Curiouser

by Coriacea

Chaos. Fear. Secrecy. Wündarr is locked on the verge of war, and teeters on the brink of uncertainty. The Heart Realm is enshrouded in suspicion--and the arrival of a strange Creature and a prophetic dream can mean a new beginning or spell a bloody end...

This story is based loosely on Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. I just… kidnapped several key concepts and the names and general themes and bent them to my will. So, in honor of Lewis Carroll/Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, I present the cusp of the dawning horizon of Curiouser.

-Lilith Evangaline

One

Give and Take

"Oh, blimey, Hatter! I just don't know what to do. I had one of those strange dreams again…" March fretted over her cup of tea, oblivious to the fact that it was growing colder by the minute, something that greatly agitated her. Hatter furrowed his brow, worried. Normally March, despite her strange antics, didn't elaborate on such things because her dreams got her in trouble quite often as a child. He sighed and reached across the table, which was strewn with a loud multitude of crockery, snatching up March's tea and resolutely dumping it out on the grass beside of him. He then resorted to finding a new, clean-looking cup and pouring March yet another cup of tea, liberally saturating the steaming brown liquid with creamer. Placing it in front of her, Hatter leaner back into his high-backed cushioned chair and gave her the look that said 'tell me everything, right from the beginning.'

March sucked in a breath and looked down at her tea, cupping her brown hands around it. She exhaled it in one great big puff and began. "I'm riding Lace through a field, and the sky is dark like it's nighttime, but the land is as bright as it is now, during the day. The field itself is an endless, uninterrupted stretch of green that is littered with red poppies. Everything is sharp and defined, just as if I were looking through one of those glass carbuncles people use for seeing, only more so. It's warm and there is no wind--just me and Lace, running and running and running forever out there in this field."

Hatter bobbed his head, keeping track of all the details, slightly surprised that Lace, March's wild sorrel mare with a flaxen mane, appeared. Lace hardly ever made an appearance in any of March's dreams, as crazy or as logical as they were. March continued after a she took a small, delicate sip from her teacup, as was her custom.

"I was looking at the sky, thinking how strange it was that there was no clouds! when suddenly the air rippled. It was the oddest sensation, like somebody had just pushed you through water. Lace stopped running, and we just stood there, silent." March paused for a moment, looking perplexed. "Hatter, you know those moments when you're scared whether you want to be or not?"

Hatter nodded, stirring his tea with an antique silver spoon. He did, indeed. Everybody in Wündarr did.

"Well, this was one of those moments, except Lace and I weren't scared. In fact, I remember feeling happy and excited, like somebody was coming for a visit ad staying for a while. Then the sky did the most amazing thing ever… it went all bright and normal, and the earth went into dark like the night. This breeze started up, except it came from the earth below us. I didn't pay attention to the ground because of the sky. These crazy lacey patterns spiraled across the horizon; they were made out of shadows, and they quickly covered the entire sky. The patterns… they moved and spun and swirled. It was breathtaking," breathed March, closing her eyes, remembering. She could feel those patterns spin across her eyelids, giving her the nagging sensation that this was not any dream, but more of an illusive premonition. She propped her chin on her hand, careful to keep her elbow out of the jam.

"Remember how I said I wasn't paying attention to the ground? Well, I sorely wish I did. It started like a little tremor, and then turned into and earthquake, and the wind was coming up from the ground. It was so peculiar. And then, there was all this light that shone out from the earth as it caved and burst upward at the same time. Lace and I, we were struck plain dumb. How were we to know what was happening? Anyway, the earth was just having a grand old time making a flashy, noisy, dusty, windy spectacle of itself when all of a sudden, Bam! It stopped." March thumped the table affectively with her hand, her head held high with an astonished look upon her face. "This figure emerged from the crater, all mussed and tumbled like they had rolled down a hill and into a briar patch. They were stumbling down my way when I woke up," sighed March, rolling her eyes. "I always wake up at the important parts."

Hatter adjusted his lapels, rolling his eyes. "March, you tell me that every time you tell a dream. Maybe the small details are just as important as the larger ones, per chance?"

March shook her head. "Yeah, I suppose so, but still! What say you about that, Hatter?"

"I say you drink your tea this time around." March rolled her eyes at Hatter and stuck out her tongue, but obligingly cupped the teacup in her hands and sipped at the creamy liquid. She watched him expectantly with her deep chocolate eyes, looking for any indication of what he was thinking. So far, nothing distinguishable.

Hatter noticed March watching him as he pondered silently, still stirring his own tea. "Well," he finally spoke, laying the spoon down next to his saucer, "This one is going to need some thinking time, March. Give me a day or two and I'll tell you what I come up with, okay? This one is really complex, or so simple it seems complex."

March flicked a bread crumb at Hatter. "Spoilsport."

Hatter grinned, launching the crumb back at March with a spoon. "Do tell."

"Nah," March snorted, looking over Hatter's shoulder. "Hey, here comes our favourite little Gooseberry! Hallo, Messenger Rabbit! How goes?"

She waved cheerily at the Creature coming up the path from the gate. He was a slim, sinewy fellow clearly caught somewhere between being a boy and being a man. He was barefoot, and more surprising so, he had white rabbit ears peeking out of his scruffy thick pale blonde hair where normal ears should have been, and red and pink eyes that distinguished him as an albino. His blazer was red with an odd assortment of blue and white pockets, overtly meant for carrying things in. March and Hatter grinned at the grass stains on his cargo pants; it was evident he had been spying on somebody. His trim royal blue vest had a pocket watch on a gold chain affixed to it, and his white button-up oxford with a mandarin collar also gave away his recent activities because of the twigs lodged neatly behind his navy blue tie. Messenger Rabbit gave off the air of being obviously pleased with something, which he wasn't about to give away with out some form of prodding. However, what ever secret he did have stored between his fuzzy white ears was not a pleasant or a light secret, but a secret that weighed heavily upon him. He sighed, noting the somewhat confused faces of Hatter and March upon his sudden change of demeanor.

"Messenger Rabbit, what is wrong!" Exclaimed March, jumping up to grab a clean cup, moving down a seat. Messenger Rabbit sat down next to Hatter, disgruntled having been reminded of the importance of the secret.

Hatter watched her and muttered "Clean cup, move down" as March strode over to Messenger Rabbit and his side of the table. He obligingly moved so March could have his place, Messenger Rabbit and her being natural cousins and all. He took a seat on the other side of them, directly across, so as not to be left out of the conversation, something he greatly disliked, especially when Afternoon Tea was at his own house. March deposited the tea in front of the Messenger and eagerly sat down, plunging immediately into her hastily thought-out questionnaire.

"Messenger, what is it you saw? Did the Queen take somebody? Or worse?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, just loud enough to hear from Hatter's seat. Her face was worried and stressed and scared at the same time, her hands busy at wringing the edge of her orange sweater. "Did she have the Executioner with her?"

Messenger Rabbit gulped down the tea, slightly winded from the run that had just now caught up with him. He flicked his gaze over to Hatter, meeting his eyes with a 'she's at it all ready look' and serious undertones of dark curiosity. Hatter's mouth twitched into the slightest of grins before Messenger Rabbit returned to his beseeching cousin.

"Calm down, March," Messenger Rabbit patted her hand, reassuring her. "Yes, the Queen was there, and yes, the Executioner was with her. " March sucked in a sharp breath and Hatter nearly dropped his tea. "But not for the reasons you are thinking, I promise!" Messenger Rabbit hastily added, startled himself. He shirked at the black veil of the Executioner and her gleaming, curved sword perfect for beheading. The Executioner was the perfect visage of death, wearing long black billowing gowns and keeping her face hidden from the world behind that black veil. She was, all in all, death at it's most graceful. She seemed to glide along, detached yet informed with every move the world made.

"They were at the Duchess's house," he clarified, and the whole table relaxed, a tangible sensation even to a passerby. The Duchess and the Queen were related some way or the other and were practically best friends, often playing croquet at the Queen's whim. Some days the Queen brought the Executioner with her for protection, some days she didn't. "Apparently, the Duchess got the first pick from the Slave Traders and has acquired a new slave."

"Oh." March saddened. She hated hearing about the unfortunate souls from different countries who were caught and brought to Wündarr to be sold and auctioned off as slaves. Many times the people were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and sometimes they were a prisoner of war. Either way, March felt that slavery was wrong and that it needed to be done with.

"The Queen stopped by and chatted a bit, but I couldn't really glean much from that. Likewise, it was so…horrifying when she came out of the house, all prim and haughty. The worst thing was her face. She was pleased with the Duchess' new slave, I think. That's what it looked like. I'm not sure. All the same… I wouldn't want to be in the new slave's shoes."

Hatter and March nodded in unison. There was no doubt about that. A silence thick and sad dawned on the small party as they digested the information. They didn't see the shadow flitting above them with noiseless precision, watching them tactfully. Suddenly, they dropped out of the tree, landing gracefully and comfortably in the cushioned seat next to Hatter. Hatter jumped about a foot in the air, landing in an irked heap. March and Messenger Rabbit both squeaked, ducking under the table. The Creature laughed, soft and mellow.

"Good afternoon. I hope I didn't startle you so." She reached across Hatter and eloquently hauled him into a sitting position, her fingers drifting across the brim of his black satin top hat with the sleek gray ribbon, lightly snatching it up so he didn't feel the hat leaving his head. She placed on her own head, the picture of poetic grace. March and Messenger Rabbit peered over the edge of the table, greatly taken aback. It was safe to say that their heart rates had gone considerably up since the unexpected arrival of the Creature. The Creature was at complete ease, undoubtedly fascinated with her surroundings.

Hatter was the first to regain his voice back, quite dazed. "I say, that's my hat you've got there, Miss…?" He trailed off, uncertain. What was this Creature's name?

"You must be Hatter," she grinned at him, her teeth sharp and unnaturally white. In fact, her smile was the most alluring and strange smile he had ever seen. He faltered, uselessly gesturing at nothing as he looked into her eyes. The Creature's eyes were gold. They weren't yellow or even the slightest variation of yellow! Hatter knew his own eyes were odd enough, his left eye being a bright apple green and his right eyes a stunning violet, but her eyes! He was entranced by the slight radiant glow that seemed to be coming from within. He shook himself and gathered his senses.

"Uh. Yeah. I'm Hatter. And who are you..?"

"Please to meet you, Hatter." She ignored his question and turned to March and Messenger Rabbit. "Oh, and you must be March Hare and Messenger Rabbit, of the White Division, Ground Runner number Eighteen." March and Messenger Rabbit gaped at her, totally taken off guard. They nodded mutely, still shocked.

"Pleased to meet the both of your fine persons as well," the Creature said demurely. She fixed her ever-changing attention back onto Hatter, smiling that same, odd smile. "And I am called Cheshire Cat in Wündarr."

"So you're not from here?" Blurted out Messenger Rabbit. He had regained his composure and shakily sat back down in his seat, cautious.

"No." Cheshire Cat's answer was delivered with another odd grin. It gave away nothing about her, leaving the field wide open.

Hatter was still dumbfounded, briefly coming back to the point of Cheshire Cat having his top hat. He immediately flew into offensive mode, his eyes blazing. "You. Have. My. Hat." Hatter bluntly spat out, shoving his chair back and standing up. March shrieked and clung to Messenger Rabbit, knowing exactly where things were going as Hatter leaned menacingly over Cheshire Cat. Heavens, she doesn't know about the hats! March thought desperately. Oh no oh no oh no…

Cheshire Cat looked up at him, perhaps noticing Hatter's white knuckles gripping the back of her chair and the table. She simply smiled at him. Hatter quirked an eyebrow, hesitating. What was she doing? Cheshire Cat flicked the top hat from her head onto his, and leaned upward, planting a delicate kiss on Hatter's nose, and just like that, she vanished into thin air, her mellow soft laugh rippling throughout the area.

Messenger Rabbit's jaw dropped and March gasped in excitement. Hatter remained where he was, shock locking him into position. Both March and Messenger Rabbit burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter, giggling and hiccupping until their sides hurt and they could no longer breathe. Hatter stood up, a dazed and far-off look in his eye.

"That… was different," he blinked before wandering away, lost in some oblivion of his own mind. March and Messenger Rabbit glanced at each other before exploding into gales of laughter. Hatter entered his house, oblivious. He meandered up to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed, unaware of the time passing. March and Messenger Rabbit had long gone, having made plans for Afternoon Tea at March's cottage the following day and tidying up the dirty dishes after Hatter hadn't reappeared, joking about his current state of mind and his clever new adversary, or whatever she may be called, this mysterious Cheshire Cat.

Hatter rolled onto his back, staring at the yellowing white plaster ceiling that hung low above his head. The cracks in in resembled veins, some thick, some thin, yet none of them the same. He watched the late afternoon shadows dance idly on the wall until a pleasant rosy glow replaced this, then a purple, and then a blue, and then the shadows consumed the wall. Hatter awoke just after midnight, disoriented. What in the devil's name had happened?

He shook the sleep from his lanky frame and stretched, tired, sore, and hungry. Massaging his rumbling stomach, Hatter decided that hunger was the top priority on his list and needed to be addressed immediately. He shimmied off his large, lumpy bed and stumbled around, cursing under his breath as he hunted for a match and a candle stick while simultaneously trying to remove his shoes. I fell asleep in my shoes? Hatter thought, locating a match. He ran his hand along the dresser for the candle that he knew was there, muttering nonsense under his breath. Holy Hearts, I must have been a complete mess. Hatter stubbed his toe on the doorjamb as he tried to find the door in the dark. Scratch that. I am a mess.

He stumbled down the stairs, flinging his coat back up and into the bedroom, burning his fingers as he tried to light the candle, succeeding after much swearing. Hatter staggered into the kitchen, utterly astonished at the sight before him.
There was a hearty fire crackling in the fireplace, and his soup cauldron swung over the flames, a delicious smell positively oozing out of it. The Dutch oven was all ready on the hearth stones, being kept warm by the heat emanating from the cheery blaze, and on the stove, there was a teapot nonchalantly steaming like the water had been freshly boiled. On the table, there was a teapot, a teacup and the standard tea ware with it, a plate and a bowl set out, and the standard eating utensils, as well as a crock of what looked to be fresh butter. Hatter's jaw dropped. This was most certainly overwhelming. And, coiled in the recliner by the side dresser was Cheshire Cat, lightly dozing in a cocoon of blankets. Hatter jumped again, more than slightly surprised.

"Oh," Cheshire Cat yawned and stirred gently, stretching sumptuously, blinking the sleep out of her eyes sweetly. "Good morning, Hatter. Have a nice nap?"

"I-I-I, uh." Hatter stammered, unable to process what was before him. He took the simplest route he could find. "What are you doing in my house?"

"Dear me, tsk tsk, the soup's about to boil over." Cheshire Cat glided over to the fireplace, twisting her long wavy purple-black hair into a knot low at the nape of her neck. "You may simply call me Cat, if you wish." She swept the cauldron off the fire, using a potholder to grasp the handle and place it on the cooling rack next to the Dutch oven. "Please, bring me the bowl on the table."

Hatter put his candle on the shelf next to the door, grabbed the bowl off the table, and stalked over to Cat. She deftly removed the bowl from his hand without looking and ladled the soup into it, handing the bowl back to Hatter, who took it with out a question. It was then he noticed fresh binding marks on her wrist as her sleeve slid down slightly. Three gold bands encircled her wrist, seared into her deep tan skin. Hatter placed the bowl on the table and grabbed Cat's wrist, forcing her sleeve up her forearm.

Hatter was mortified. There they were, plain as day. Three gold bands, a stark contrast on her skin.

"Oh?" Cat cocked her head to the side, watching him study her wrist. She didn't resist him.

"Let me see the other ones," Hatter demanded suddenly, facing Cat. She sighed and shook her wrist loose from him, and delicately pulled off the long gray and violet scarf that covered her neck. Underneath the scarf were three identical gold bands, all encompassing her neck. Then she pushed her other sleeve up, revealing three more gold bands. She held her wrists up and openly displayed her graceful neck. Nine gold bands. Nine.

"Sweet sky," Hatter choked out, taking her other wrist and tracing the band," why did they have to bind you so many times? Are you a… A slave?"

"Yes. I am a slave." Cat didn't answer the question about how many times she was bound. Her face was blank, perfect as a still lake. Hatter released her wrist and leaned back on the table. Cat faded out of sight, and then reappeared, but this time with the knife and the plate that had been on the table. She opened the Dutch oven and sliced out a piece of bread, putting the thick slab on the plate. Hatter gaped at her, astounded.

"Please, sit." Cat handed him the plate, gesturing to the chair. "I'll answer your questions once you start eating." Hatter numbly obeyed, gathering his soup and the bread, sitting in the chair. He picked up the spoon and dipped it into the soup, warily testing it out. Much to his surprise, it was rich and flavorful . Cat came over and poured him a cup of tea, retrieving her blankets and bundling back up in them, sitting across from Hatter with her back to the fire.

Hatter ate in silence for a while before deciding what he wanted to ask Cat.

"So, um, Cat? You are a slave?"

Cat looked at him peculiarly, but nodded and answered all the same. "Yes."

"All right then, uh, who is your owner, then?" Hatter bit into the bread, finding it equally tasty and soft.

"Do try that with the butter," Cat said absently before answering. "The Duchess."

"Wh-what?" sputtered Hatter, coughing. He drank some tea, trying to calm his nerves. "So you're the new slave Messenger Rabbit was talking about earlier?"

"Yes."

The bread did taste good with the butter; in fact, it was excellent. Hatter steered his thoughts away from the food back into the conversation with Cat. "Why did they bind you nine times?"

"I am dangerous, I suppose."

"I beg your pardon?" choked out Hatter amidst the food in his mouth. Cat gave him a quizzing look, her smile mellow and knowing.

"Beg my pardon? Whatever for, dear?"

Hatter gaped at her, completely confounded. He started to explain, and then stopped. Taking a deep breath, Hatter deterred away from the dynamics of excuse me's and back to his original train of thought. He sipped out of the conveniently located tea cup, pondering Cat silently.

"Cat, how do you… disappear?" Hatter asked suddenly, setting his spoon down with a clatter.

"How do you wash stairs?" Cat grinned, her laugh cascading around the room in deep dulcet tones. Hatter watched, stupefied, as Cat held up her hand, waving her fingers at him. Her hand then simply faded away into nothingness, and a blurred, warped edge remained where the rest of her arm was still visible. Hatter's eyes bugged. Something tapped his shoulder, and he turned, still stupefied, and located the source of the poke. It was Cat's hand. It waved at him, disemboweled and floating peacefully right above his left shoulder. Hatter suddenly felt very faint as the hand faded. He didn't need to look at Cat to know that it was back where it belonged. He swallowed dryly and slowly rotated back to face Cat.

"From the top down." Cat snuggled deeper into her blankets.

Well, Hatter thought in the still functioning recess of his brain, that didn't answer anything at all, now did it? He noiselessly picked his spoon back up and continued eating, regarding Cat with sort of a confused and chagrined mindset. She was staring absently off into space, her smile bemused and light. She was humming a song that had a strange lilt to it; the tune sounded foreign to Hatter.

With a delayed reaction, Hatter realized that he knew next to nothing about Cat. Hatter finished his meal with a relaxed flourish of his teacup to his lips, feeling sleepy and dazed. He watched Cat turn to him, her movements slow and graceful, rising from her chair. Hatter blinked hard, and suddenly forgot to remember time and everything else.

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The morning light was washed out yet intense and entirely too irritating, Hatter found as he bumbled into his diurnal habits taught to him long long ago to him by his father, or perhaps by evolution. Adversely, he scowled at his all-too cheery bright purple socks adorning his feet, sour at the joy and happiness that they positively radiated at such a rate that the red bed sheets he slept upon might join them in a second chorus if at all possible. He shoved his feet grouchily under the coverlet bunched around his ankles, doubly annoyed at his socks and the birds outside his window.

Hatter was not in a good mood.

He typically fought to pay attention or didn't even bother to, but this morning, oh this morning, how Hatter would have given his best set of felting needles to lack the ability to focus on any single thing or any single set of things. Presently, he stomped out of bed, thoroughly agitated at the fact he had fallen asleep yet again in his clothes. Bother. They would have to go to the cleaner's to release all the wrinkles and creases that scaled his trousers and shirt like a miniscule, vast mountain range. He was in no forgiving atmosphere to judge the day's wear from his wardrobe, and in deciding this, Hatter promptly went to go take a shower to show the wardrobe that he really didn't care if he hurt it's feelings, and nor did he want to deal with it right at the moment. The wardrobe sagged most unbecomingly, decidedly depressed. Hoping to appease the one who had chosen it to house his clothes in, the wardrobe procured a sensible outfit that Hatter normally would have objected to, claiming that those type of clothes were entirely too boring and provided absolutely no visual disturbance at all. Hatter, the wardrobe hoped, wouldn't mind such an outfit with a demeanor like his on a day such as this.

Hatter liked hot showers. Today was not a hot shower day. Rather, Hatter ran the water as cold as it would go and stayed in for as long as he could stand, his toes turning blue and lips a pale lilac before he gave up and turned the water off. His mood not improved by much, Hatter settled for the more boring deep midnight blue towels and presently stomped into the kitchen, freezing. Not even bothering to go back upstairs to get dressed, he stoked the fire and prepared breakfast on the stove with a midnight blue towel wrapped about his waist. He moved about the kitchen in his bare feet, something he never did on such days. Today he would have to go to his workshop in town and commence in "the Big Cleaning," as was regulated by the change of seasons. Spring had indeed melted into the summer that all of Wündarr had been waiting for, and Hatter had to go and refurbish his shop for the items high in demand that the season brought about. He enjoyed this; but, as said before, Hatter was not in a good mood. The Haberdashery would have to wait. He needed to go see March, and possibly, Cap.

Hatter swatted his wet black hair out of his eyes, peeved. He considered having his just-past-the-shoulder length thick black hair cut shorter for a moment, and promptly dismissed it. Let's don't be silly, he reasoned, and do something that useless. I'd hate it for weeks and weeks until it grew long again. And March would throw a fit. Last time I cut my hair, she chucked thirteen teapots and nine teacups at me before settling down enough to declare that she hated me!

He checked the water on the stove, impatient for his morning tea. Hitching his towel up, he dug about in the pantry and found a jar of apple jam and the last few pieces of a loaf of bread in the breadbox. Bare feet slapping the worn woodwork, Hatter made a passable breakfast of pancakes and toast that would keep his stomach satisfied until lunch time.

Finishing his meal, Hatter left the dishes in the sink for him to do in the evening and ran up the staircase, taking two stairs at a time. He was less aggravated, and more frustrated than anything. Hatter yanked open his bedroom door at the top of the door and eyeballed the outfit the wardrobe presented him with. Slate gray trousers, sky blue shirt, and a well-cut but simple brown long coat with cream trimmings and silver buttons. Hatter nodded mutely, approving. He snatched his suspenders from a over-stuffed drawer and grabbed up his clothes in a single sweep, striding over to his bed and thrusting the whole deal down, walking about the room and gathering other pieces of clothing necessary to finish dressing. Having done all of this and attired in his wear for the day, Hatter bounded to the bathroom and brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his unruly locks. He dashed down the stairs, hat and gloves under arm as he struggled putting on his shoes. Completely presentable by the time he reached the front door, Hatter donned his felt top hat and stepped out into the morning world.

Clattering down the steps, Hatter made his way up the front walk to the road and began the ten-minute walk to March's cottage at the edge of Tulgey Wood. As he expected, he was there in no time and March was watering her diverse and beautiful garden. She waved cheerily to him over the hedgerow, dirt smudged across her pert brown nose. He walked through the front gate and it shut noisily behind him, rattling crossly. Ignoring the gate, Hatter greeted his long-time friend.

"Good morning, March! Sleep well?"

March eyed Hatter for only a moment before responding, twitching a fawn ear in his direction. "Good morning to you, as well, Hatter. Have a it bad insofar?"

Hatter groaned and scratched behind his ear, flummoxed. "I think so. I was pretty irritated this morning. Leastways, only enough to depress the wardrobe again."

March nodded sagely, knowing something was up even neither of them new what is was yet. "By chance, did you gather the time to ponder my dream, Hatter?"

Hatter considered March's question for a moment before answering. "Yes, I did."

"And?"

"I really think it was quite literal this time around. I think we'll have an Interloper or a Journeyer for real this time."

"Dear me." March set down her watering can, the liquid it held sloshing about and sprinkling March's skirt and pants. "Any idea where or what time? We might be able to intercept this one if we can predict it."

"I'm not sure. By the account of your dream, it's really hard to predict that. For all I know, it'll happen by the time you lose your ears," Hatter said, overtly annoyed at the situation. March sagged a bit a the ears part; evolution and de-evolution was as common as a cold in Wündarr. March was proceeding, along with some other Creatures like Messenger Rabbit, to evolve into a more human-like state, still retaining her necessary genetics to pass on her hare genes. To de-evolution occurred when the dormant animal genes in an otherwise normal creature manifested and brought them closer to their ancestor's original state.

March accepted this statement, resuming her gardening duties. She knew Hatter was in a mood, but she was perplexed at the catalyst of such an onset. He should have been over the incident the evening before… Or, at least the Hatter she knew would have been. March felt the cold sharp tingles of a dawning, desperately denied fear race up her spine. She refrained from shuddering and running as fast as she could away from Hatter. Before I do anything rash, she decided as she subtly turned to Hatter, I absolutely need to verify. I can't make this judgment hastily.

"Hatter, care for some tea when I'm done? You look a bit off-colour," offered March as she finished watering the flowerbed in front of her, "I'm nearly done here."

Hatter regarded March for a moment. He wanted to go see Cap, but an offer of tea from March was hard to resist. She, after all, grew the best teas around in Wündarr. "All right. Do you need any help finishing up?"

March pondered this for a moment as she made her way back to the well, Hatter trailing her with his hands stuck in his pockets. "Actually, you could go and give Lace her feed. Do you remember the amount?"

Hatter nodded. "As always. I'll be right back." He made his way through the garden and past March's thatched cottage, heading for the tiny barn and the pasture behind her dwelling.

March watched him go as she cranked up one last bucket of water from the well to water her eggplants with. She felt strange and uneasy, knowing what she would have to do if her fears were confirmed. "I hope I'm wrong," she whispered to her plants as she sprinkled them with water. They nodded and dropped, despite the watering. They were fond of Hatter as well, and they could feel it down to their very fibers of their life-force the dread that was instilled in March if her suspicions were correct. "I hope on grave of my mother that I am wrong."

Hatter shrewdly eyed Lace; Lace shrewdly eyed Hatter across the fence. She snorted, threatening to blow snot on him before cantering off around the adjacent side of the barn to her lean-to. They had a mutual contempt for each other, scarcely compromising except for when it came for time for feeding. Hatter muttered to himself as he banged around the barn, scooping grain out of the bin and grabbing a selection of supplements March made herself for her mare. He mixed this all up in the scoop and dumped it into a bucket for Lace. Unlocking the door that lead out into the pasture, Hatter stepped outside and closed the door behind him, cautioned by experience. He didn't want Lace to bolt through the door like she had done once before while March was away, visiting the Labyrinth. It had taken him all morning to entice her back to the pasture with his hat full of an assortment of apples and carrots from Messenger Rabbit's own garden. In the end, she had only eaten his hat and left the rest of the tasty treats untouched.

That was why Hatter left his hat in the barn, safe from Lace's teeth.

Carefully hanging the bucket on a hook on the wall, Hatter edged away and straight back to the door when Lace trotted over, nipping at him. He yanked the door closed behind him with a slam as a hoof collided right where his head had been seconds before. Breathing a sigh of relief, he spun around, reeled backwards and dropped down, instinctively reaching for the rapiers that should have adorned his belt.

Cheshire Cat grinned at him, shaking her head. She had his hat in her hands, rolling it around in her palms. Hatter swallowed dryly, unsure of what to do.

"Fair warning, sir," Cat cautioned, her smile disappearing. "One good turn deserves another. The Queen is planning to move. Soon."

"What….?" Hatter was clearly baffled. "One good turn? The Queen ? Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Hatter threw his hands up into the air, fending off any other remarks. "Slow down, Cat. I hardly know what you are talking about!"

Cat closed her eyes and sat very, very still for a moment, like she was meditating. She blinked.

"Hatter, the Queen is starting the assault on the other Dominions soon. She is gathering manpower. Aeolia is soon to be bloody. She is starting the Examination. "

Cheshire Cat vanished, leaving Hatter's top hat rolling in circles on top of the grain bin. Hatter breathed in and breathed out at an even rate before gathering his hat. Much to his surprise, there was a piece of parchment rolled tightly and tucked into the interior hatband. Hatter debated whether or not to take it out, but decided against it. He had kept March waiting long enough.

Hatter exited the shed and made his way down the gravel path to March's quaint little cottage, his hands shoved into the deep pockets of his long coat. He was lost deep in thought, contemplating Cheshire Cat. Her eyes, the grace in which she moved, her wrists and hands… the gentle curvature of her bare neck encircled in three gold bands, just as condemning as the scarlet letter; her rippling, cascading laugh…

March warily watched Hatter make his way up the path from the window by her sink. She wasn't too sure that her presumptions were correct, but nonetheless: Hatter would be subject to the Test. She twisted away from the window, sadness written across her pretty face. It was at times like these she wished that the previous Queen of Hearts was still in rule. The Assassination changed everything. March remembered it all too well. The new queen had stepped up to power within hours of the Queen's mysterious death, beginning a reign of totalitarian terror. She had the Labyrinth planted and nurtured, and with time, turned the center point of the hedge maze into the Necropolis. It was historically where all the Heart line had been put to rest; now it was also home to the many nameless graves of the subjects of the Heart Dominion's subjects who displeased the Queen. March's mother was among them.

Amaryllis Anemone Crysanth. March mouthed the name, touching her fingers to her lips in a silent orison. Amaryllis Anemone Crysanth. It was a sweet mantra full of love, devotion, and life. Amaryllis was simply known by her title as Master Gardener for the same reasons the rest of Wündarr, even those in the other Dominions, never used their given, true names. The Queen. Amaryllis was beheaded for planting white roses in defiance to the Queen's direct orders to plant only red roses. March had been very young; she could barely remember her mother walking up the steps of the dais, bound but proud. March could envision in her mind's eye Amaryllis' ebony skin and jet black hair bound in intricate braids; she could smell the lavender soap her mother used, and Amaryllis humming a lullaby to soothe the plants as she worked with them.

March wearily shook the memories of her mother from her head with a silent prayer and a blessing to her in whichever grave she had been buried. March knew in her heart she could ask the earth to show her, but in that same heart she wasn't ready to see where her mother had been laid to rest. After Amaryllis had been killed and it was established that her father could not be found, March lived with Hatter and his father, Top, and his grandfather, Cap. They had grown up together and were close friends; all the same, her adoptive family never took the place of her mother. Perhaps it was because March wasn't ready to let go yet; mayhap it wasn't time to yet. March felt that she would know when the time came.

Stealing another glance out the window as she drew water from the sink and into a kettle, March saw that Hatter was nearly to the door. In a rush, she clamored about, putting the kettle on the lit stove and grabbed two tea cups, the sugar and the creamer, loose leaf tea for herself and several spoons. Depositing the entire heap onto her kitchen table, March scurried over to the fireplace and scooted aside the ashes, fingers scrabbling for a crevice. Touching the crack, March dug her fingernails underneath the flat stone and lifted it, revealing flame-proof cloth. Pushing aside the folds of the heavy material and various jars of deep rich colours, March grabbed the blood-red glass jar, holding it up to the light for a brief moment of time, admiring the profound depths of colour. She placed the jar on the ground and hastily covered the secret chamber up, scattering the ashes so they looked natural. Dashing back to the table, March found her steeper and plugged it with the tea leaves from the red jar, hiding the jar in the cabinet by the door just as Hatter came in. She hid her actions by grabbing out another steeper, smiling over her shoulder at Hatter as the tea kettle shrieked. He rolled his eyes and went over to the stove, grabbing a towel and pulling the kettle off the flame. Turning the flame off, Hatter grabbed the maroon teapot on the shelf and poured the tea in while March finished setting up the table.

"Here," she said, taking the kettle and handing Hatter the teacup with the red jar's contents, "Try this tea. I think I've finally perfected it."

"Really? I guess I'll give it a whirl." Hatter poured the water in March's cup first, and then his own. March watched him from the corner of her eye as she sat down. He still had the cup she handed him; this was good. A few moments of companionable silence followed after Hatter sat down while they waited for their tea to steep. March took this as an opportunity to start a thread of conversation.

"Hatter, have you seen Cap lately?"

Hatter looked surprised for a moment as if March had caught onto a secret she wasn't supposed to know. "No, I haven't," he replied," But I was planning to today. I needed to talk to him about your dream, and besides that, I wanted to check up on how he was fairing." Hatter looked up from his hands, catching March's eye. "Do you want to come with? I mean, it is your dream and all, and you haven't seen him for ages as well."

March bobbed her head. "I'd like that. Your tea should be done, but the way. It's a quick steeper and it doesn't need any sugar. It packs quite a punch all by itself."

She felt a drop of sweat roll down the back of her neck and into her blouse. Now, wait a moment, she thought unhappily, I've got nothing to worry about. Hatter just thinks it's a new tea, is all. He won't recognize it because he's never had it before.

Hatter took an experimental sip of the tea and found it quite delightful. It did have a bit of a tang to it, but it was pleasant. He quickly drained the cup and set it down between him and March, feeling a little light-headed. It's now or never, March quipped to herself. He can't lie, even if he wanted to.

"Hatter," March lowered her voice, "Has there been any new members inducted into the Painted Roses?"

Hatter frowned, thinking. "No," he affirmed, "There's not been an induction for a while now. Come to think of it, I don't think we've gathered any new members since the beginning of the new year."

"All right. I was just curious. Say, do you think there's been a leak?" March nervously twitched her skirt under the table. Her palms were beginning to sweat and she wouldn't dare hold her teacup so that Hatter would see her hands shaking. She always was a nervous wreck when performing the Test on a close friend.

Hatter regarded his now empty teacup. "No," he said slowly and thoughtfully, "I don't believe so. We would have heard from the Knave by now if there had been a leak."

"So glad to hear that." March flashed a nervous grin and quickly took a sip of tea, trying to steady her nerves. So far, so good. All the answers were the ones that she wanted to hear. But why was she still so jittery?

"Um, Hatter? Can I ask you a really important question?"

"Of course, March. Fire away." Hatter looked blissfully oblivious. March's stomach was turning circles. Good earth, her mind squeaked, I could ask him his blessed name and he'd tell me it!

March took a deep breath. "Hatter, have you been… Taken?"

Hatter's jaw dropped. "Why, of course not, March! Fire forbid me, I'd rather die before being Taken! But--"

March launched herself across the table and hugged Hatter as hard as she could, crushing him.

"Hatter, I was terrified that you had been Taken and that the Painted Roses had been found out and that everybody was as good as gone and we'd have to go hide out and that the Queen knew that there was to be an Interloper or a Journeyer coming and she would take them and then she would behead somebody or everybody and that I would never see you or Top or Cap or Messenger Rabbit again and !" March cut herself short, releasing Hatter. "You have no idea how worried I was!"

Hatter was dumbfounded. He quickly gathered his wits about him, scrounging up all the things that occurred to him at once. "You gave me the tea laced with the Elixir of Truth, didn't you?" Hatter accused, glaring pointedly at March as she scampered back to her chair, picking up all the items that had been knocked off the table in her enthusiasm.

She looked sheepishly at him, grinning. "Yes."

Hatter rested his head in his hands. "Now I will have dysentery of the mouth for the rest of the day. I cannot tell a lie." He said, mock-savant, grinning back at March like they were kids again, pretending to hijack an airship.

"Yup."

"Ah, well. I do suppose I deserve it. I was somewhat… not myself this morning," admitted Hatter, " I guess it's because I've been thrown off by that new character, Cheshire Cat."

"Oh?" March's interest was piqued now, and she paid attention, listening intently.

"She was in my house last night! I had no idea until I went downstairs to grab a snack and she was there, asleep on my recliner in the kitchen wrapped in all the blankets! She made this fantastic meal, of course, and then I saw three of her Bonds. She's a slave, March!"

March gasped in horror, clasping her hand to her throat. "A slave?" She rasped, "To who?"

"Cat's the Duchess's new slave. And even worse," Hatter continued despite the shock turning March's face ashen, " They bound her nine times, March! Nine times!"

"Nine?" squeaked March, astonished. "To whom would she be bound nine times? And why?'

"I know the three on her neck are for her bond to the Duchess, but the other's I am not sure of. She gave me the answer 'I am dangerous, I suppose' and that's it. She has told me nothing about herself or why she is bound so many times. In all truth, I am worried for her… " Hatter admitted, looking slightly bashful. March ignored that, concentrating on the idea Hatter had presented her with.

"So, what all has she told you?" March pressed, flicking her thick umber hair over her shoulder.

Hatter thought for a moment. Cheshire Cat didn't tell me about the hidden piece of parchment, so I don't have to say anything about that, he reasoned. I can get by with telling her about what she told me in the barn because it may be important to the Painted Roses.

"Her exact words were this: The Queen is starting the assault on the other Dominions soon. She is gathering manpower. Aeolia is soon to be bloody. She is starting the Examination."

March gasped. "We need to go see Cap immediately."

Hatter nodded in agreement and stood up with March. They left the cottage in the state as it was, both running to Cap and Top's residence as fast as their legs and hearts could carry them. Not too far away, in a mansion on a hill, something terrible was happening.

The mansion, in short, was a turbulent building of both Victorian abode and Gothic cathedral. It had steep, pinnacle towers that pierced the sky and demanded respect. The dark, dreary stonework was littered with wooden motifs of fancy curlicues and whorls, harshly juxtaposing the two elements. The tall menacing windows were lit from the inside with a yellow-gold glow akin to the glow of a fire in the far distance. On the front door a blood red heart was emblazoned in stained glass; the mansion was a marked, dark house indeed.

A harsh shriek reverberated across the forest surrounding the mansion, echoing in the distance. "WHERE IS MY SLAVE GIRL?"

Silence.

Then chaos. The mansion busted with noise and movement as servants called out for the missing girl, running about franticly.

An oily, slick looking footman slipped out of the door, his nose stuck in permanent disdain. He twitched his little mustache, his large, glassy bug eyes protruding at an even more serious degree as he scrutinized the area.

"Come here, you little wench…The Duchess is calling, whether you've heard all ready or not." He primly adjusted his sickly gray velvet frockcoat. Cat barely materialized before him, her features drawn in a grimace.

"You are looking chilly, Fish. Allow me to lend you some warmth," Cat purred, procuring a lighted match and flicking it lazily on the Fish Footman. He screamed, shrill and uneven, as his breeches caught fire upon impact on the match. Cat grinned and disappeared, hindering her mistress's call.

The Fish Footman glared about indignantly as he patted out the small flame. "The nerve of that… that slave. I'll get her one day…" He turned on his heal and slammed the front door behind him, rattling the panes of blood red glass.

The Duchess paced, aggravated. Her hideous features, marred by wrinkles and folds and pockmarks and a birthmark that spanned in a crescent from her forehead to the edge of her chin, were taut and furious. She turned her heavy adorned head left and right like a bull before it charges. A serving maid cowered in the corner, holding a tea tray. The Duchess opened her maw, bellowing.

"WHERE IS M--" Cheshire Cat appeared in front of her mistress, head bowed and hands clasped, demure and submissive.

"Here, my lady." Cat's voice was soft and bell-like, calming and gentle. She had her eyes closed and could feel the memory of the bond burning before it did.

"Where were you?" Hissed the Duchess, holding a chain with a golden locket on it over a candle flame. Cat remained silent, the bonds searing her neck and arms.

"I said, where were you?!" Spewed the Duchess. Cat uttered not a syllable; she stood as if she were a statue, mute and unmoving. The Duchess reared back and backhanded Cat with such a force that the blow sent her flying into a trivet with a lamp on it. Cat's eyes flew open and she controlled her reflexes, allowing herself to be thrown into the small table, knocking it to the ground and breaking it along with the lamp. I've made a lot of mistakes, Cat thought to herself, a lot of mistakes…

The Duchess stormed over to Cat's prone figure on the floor and hauled her up by the arm, shaking her. "Will you not answer me?! Answer me!"

Cat averted her gaze and clamped her mouth shut. Not a word, not a word, her mind whispered, not a word.

"Is it because of my face? Am I so terrible to look upon that you cannot speak?" the Duchess growled, reaching for a shard of glass. "Let's see how you like being ugly, pretty girl Creature."

She flicked the glass across Cat's cheekbone, leaving a thin trail of blood in it's wake.

"Duchess, there is no need for that. We must be reasonable here. Her pretty face may be of some use one day." The voice, disembodied from the shadows, was laced with malice and sarcasm, belittling and condescending. The Duchess released both Cat and the glass, allowing them to fall to the floor as she snatched up the golden locket from next to the candle on the round table. Cat went down limply and stayed as she was; the less attention she attracted to herself the better.

"There are other ways to punish a slave, ones that will not be seen on her face. You could always take her to the guardhouse…?" The Queen stepped out of the shadows, suggestive and imposing.

"No," said the Duchess, sneering down at Cat after a moments consideration," there is always the chance she could become heavy with child."

"True." The Queen draped herself elegantly over the settee, her black velvet and red silk skirts fanning out beautifully. She smiled, her cruel lips twisting the crisscrossed scar springing out from behind a glossy red heart-shaped eye patch. Every inch royalty and heartless, the Queen was the very image of a dictator monarch. She reeked of disdain and snobbery, sneering down at the rest of the world.

"Girl," she shot at the servant in the corner, "Bring us the tea I requested."

Shaking like a leaf in the wind, the girl inched forward and placed the tray on the table. The Queen nodded, dismissing her. The girl vanished through a door, needing no encouragement.

"Executioner, come. I need you to evaluate the slave." The Queen motioned to the Duchess to pour the tea, lazily waving her hand about. "Slave, get up. What is your name?"

Cheshire Cat rose wearily to her feet, taking her time.

"Well?" The Queen was becoming impatient as the Executioner glided out of the shadows, curved sword swinging at her hip.

"Your Majesty, I have no name to speak of." Cheshire Cat said slowly and carefully, staring intently at her bare feet.

"Is that so?" Snorted the Queen, accepting a the tea the Duchess offered her. "Where did you come from?"

"A land far from here."

"I need specifics," the Queen enunciated slowly and vindictively, glaring pointedly over her tea.

"I have nothing more to tell you." Cheshire Cat whispered boldly, closing her eyes.

The Queen sighed reproachfully. "Very well. Executioner, commence in the evaluation. "

"Yes, Queen." the Executioner's voice was soft and fresh, like a stir of wind over autumn leaves. She seemingly floated over to Cheshire Cat, circling her, her billowing gown ballooning elegantly. Without warning she struck out, aiming for Cheshire Cat's throat with the palm of her hand. Cheshire Cat reacted in a split second, deftly fending off the Executioner's blow with a forearm, her eyes glinting.

"I see," murmured the Executioner, rubbing her wrist. "You have a bit of a spark, don't you?"

"Does a cat not have claws?" inquired Cheshire Cat, watching the Executioner with guarded eyes. The Queen observed tactfully, the Duchess stationary at her side.

The Executioner continued to circle, remaining silent. She discreetly pulled a knife from her bodice, anchoring the handle in her palm with the dull side of the blade against her forearm. She struck out again, her movements as hushed as an owl's. Cheshire Cat ducked and swung her weight around on the balls of her feet, rotating herself behind the Executioner and wrapping her arm around her neck and disarming her with a flick of her wrist to the bend in the Executioner's elbow.

"Ah," breathed the Queen, "I have come to the understanding that we have found what we are looking for, Duchess. Slave, release my Executioner and stand at ease."

Cheshire Cat reluctantly obeyed; she and the Executioner parted and clasped their hands behind their backs, facing the Queen and looking at the ground.

"Slave, since you have no name, do you have a so-called title or epithet to go by?"

"Cheshire Cat."

"Fine. That will do for now. You are dismissed."

Cheshire Cat disappeared, knowing the worst was yet to come. She reappeared in the kitchen, ducking with a sigh as a pot flew over her head. Pepper, the cook, was in a frenzy again. Cheshire Cat sidled over to the fireplace, pushing the blankets she slept on with her toe. Sighing again, she unwrapped her scarf from her neck as Pepper cast her a sidelong glance. Pulling the dented silver platter she and Pepper both used as a mirror down from the mantle, Cheshire Cat examined her three bonds on her neck. The skin around them was red and sore from where the Duchess has burned her through the bond. Cheshire Cat replaced the mirror as Pepper came over, folding her scarf up and placing it next to the mirror. Pepper gasped when she saw Cheshire Cat's burns and the cut on her cheek.

"Cat, what are they doing to you now?" Pepper placed her trademark wooden spoon in one of her various pockets on her apron.

"Nothing different than the usual." Cat said, sitting on the fireplace.

"Girl, you never tell me what 'the usual' is. I need to know." Pepper propped her hands on her hips, looking expectantly at Cheshire Cat. Cheshire Cat failed to meet Pepper's eyes, zoning off. Pepper sighed at her friend's predicament. She rustled over to the counter, digging through one of the cabinets until she procured a pine box with a faded red symmetrical cross stamped on it. It was rather large, bulky and heavy. Pepper set it next to Cheshire Cat with a clunk, startling her. Pepper ignored Cheshire Cat's curious looks and emptied the box, producing a small knife from a pocket and prying up the bottom of the pine box, revealing a hidden compartment. Various bottles and sachets of herbs and medicines cluttered it.

"Medicines and other remedies from March Hare. Of course, the Queen has outlawed them, so I have to keep them hidden," explained Pepper in a whisper. Cat nodded; she could understand Pepper's precaution.

Pepper rummaged around and found a small emerald green bottle. "Here, this should fix everything."

She uncorked the bottle and dabbled a bit of the minty-smelling cream on Cat's neck and face, watching the injuries melt away.

"Thanks," Cat smiled in relief at Pepper as she repacked the box, hauling it back to the cabinets.

"Not a problem, dear. You should be getting some sleep. I know the Duchess has been running you ragged as of late."

"All right." Cat slid onto the floor and yanked a blanket over to her. "Tell me a story, Pepper. You always tell the best ones."

"As you wish, you silly Creature. How about the one about the Walrus and the Carpenter? Have you heard of it?"

"No. Please do tell it to me." Cat snuggled deeper into her threadbare blankets, trying to get as comfortable as possible on the hard stone floor.

"It starts like this..."

Thus concludes the end of chapter one, Give and Take. I would like to thank my fabulous, wonderful, amazing, beautiful and intelligent (she has the smarts and the looks! I swear!) beta(-fish) lady, Arciere. (Not Mercutio.) With out the help of my brilliant friend, I would have never posted this. May the muses always smile upon her. I appreciate reviews of any type--encouragement, even constructive criticism, inspires me to bring the land of Wündarr to life. So, please, reviews? It facilitates developments in the plot…..

With hope,

Lilith Evangaline