Mine
Mirana looked down at Alice and tenderly pushed a stray lock of golden curls out of the girl's face. She looked so young and innocent when she was sleeping. Even more so than when she was awake. Her skin practically glowed in the faint light of the moon shining through the White Queen was enraptured. She was so beautiful. Even at the tender age of fifteen, Alice was probably the most beautiful young woman the queen had ever laid eyes on. And she was all hers.
She idly remembered how she, at first, didn't want a champion to fight against her sister in her stead. But the Oraculum said that she would have a champion, and even she, for all her power, could not change what the Oraculum told. Mirana had not liked it. She had imagined a champion that would not even be able to hold a sword, let alone use it. She had thought the champion would be useless. She still hadn't liked it when her champion had gone to the Red Queen's court first. This was her champion they were talking about. Not her sister's champion. Hers only. The girl wasn't supposed to be in Crims, even if that was where the Vorpal sword was hidden.
Mirana had been surprised when Alice had arrived at her castle a few days later, with the Vorpal sword and on the Bandersnatch. She had, despite herself, been impressed. If reluctantly. She had also been captured by the girl's beauty, accented by her shyness and her naiveté and her adorable, slightly befuddled smile. Soft golden curls, not too tall, heart-shaped face, perfect curves and an angelic smile. She was gorgeous. Even then, the possessiveness (obsessiveness) had started to bloom already.
She hated the fact that Alice had spent time in her sister's company. She positively loathed how she spent time with Tarrant, and had unconsciously already started plotting out ways to get the girl to herself. Because Alice was hers. Not Iracebeth's. Not Tarrant's. Hers. Then there was the problem of Alice not even wanting to be her champion. The girl didn't want to have to slay the Jabberwocky. No matter how hard everyone tried to persuade the girl. Mirana had tried it herself. Nothing worked – foreshadowing, pleading, guilt-inflicting. Short from outright ordering her or forcing her to accept her role, Mirana had tried practically everything. It frustrated her like nothing else, but she calmed herself down every time. The girl would learn to obey eventually.
When Frabjous day came, Alice still hadn't been convinced. They had been about to leave for battle when Alice showed up after all, clad in the Armour of Marmoreal, Vorpal sword in hand and on the back of the Bandersnatch. She had looked so nervous. Yet she had smiled and soldiered on like it was something she did daily, eyes shining with adoration as she looked at the Queen. Mirana had known then that it would not be hard to make Alice hers completely. The girl was so naïve that she probably wouldn't even notice it before it was too late.
Watching Alice battle the Jabberwocky while she could do nothing had been very vexing. Mirana didn't like the idea of Alice getting hurt. It tugged at her heart insistently. Of course, the girl had succeeded in killing the Jabberwocky. Mirana had never doubted that. And while she disliked that her champion had gotten hurt while doing so, it also playing into her hand wonderfully.
She had hidden Alice away almost immediately after the battle, telling the healers she'd look after the girl herself. She wasn't about to let anyone near her. Alice belonged to her. Only she would ever be allowed to look at the girl, or touch her, or talk to her, or even be in the same space. Because Alice was hers.
It had not been extremely hard to get the girl to rely on her only, Mirana mused as she trailed a finger down Alice's cheek. The girl was so naïve and oblivious that she, at first, hadn't noticed when Mirana touched her just a touch too intimate or inappropriately. She didn't notice when Mirana would kiss her cheek just a bit too close to her lips. Nor did she notice how conversations were masterfully steered away from subjects like her friends, Tarrant and the March Hare and others. Alice had never realized just how Mirana manipulated her and, slowly, tamed her. How she made her dependant on the White Queen, and made sure the White Queen was the only person she trusted.
Mirana hadn't cared about the age difference when she had lured the girl into her bed, despite the fact that she was twice Alice's age. In fact, it had just been this night when she had taken Alice's virginity. She had taken her innocence without a shred of remorse about the fact that the girl was too young for her, and not even ready for such intimacy yet. She hadn't cared whether Alice had been ready or not. She was her champion. Mirana had every right to take what she wanted. And she had been gentle about it. She had hardly hurt Alice. There were hardly any bruises left on her soft skin.
She pulled Alice a bit closer to her naked body, lips ghosting over an inflamed bite mark, one where she had broken clean through the girl's skin. She liked the way her marks looked on Alice's skin, it appealed to her possessive side, the side that wanted to lock Alice up and never let her go again. Mirana had given into the desire a long time ago. She had given into that desire since she had first laid eyes on her champion. It was the side that roared in anger when she learned Alice had gone to Salazen Grum. The side that wanted to make sure Alice could never come near Iracebeth again. Even if that meant she had to have her sister assassinated. The thought of Alice spending time with anyone but her was almost unbearable. It made her angry beyond measure. She would not allow it. Not ever. She tightened her grip on Alice slightly with that thought. She would never let her go. Ever.
Mine.