Sanity is a distant peace, floating in a realm outside her vision. How long has she been there? people whisper. Who is she, really?
May doesn't think she knows. All she knows is deep, dark red, splattering her consciousness, taking over her world. And everything is red. The beautiful, pure roses – so unlike her – must be painted red as a tribute to the queen of bleeding hearts. May doesn't know where or when she acquired such a title. The only bleeding heart in Wonderland is hers.
She twirls the swirly straw mindlessly; staring into the depths of the dark, bloody wine.
"Drew," she whines, "fetch me a rose, will you?"
The sound of heavy footsteps fills the velvety red throne room, and Drew, rose in hand, kneels at her high–heel clad feet, tousled green hair prominent against the fuchsia background.
"For Beautifly," he drawls, lifting his head ever–so–slightly to shoot her an empathetic glance.
"Yes," May says absentmindedly, snatching the rose from his white–gloved hand, and caressing its petals fondly. "For Beautifly."
And both of them are liars, because she really does care, and the roses were never for Beautifly.
"I'm late!" the swatch of white fur protruding from the back of her shorts swishes nervously. "Oh; why couldn't I have woken up earlier? I'll be late for the contest, and the queen will be there." She scampers down a neatly paved path, navy hair dancing in the spring breeze, and stops shortly, panting heavily, hands resting on her bent knees for support.
"What to do," a playful voice butts into the girl's breathing, "when you're late, hm?"
The girl narrows her eyes, and seethes, "Shut up, Barry, or I'll make you."
Barry appears, hanging from the tree, face alight with an ear–to–ear grin. "Ooh, Dawn; feisty, I like that."
Dawn rolls her eyes. "Look, I've got business to attend to. Her–highness called me especially to compete in this contest, Y'know? This is important."
Barry says warningly, "I wouldn't go into her rose garden, if I were you. They say she paints her roses with the blood of the hearts she breaks," he disappears, leaving only a dancing smile. "Oh, the hearts she breaks!" he sings nonsensically, white half–moon of teeth spinning in circles.
Chills run down Dawn's spine, and she flees the clearing, running further into the gnarled forest.
The girl's mind travels places she's never been before, and she is thankful for a distraction from her droning sister and the lull of reality.
"Like, would you listen?" an annoyed voice cuts into the girl's daydreams about gurgling brooks.
"Sorry," the girl mutters, rolling her eyes.
Her sister sighs, and says seriously, "Look, if you, like, don't focus, then we're, like, going to go bankrupt."
The girl says she knows, and that she really is sorry, but her mind is elsewhere, in the depths of the vast sea, amongst the coral reefs and the ethereal dapple of sun shining into the waves.
Her sister announces a break, and leaves to dust her face with powder.
Misty rises, dusting off her billowy skirt, and strolls onto the beige beach.
She tucks her hands behind her back demurely – like every young lady should– until she is sure her sister isn't watching. When the glossy blond head of hair disappears, she lets her arms swing freely, and undoes the ribbon holding her fiery red hair in place. She hikes up her skirt and wades into the rolling, glassy sea. A tugging sensation pulls at her – dragging her mind, soul, and body into the depths of the ocean.
As much as she feels she should resist – there must be something, anything, tethering her to the world – she accepts the frothing waves with open arms, and plunges into the frigid water.
A gargantuan wave crashes over her head, sending her spinning and blind, and as she sinks beneath the surface, she thinks solely of her mother's green eyes and red hair.
Her smiling face is the last thing Misty can see before everything fades into dark, taunting shadows.
The nightmares are the worst. She is weak, and powerless within the cage of her dreams, and as her father and mother are tossed around like ragdolls, she can only scream. Her father, as always, smiles – albeit shakily – and reaches out a shivering, bloody hand to May. She clasps his hand, body heaving with sobs, until it goes limp in her grasp.
She buries her face in his chest and yells up to the sky – a bloodcurdling scream of rage, fear, and insanity. Then she looks down at her hands, and shrieks. They are covered in dark, oozing blood.
May sits upright in her bed, gasping, covered in a sheen of sweat. She has blood – crimson splashes – splattered across her mind, and although there is none on her hands, she feels the pain and horror as if there were really blood dirtying her palms.
"Drew," she rasps, eyes welling with fat tears. "Drew!"
Drew rushes to her side, and falls to his knees respectfully. "Yes, My Queen?"
May doesn't speak, but collapses on the floor, shaking violently. She looks up when she feels a pair of arms wrapping around her, and is pleasantly surprised when she sees Drew, embracing her.
"May," she says offhandedly. "Don't call me Queen. I'm May. May Maple." She leans into the hug, wrapping her arms around his neck. But the blood blocks her vision, and she digs her nails into his soft shirt to repel the memories. She grabs his shirt when she cannot, and tilts her head up, eyes fluttering shut.
He brushes his lips against hers, and she whines softly, sighing in contentment. He starts to say something, but she opens her hooded eyes, brings a finger to his lips, and whispers, "Don't speak. Make me forget, Drew."
And when she bleeds, later that night, the memories are spirited away without a trace.