied her, slightly horrified the girl. All she can remember from Wonderland is fire, a world in ruin, faceless people murdering and raping their own kind, and laughter. Oh, the laughter that left her awake at night, staring at the plain coloring of her ceiling. Her mind crumbled at the flashbacks, and broken shots.
"Well, I agreed to give my blessings. Do be easy on the boy, Alice. He's a well to-do fellow and I know how you are when men even think about looking at you long enough. Be kind, my dear girl. I believe if you play your cards right, you'll have a husband that will adore you just as much as I adored your mother."
And to ignore your daughter's mental health? Alice's fingers clenched against her own fabrics, saying nothing quite yet. "I see. Though, I am rather bewildered on why he's so keen on me."
"Why question such things, my girl? A man that I respect, a notable man, has showed interest in possibly marrying you one day. He's brilliant, Alice." Henry Liddell pulled his rounded specs down, folding the gold frame and placing them to the side of his oak work desk. The room is quiet and it reminds Alice of death again, but the droning sound of a somber grandfather clock chimes at an odd hour of three and pulls Alice from her denial.
"I'm only doing this for your wellbeing, my dear." Alice jerked her head up sharply, her father doesn't even flinch under her lulling, blue gaze. He saw hatred, he saw the telltale signs of madness creep into her open windows. "I'm an old man, Alice. I fear for you and Edith, both of you are my world and I know Lorina's husband wouldn't have the reasonable income to take care of two more attentions in my absence. Did you know that I've been funding the lad for my granddaughter's benefit? I know Hargreaves would take care of any financial issues if it came to you, Edith, or Elizabeth. Alice, this could be your only chance. A man showing interest, interest in your wellbeing, would be rare."
"Rare?" Mister Liddell hated the bitterness that draped from his daughter's lips, it was most unladylike and anger was a color that Alice did not wear well. "You assume I'll have a hard time finding a husband in my state?"
"You hardly leave the estate, Alice. What is a single father to think? Think this over. You'll forgive me in the long-run."
"I've barely spoken to the bloody man. Even now, I find this to be some ploy."
"A ploy? You are much too paranoid. Well, make time to talk to him, I'm sure you'll like him."
Like the word of God, her father dismissed his daughter from his office, walking past John Hargreaves while she paced the halls. Her eyes flashed with utter annoyance, filled with disdain for the man that called to her. Alice waved him off and continued down the amble halls of her father's academy.
John grinned, calmly walking down the opposite direction from Alice and entering her father's office. Mister Liddell looked up from his paperwork, studying the way his employee smiled and peeked from the frame of his door. "Saw your daughter, sir, she passed me down the halls." A pause, then a chuckle came from the younger man. "I think she's already fond of me."
Mister Liddell also followed along with a troubled chuckle, warm and deep from his chest. "You may be right, lad."
6.
"Blood, gin, and matching smiles from twin boys."
"Ado, you may call me Mister Dupre." The man bows, and Alice simply stares. It was Blood, but he did not recognize her. "How may I help you today, little miss?"
Alice's calculating gaze sizes the lookalike, blue eyes locking, raven hair framing porcelain skin; his smile is sinister, mocking, but he shows Alice with respect. Wonderland needs to bleed from her memories, she's all too tempted to touch the man's face.
"I'm here for pickup on my father's behalf, Mister Liddell is his name." Alice straightens her posture, arms gripping to her basket that held her to-do list and funds to pay for her father's tailoring.
"Of course," Dupre gestures for Alice to come deeper within The Hatter's shop, greeted with the scent of floral, mixed with a bitter tonic, and curious eyes of lavender and blue.
"Elliot, ring the order for Mister Liddell's essentials. He had a few stray buttons that needed mending, remember? His daughter is here for pickup."
"Gotcha, boss." Elliot jolts from his seat, his bowler hat pressed down his shaggy ash, orange hair. Elliot goes through the stacks of clothing, rummaging through finely pressed suits, hands looking for a tag with a name sketched on the surface. He unhooks her father's clothing off the racks, slowly turning the bundle to Alice, charming her with a boyish grin. This was definably her Elliot. An Elliot she believed to be dead and gone in the turmoil of Wonderland. She remembered so plainly how Blood pulled through with his deal, ripping Elliot's clock from his birdcage chest and shattering his clock underneath his white boot before Blood himself was tempted with death.
"Miss Liddell?" Elliot's head tilted, his eyes flashing with unknown sympathy for the girl that was nothing but a stranger to him. "Are you feeling well?"
Alice looks up, smiling and shaking her head to dismiss the former mafia member from a former world that all seemed lost to her. "No, sir, sorry. My thoughts tend to catch up with me in the most oddest of times."
"'Tis alright," Vivaldi's face was seen over Elliot's broad shoulder, coming closer. Elegance has not betrayed her, and it almost sways Alice to tears. The need to hold these people, to touch them, haunts her. "Brilliance leads that to women, such as us." She showed individuality, not presenting herself with We or Our. "Come now, child. Chin up, and remember posture."
"Must you always terrorize our customers, sister? Come, Miss Liddell, I'll have you rung up and we'll set you on your way." An air of grace, and Alice almost believed it to be her mind mocking her. She was truly mad.
There's a ring of a register, two boys dressed in opposites of blue and red pinstripes grin at her, troublemaking in the fine detail. Instead of one twin baring red eyes, they both sported blue. "Aye, pretty lady! We'll be at your service."
"Would you like a plastic covering for your clothes, pretty lady?" The other twin leans against the counter, hands gripping over fine wood.
Alice nodded, she didn't say anything, but smiled warmly to these boys.
There comes a point in Alice's life where she stops questioning if she's dead or not. While she masked her excitement and bittersweet compassion with that of a normal customer, the group within the store was oblivious to the memories they once spun.
In a world that resembled a shallow grave.
7.
"Assembling philosophies. Fundamentals of nature."
Alice sneered, cringing from the warmth of another. Spiderlike fingers curl underneath her palm, gracing skin. His skin is warm, welcoming. His lips are just as warm, lingering a kiss against the white of her knuckles, ghosting down to apply another kiss to the tips of her fingers. He runs his thumb over the kiss, straightening his tall frame to stare down at the woman before him; the woman he almost cornered in the estate library, hidden behind shelves and books.
"John."
"Alice."
John holds her hand, languidly stroking his thumb over soft flesh. "You seem well," he speaks calmly to her, hushed tones and cradled song.
Alice blinks, studying his facial features that came closer than usual. She truly feels out of her virtue, even within the silence of the family's library, listening to the ominous ticking of a hand carved coo-coo clock that hung from the walls and over the back wall of one of the shelves.
"As do you." She replied politely, listening to the natural hum from the man's throat. This man has Joker's face, he had his morbid charm, his maddening smile that spoke volumes of swaddled kindness and sadistic natures. Alice began to think about Blood and the rest of the Hatters, along with Vivaldi working with her brother in his shop; they had no idea about her, they had their names, their faces, but not their memories of her.
Alice looked to John with renewed interest, and his single eye gave her the same amount of attention. Perhaps – this was Joker. Of course, changes should be made to be considered normal within her world and not within British living. The name Joker would not be a tolerable family name, and the name John could be more believable. His single red eye could now be replaced with lulling green-mist; he still owned his unruly red hair, and his hollow-point grin, his missing eye that was hidden by the plain coloring of black from an eye patch, but clearly not his twisted personality that sought to horrify.
Alice has given her time to him. She asked about his family, the canning conversation of a twin brother who is a warden, a father that worked within the comforts of circus living, respect to the family was gained by his mother who came from a prestigious family of her own, an educated woman that was well respected and known by her own father at one point.
This could be something believable. Of course, just like The Hatters and Vivaldi, Joker probably didn't remember her from Wonderland. Perhaps that's why he's so drawn to her, and maybe that's why she is nice enough not to write him off so fast.
Alice would have no way of knowing if her theory was correct, however. She didn't want to seem more of a loon then she already was by asking a very odd question. But it did open up curiosities if Alice would see the rest of the roleholders that died in Wonderland. Though, it doesn't explain why they're here, or how.
"How – is paperwork going? You must be awfully drained from working all day, then coming to see me in the library."
"Ah, I'll manage. Really, it feels like I've kept the same schedule since my college days; work all day, make room for eating and communicating with my peers, then sleep for a few hours." John would shrug, but he keeps Alice's hand wrapped in his, "But if you are so curious in my paperwork, I would be more than happy to show you my study."
Alice is quick to frown. Ah, he had White's personality and Black's subtle, degrading flirtation. "Such a crud man," John laughs, leaving the girl to shake her head. "You've grown bold. You tend to forget who you work for, and whose daughter you're propositioning before marriage is ever thought of. I do believe daddy dearest would be rather upset to hear that his daughter is being sexually harassed within his own estate. You do also realize that my sister has been spending her energy in hating me a little bit more recently, she had quite a crush on you."
"What daddy doesn't know won't hurt him. And forgive me, I never meant to lead your sister on, and clearly, I didn't ask her father for permission in winning her favor – but yours."
"Huh." Alice pulled her hand from his, reaching up and pressing her palm flat against his face. She pushed the taller man away, applying pressure to cause him to stumble. "Sadly, my favor will not be won today."