This is just a little drabble I wrote, the precursor to a longer fic I'm working on. Please review gently, and thank you for reading :)
Tell me what to swallow. Cake crumbs or draught, something to chew and swallow down and wake up from this insane world I've dreamt.
You stand in the doorway of my room. The rest of the castle, all the enchanted beasts and courtesans sleep, even the Queen, but we don't. I lay in my bed, the scarlet coverlet drawn to my chin, and you lean, just the shadow of your profile stretching across the stone floor, stretching your limbs until they look like weeds.
All the days sitting in the Red Queen's court, your visits a secret I reluctantly keep. I don't want anything of yours. I don't want to share anything with you, but you force the secret on me. The Queen's jealousy rises when you look at me and you don't do anything to reassure her. The court whispers about us. They say the Knave of Hearts, like the Queen, seeks grotesquerie in others. I'm taller than you, with your too-long limbs, like a skeleton, and you keep looking at me as if we share a bond. I cannot bear the sight of you.
I'm afraid to say anything, as if acknowledging you would break the spell, like inviting the vampire into my home. I lay here, listening to the wind snap around the flags and banners, and you stand just outside the doorway. I'm the little white worm in the Red Queen's castle. I'm cocooned in scarlet silk, placidly waiting for you as you gather the courage to come inside, to break the useless little threads I've woven, to take me and squeeze me between your curious fingers. Squeeze me awake. Squeeze me to death. I'm tired. I can't sleep in my dreams because I'm already here.
Your face is pale and lean in the Underland moonlight. The scars that run and disappear beneath your eyepatch look like grooves in clay. That's how still you are. But I know beneath the grey scales of your armor, your heart beats furiously, because your breath stirs the strands of hair that fall around your lips. You're breathing is as irregular as my own, and I feel as if the sound of our thudding hearts will draw all the servants to the room, the beats as loud as thunder in the enchanted air. I feel as if our greedy lungs will suck up all the oxygen in the castle and we'll die, victims of our conflicting passions. I'm afraid to move under the covers in case the movement entices you.
Underland is not my own anymore, although I created it for myself. I've lost control. Trapped in my own mind, fighting my own creations, I wish someone would tell me what to swallow so I can escape this nightmare. Tell me what to swallow.