A/N: Yo – welcome to my first Alice in Wonderland fanfic, and also my first chapter story that I completed myself and haven't just given up on because I'm a lazy ass :P Before we start, I just want to point out that the premise of this story has been done before, and you're just going to have to believe me when I say that I've actually been working on this story since February and I was only aware of this fact about an hour ago – anyway, some things to know:

To section off scenes and show that time has passed, you'll see the "x.x.x" I used to use those black lines that Word puts in automatically but they'd never show up, so this I know works.
Unfortunately, the first chapter is my least favourite – so just stick it out with me for the first few ones, it gets better, promise!
There's some subtle HatterXAlice (though defiantly not a lot), of course. And if you don't ship them, then…I don't know what your life's about.

Also, I'm going to apologize for my grammar ahead of time, because no matter how many times I check, there's going to be mistakes :P

People always like to use quotes to represent or understand their lives, and I suppose that's because words have such a hold over us sometimes. I once saw one that said "those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it" and if that was true, and if I was religious, I'd pray every night that it would happen to me.
Despite how I think, everyone seems to go on and on about "moving on from your past" or whatever; "sometimes you just need to put the past away and move on with life" or "forget the burdens of your past" you know, that kind of crud. And while yes, good life lessons learned; I of all people should agree that you shouldn't be dragged down by the thought of your past.

But it's kind of hard to let go of your past when you can't even remember it.

I've spent about five minutes searching for her. I was never a good seeker, but I have a good idea on where she is. I'm little again, about seven, and I'm running through the halls; their gaping and coloured an incredible blue. When I reach my destination, I knock on the door before entering. A man is there, surrounded by hats and other fabrics. He's an odd looking man with frizzy orange hair and top hat. He greets me, but I get right down to business.

I lift the hat centered on his working table, the one he's finishing, and there she is; a little mouse in an outfit with a sword. She stands up and huffs – always a sore loser she was.

"I found you!"

"And it took ya long enough!"

We're about to start another round, except above our heads, a smoke starts to appear. It phases into something; a cat with a grin that spreads over his entire mouth. In his smooth voice, he tells me I'm expected. And not a second later, a force throws the doors back, and a creature is standing there. A white rabbit in a waistcoat, and he's panting from running so fast, hunched over his ridiculously large pocket watch. He, breathlessly, tells me the exact thing the cat told me; someone's expecting me. The cat, in a smug way, informs the rabbit that he already delivered the news. The rabbit starts to glare.

"It's my job to deliver news, not yours!"

"Yes, but if you were on time, I wouldn't have to do it." And with that, the cat flicks his tail and is gone.

I giggle at their exchange, and promise to see them later. I dash out the door, knowing precisely where to go. I have to go up and down stairs, through winding halls – but I don't mind, I like that my home is big enough to hold adventures or games like hide n' seek. In five second glances as I pass by rooms, and in them I see all sorts of people and creatures. In one there's two little bald boys playing a game, or in the library I see a different rabbit (a brown one, who has a touch of "crazy eyes") and he's tossing books to the floor. An old Bloodhound dog trots past me and woofs his hello, and I turn backwards to wave back. When I turn the right way forward, I nearly run into a much older woman with snow white hair and a smiling face. She, nicely, tells me to be careful, and I blush from embarrassment, saying I would.

When I get to where I'm supposed to be, I see her standing at the end of the hall; a young woman with curly blond hair in a blue dress. I reach her and she smiles, taking my small hand. I tell her about my day, and she opens her mouth to reply –

"You're late again!"

I spring up from my bed, confused and slightly panicked – until I realize I'm just in my room. Well, that was a new one. Other times when I'm with them, sometimes we're sitting around a table and having a meal, maybe tea another time. Or perhaps I'll be playing another game with someone, like checkers; on a rare occurrence I'll be with the blond woman, and she's reading a book to me or teaching me something. They have a variety of time and place, and I'm always really young, but it's always with those same people. Don't people have different dreams?

"I didn't get a very good sleep." I muttered through my hands, placing them over my face and rubbing my eyes. God, I hate mornings. Victoria is standing in the doorway, angry again that she has to get me up herself.

"That's what you always say!" She grumbles, slamming the door on her way out.

That's 'cause I have a dream every night.

I fumble out of my bed, searching through my drawers for an acceptable outfit. One of the most frustrating thing is that I can never decipher them; is it a dream, or is it a memory? The one I had right now certainly could've have happened – but it's never about where, it's about the faces I see in them; they are extremely real. I wanna say I know them, I feel like I know them, but I have no idea who they are. And to put it bluntly, it gets to me.

Hi – I'm Erika Kingsleigh, and I'm haunted by my past that I don't remember.

I finally tug on some old black skinny jeans and faded plaid shirt. I messily run a brush though my even messier wavy blond hair – great look I've got going on. I guess the blue eyes are all I have going for me.

I grabbed my guitar, and then went to my bedside table to find my locket. I ran my thumb over it, sighing, then placing it around my neckline.

"Erika!"

"Victoria!" I screamed back in the same tone. That woman has even less patience then me. I put my guitar on my back, and then my bag on my shoulder (making sure my sketchbook was tucked in), rushing out and climbing downstairs. She was standing over the kitchen island, her husband Greg over the stove sizzling some eggs. The kids, my siblings, were by the lower stairs, getting their coats on.

"Good Erika, now you won't even have time for breakfast." Victoria snaps, shuffling through the mail. I squeezed in between the two adults to get to the cupboard.

"And yet the world still keeps going 'round." I replied, pulling out my favourite, a cranberry muffin. I had this weird love for them. My best friend, Katelynn, always referrers me to an old lady when I discussed my love for cranberry muffins.

"Do you want some of my eggs?" Greg asks innocently, lifting the pan and peering through his glasses. I smiled – I mean, I don't call these people "mom" or "dad" despite being with them since I was eight, but I did appreciate them.

"S'ok. I have to go wait for Katelynn anyway." I smiled at him, waving good bye to the kids, and as Victoria yells at me to put on a better coat, I was out the door.

x.x.x

I strolled down the desolate walkway to Katelynn's house, hugging my arms around myself to keep from the brisk cold. The sky was a bitter grey, and I tried to distract myself from the cold that was chilling me from my feet up. I ended up pulling out my locket that was hidden underneath all my layers.

Out of all the things I have, this seems to be the most…certain. When your eight, in an orphanage, and the only thing you really have is your name (Erika Margaret Kingsleigh, which thankfully you learned how to spell) and this locket, it becomes rather important. It's a silver square shape with blue gems embedded onto it. I open it, and like it always does, it holds a picture of a young woman; the same one that seems to live in my dreams. Slipping it out, I can see the back of it – the oddest part of the whole thing. It has 'Alice Kingsleigh' written on it, but it's been scribbled out. Then, 'mother' was written below it in, might I say, kinda terrible cursive. Coincidence, perhaps; the fact that her last name is spelled the exact same as mine. Katelynn's taken a look at it, and she's told me I look frighteningly similar to her. The photo is old, frayed and fading, and you can tell it was taken a long time ago from the cloths she wore in the photo; it just had a very "olden-timey" look to it.

But fear strikes up when the wind begins to blow – and wisps the photo right out of my hand. I start yelling out as the photo dances in the air currents, flowing over to a house and out of my reach. I run onto the lawn, not paying any attention to the flowers I could possibly trample. I jump for it, but with no relief; I'm panicking – seriously, out of all the things to lose, this would be the last one I'd want gone. But a hand strikes out and snatches the photo in between two gloved fingers.

"Stupid Mother Nature huh?" Katelynn grins, placing the picture in my hand. I sigh in relief, the need to throw up dying down.

"You're telling me." I muttered, sliding it back in the case. She folds her arms, rolling her brown eyes, and we start walking from the front of her house back to the sidewalk. The school was only a few blocks down from here.

"You're late again." She clucks her tongue. "I got out the door before you could knock on it."

"You sound like Victoria." I told her bitterly.

"What was last night's dream about?"

I give her the details as vividly as I could. Katelynn has known about this stuff for years, since we met almost. She knows all about how I basically have no past; I can't remember a damn thing since I was eight and woke up on the orphanage steps. But also since then, these different characters in my ever-so-vivid dreams have plagued me. I've tried to explain how it's like I know them, like I remember them – but at the same time, I don't. I don't know their names, or who they are, why they feel familiar to me. They just do. I can't help but think they're tied to the past I don't remember. It's like having really shitty amnesia. And I wanna believe they're memories, 'cause it feels all too real, but who knows? I mean, it's not in your everyday life that you see rodents in little outfits, and cats who grin.

Katelynn doesn't really question me. I think she finds it cool on some level. I mean, she's a fantasy freak herself – probably why we're best friends, because no one else would befriend some chick who talked about seeing these things daily. She thinks it could be some other kind of "past life" stuff, or other.

"Hmmm," she pretends to stroke her imaginary beard when I finish giving my latest report, and I smile. Katelynn is always like a breath of fresh air. "Yesterday I dreamt I made my own mac n' cheese and my cat ate it." I chuckle in my chest.

"That's ridiculous. You'd never make food by yourself."

"Hey, I'll have you know I made a damn good grilled cheese the other day." She whipped her auburn hair behind her shoulder dramatically.

"Yeah? And who ate it when you burnt it?"

"Uh, my dad."

We laughed together, and soon she brought out her IPod, and we argue on which album to listen to as the school appeared out of the distance.

x.x.x

"So Smith gave us another five-foot tall package for homework on our week off. I think this time, instead of working tirelessly on it, I'm going to eat it and throw it up all over his desk."

"Excuse me, I'm trying to eat here."

Katelynn bit into her pizza, but now my sandwich seemed unappealing after her imagery. I set it down and started pulling out my sketch book. We're in the upstairs of the school, sitting on the hall carpet in a corner. This is where we usually meet for lunch.

I was digging through my pencil case for the right one, so Katelynn stole it from my lap. She's seen it before it, but I still tried to retaliate and get it back. She rolled out of my reach, nonchalantly flipping through the pages. She stopped a few pages in; it was a fully coloured drawing of the rabbit. He had white fur, dressed in a light brown buttoned waistcoat with a tie, and had a very large gold pocket watch slipped in the pocket. He had red eyes and I made it look like he was stomping his foot, as if waiting anxiously for something. Katelynn drew her finger over him.

"Why does he have a pocket watch? What could he possibly need that for?"

"Why not? He's got important things to do, so he's got to be on time for them."

"Seems like rabbits wouldn't even be able to read time."

I snatched the book from her as she was unguarded, glaring lightly "Well he's very educated!"

Katelynn threw her hands up in surrender, rolling her eyes a bit. She moved to be beside me instead of across, and peered over my shoulder as I looked for the one I hadn't finished.

We came across the one of the tiny mouse, the hider of my dream. Her fur was a dull brown, eyes entirely black – picture something along the lines of a field mouse. Except she had a pink/purple mix colour of a dress, a small sword in her hand, holding it up triumphantly.

"Cute mouse. But what would a mouse need to defend herself from with a tiny toothpick of a sword anyway?"

"She's five inches tall Katelynn, what would you suggest?"

The next page was of the top-hatted man. He had brown tweed pants and waistcoat, but had a blur of many coloured cloths underneath. His skin was a snow white, and he had mysterious, glinting green eyes. His brown top hat, decorated in the middle with a large pale pink fabric, squished down the unruly orange hair. I knew Katelynn likes him the best – she hadn't seen this one since I had finished it.

"Dude's got quite the top hat. Can you draw me with one too?"

"You wish."

She wanted to look at more, but I shoved her away so I could work. She went back to her lunch, breaking her cookie in two to give me a side. I found my page of the grinning cat – well, not quite because he had no face yet. I quickly remedied that. I put in those looming turquoise eyes and triangle cat nose. I finally sketched in some teeth, Katelynn finally peeking over me to see.

"I don't think cats have that many teeth. At least make his smile less wide, he freaks me out."

"That's the point."

She smiled and punched my arm softly "Ha ha, clever. You know, you're really good at that."

"Being sarcastic?" I peered up and she laughed quietly.

"No doofus. The drawings. You're really talented, and that's not even mentioning the guitar too."

I smiled tightly to give thanks, but her words didn't mean much. The drawings were adequate; I hadn't even practiced my guitar much either. Despite my weird situation, I had nothing to offer really. She quirked her head, giving me a look.

"You don't believe me."

"Eat your cookie Katelynn."

x.x.x

The walk home was no better then this morning – cold. I dropped Katelynn off at her home, half-heartedly waving. I kind of hate saying goodbye to her; Katelynn is a nice, amusing, refresher in my life. She keeps me from being mopey 'cause I dig too deeply into my problems.

I quickly get into my house to escape the weather. Greg is there, and so are the kids, rampaging around. He's a web designer, so he just works from home, but Victoria is a journalist so she's not expected until way later. Elizabeth tried to run and grab my guitar and I yell at her to let go, then when she leaves Thomas tried next. Greg calls them back.

He and Victoria, for the longest time, thought they couldn't have kids because of so many failed tries, so they simply adopted me. Until when I was 11 it was magically found out through….escapades that they actually could. I didn't mind; I just co-habitat with them. I knew these people weren't really my family anyway – and not just because I was adopted.

Greg asks how my day was and I replied with "same routine." He tries to say I could have Katelynn over but I was already halfway upstairs to be on my own.

Dinner isn't too far off, and soon we have to gather around. The kids like to talk the most, and the adult figures try to respond best they can, no matter how tired Victoria looks. Eventually she puts down her utensils and calls for attention.

"Given that it's a long weekend, with a few days off, your father and I have decided to plan a trip." They immediately get excited, and even I raise my own eyebrows. Perhaps something interesting in our wake.

"We've decided to take a trip to England, to go and visit your father's family friends."

"They've offered us a stay; it's been far too long anyway." Greg follows up, grinning for effect. Elizabeth and Thomas, of course, go on to ask a million questions about them despite being there before, and I roll my eyes.

Regardless, England is always interesting. Greg went to college in England, and there he made friends with this guy who's family is quite, well, upper crust. Even in this day n' age, the family still holds a mansion that decades of their family has lived in. We've visited here and there. Fun fact: I was actually adopted in England. After college, Greg remained there and Victoria was there on a trip (both from the same place), they met, fell in love, etc etc. After the presumption of no children, they took in me and headed back here.

"The Ascots?" I asked, and Greg nodded, smiling. We continue quietly (save for the forks and knives scraping the plates) until Victoria looks up and points the end of her knife at me.

"Erika, I want you to wear something nice. You have a dress?"

I groaned inwardly "Yes, probably old and full of mothballs."

She ignored my comment, swallowing her bite full of salad "Good, and I'll lend you a pair of my heels."

"Heels? No thank you."

"Erika you're seventeen, you have to wear them. They're inviting us, so you have to look nice."

I put my utensils down, and licked my bottom lip, and I think people could tell I was about to spout off on something.

"Why is it socially acceptable for me to wear shoes that disproportionally leveled and uncomfortable? Why can't I just wear flats?"

"Because they're nicer!"

"That's a stupid reason! If it was the thing to eat squirrel would you bring squirrel appetizers to their house for dinner?"

"She's got a point." Greg managed to get out through a mouthful of lasagna. Victoria just covered the sides of her face with her hands, and sighed.

"Erika this is not the time to go on about the inner-workings of society, just wear the stupid shoes!"

"Fine." I grumbled, stabbing my own salad and mumbled something like it "being about the principle of the matter."

x.x.x

Not a minute after dinner, I had to drag an old suitcase up to my room. Victoria demanded that we pack now; she even pointed to me, saying "because I don't want to be packing for you in the five minutes we have to leave." That woman has no faith in me.

I toss cloths into the case, not such a stickler for sorting and folding. I don't know England, but I figured long sleeved stuff and pants were a good thing, because everybody talks about how much it rains there.

Then my mother figure barges down my door again. She's holding a black pair of high heels, and even before she can get to me, I slam the lid down of the suitcase.

"There's no more room." I quickly tell her.

She looks up at me from over her brow, so I know she's not buying it, and rips open the lid.

"Well no wonder Erika, you just crammed stuff."

"Folding is against my religious beliefs."

I swear I could've heard her growl and she starts to sort. I don't mean to be hard on her, but she makes it difficult to get along.

"Victoria the shoes are probably better in your bag anyway." She sighs, and tosses them out to the hall in silent agreement.

After we (in her stern request) packed my cloths "properly", she cleared my closet for any dresses. She finally pulled one out; an old plain grey one. Even when I was fifteen, which is probably when I wore that dress, I didn't like much colour.

"God Erika how old is this?"

"Millennias. I don't even know if it'll fit me."

She shrugged helplessly "It'll have to do. If it comes down to it, you'll just have to wear the nicest thing you brought." She then folded it into my bag.

"If you wore dresses more, we wouldn't have this problem."

"Yes, and if we lived in Denmark I could get paid to go to school, but wishes don't come true Victoria. I'm not a dress person."

She exhaled for the umpteenth time, and weirdly, I felt a twinge of guilt. Like I said, I don't mean to make it difficult.

"I'm sorry."

Instead, I get a rare sighting; Victoria smiling a bit. She took a wide step over my suitcase to me.

"Guess I should've checked for a smart mouth instead when I was adopting huh?" I would've said something like "then I never would've got out of there" but I just sided with her. She observed me, leaning back a bit and giving me a look over.

"I don't understand, you'd look lovely in a dress."

"I don't look lovely in anything."

"Erika," she scolded, lightly hitting me on the arm "You would; maybe if you'd smile some more, huh?"

To make her happy, I smiled a bit awkwardly, looking to the ground. She observed me for a while, and I tried not to feel uncomfortable from it; I've known Victoria for the longest of times, but regardless there has always been this awkward, silent air around us.

"You're odd Erika, but not a hopeless case. You'll be good at something, and maybe even one day, find a cute boy, hmm?"

This time, I couldn't side. How could I know I'd be good at anything? I don't have a past to have made anything of myself; I don't have enough to know me. We don't think it, but you'd be surprised how many insignificant, small memories you may have, that you don't think are important, make up who you are and how you perceive yourself. I have the time between being adopted at eight to now, but it's never been enough. And while having these maybe-memories of things that I draw in my sketchbook, that I don't even know are real or not or that are even connected to me, makes me a very empty-shell of a person.

Well – at least I know I don't like dresses.

To put it shortly, I'm not the happiest person around because of all that. Only through Katelynn am I ever really content.

Victoria was staring at me, awaiting a response. I, subtly, shook my hand to clear it. Quit inner-monologuing.

"If I find a guy to blackmail, I'll let you know."

She chuckles ever-so-briefly "Well, goodnight dear. We're out at seven sharp, so get your rest." I watched as her jet-black haired head disappeared through the door.

And so, I follow the regular night-time procedure; pajamas, teeth brushing, all that nonsense. I call Katelynn for a short period to let her in on what's happening, and she groans for about five minutes because I get to go to England and she doesn't. I'll miss her though; I'll have to suffer through family and meet n' greets of Greg's friends for the next few days without a break of her. I'll have no one to be a sarcastic pain with. Or at least someone to talk to when I fall too deep into myself and past, or lack-there-of. She says to call – just not when it's my nice twelve in the afternoon in England, and therefor it's her painful awakening at four in the morning here.

I sit on my bed, carefully removing my locket; it's the last thing I do each night. I grip onto the case in the palm of my hand for a while, wondering what Alice Kingsleigh is doing, or maybe would be doing, at this moment. Biting into my lip uneasily, I place it on my bedside table and flick off my table lamp. I shrug into my covers, hoping for an easy sleep; but I knew, the dreams will eventually come knocking like every night before.

Yes? No? I swear, more things are explained later, and it's not so bad later on. If you have questions, feel free to ask em' – just know I can't divulge too much because that'll be a danger to revealing the plot. So, review? Or not, I don't run your life :P