Anything that is happening inside of Lacey's mind, and not in reality, is in italics.
I own nothing related to Once Upon a Time, Alice in Wonderland, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Clock, and the Center Cannot Hold.
"This world... This world belongs to the strong, my friend.
The ritual of our existence is based on the strong getting
stronger by devouring the weak."
-One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Clock
Something had changed in the town of Storybrooke, Maine.
It was subtle, a light ripple across an otherwise uneventful landscape. Unless someone was looking for it, no one would notice a change.
Lacey was always looking.
As the last chime from the clock tower ended, Lacey's world became clearer. It was as though she had been trying to see underwater for years, and only just now realized it. The blurred lines of the unreality that Lacey had become so used to were slightly straighter, the people slightly sharper, their voices slightly stronger. It fascinated Lacey how quickly and quietly this had occurred, how in one small moment everything and nothing could change. She still couldn't see completely through the unreality, but cracks were beginning to show. Soon it would break entirely.
The end was almost near.
She was sitting by herself in the rec room. In one corner, Alice and the Chief were debating (more, Alice was explaining the benefits of cat-ownership while the Chief ignored her). Nurse Ratched stood at the center, surveying the room like an eagle watching its prey. Jefferson, Lacey's favorite orderly, walked into the room…
And promptly walked back out.
All was normal in the world of lunatics, except for the tiny shimmer of change that lightly glowed throughout the room. It intrigued her, but Lacey couldn't deny the fear flashing through her like strobe lights. Jefferson lived in reality, and there was something so…unstable about him, as though at any moment his pain would explode his chest. If reality was so horrible, Lacey wasn't entirely certain that she wanted it to intrude upon her life. The unreality might have confused her, but it was safe. In Lacey's world, that's what she needed most.
So she sat there, contemplating what to do and how to react, when there was a sudden and biting creak behind her. She whipped around, every nerve on alert. There, right behind her, sat a clocked figure at a spinning wheel. She couldn't see his face, but knew, deep in her heart, that he was there for her. Slowly—oh, so slowly—the wheel turned as his long fingers stroked it tenderly, as though it was a woman and not a machine. The fight drained out of her as she watched the man work, steadily, mesmerizingly. She followed the thread with her eyes, the back of her mind noting that it slowly transformed into gold.
But that wasn't important. That wasn't the purpose.
She was being drawn to it, as though a rope had lassoed her around the waist and was pulling her forward. She went willingly, but slowly, each step weighing a world. Something inside of Lacey told her to stay away; she didn't know this man. She didn't truly want to know why he spun. But a fog had come over her brain and was clouding her instincts. She was forgetting where she was, who she was, what she was (and maybe that was the purpose).
Her feet wanted to run but her mind couldn't remember how. So instead, she crept forward.
Slowly—oh so slowly—Lacey crawled. Each step felt like a millennia, but she had time. The man wasn't going to go anywhere. This she knew. He was there for her and he wasn't going to leave. Not yet.
But there was suddenly a chair, and Lacey was suddenly tripping over it, and the wonderful spell she had been under was suddenly broken. A loud clatter rang throughout the room as the chair toppled over (and when had it even appeared?). Lacey bit back a yelp even as a horrifying hush descended. The wind was sucking in on itself, drawing back out of fear. Lacey stopped breathing, the world stopped turning, and the decaying spinning wheel halted. As Lacey stood cemented to the floor, the lone figure slowly turned, bringing his large, reptilian eyes to hers. As they met, Lacey felt a sudden and unexpected pain burst from her heart. She was being ripped apart from the inside, her flesh turning inside out. The pain touched the edges of her mind—of her soul—and there was no way to contain it. All she could do was succumb.
The man just sat there, watching—unmoving, uncaring, unfeeling.
Lacey could not breathe. Her lungs were being crushed under the sheer weight of his gaze. She wanted it to end—wanted to be ended—but the world is not known for its mercy. Instead, the pain dragged on and Lacey kept on living and the man kept on watching with his large, reptilian eyes.
She dropped to the floor. At some point, she must have screamed, but Lacey couldn't remember. Four orderlies were rushing towards her, even as the rest of the room paused. The patients silently watched her, staring at her with pity (for they were sick, but they weren't that sick). They knew the poor, crazy girl who so often sat alone was never going to get better.
It was common, unspoken knowledge.
So no one helped when the orderlies grabbed her by her limbs and yanked her up, her body suspended over the floor. Lacey's gaze was jolted from the man, as they flung her onto a nearby gurney. When she looked back, he was gone.
As Lacey spasmed on the stretcher, the orderlies strapped her down, each cuff digging painfully into her skin. She attempted to twist out of them, but only managed to chaff herself; the dry, itchy feeling only serving to cause her greater discomfort.
Jefferson stood near her head, tightening the straps and avoiding her eyes. Nurse Ratched came up behind him, surveying his work. Her eyes moved from his hands to Lacey's face, a slippery smile forming as she took in her fear.
"This is for your own good, Lacey. You are out of control. This will help calm you," the nurse craftily whispered. Lacey could not believe that they were trying to help her. They were only hindering her escape. He wouldn't let her go so easily; he would come for her, and she would have no defenses.
"No, please! He'll come back for me! He's going to come back! You can't just leave me here. He'll hurt me! You have to help! Why aren't you helping?" Lacey was practically in tears, her voice cracking as she pleaded with the callous nurse.
"I don't know what you're talking about, girl. There is no one there. It's all in your mind, a symptom of your disease."
"No! He was real! Realer than you! Realer than anything. And now he's not happy. He wanted me, but I'm not with him! He's going to come back! You're supposed to protect me! Let me out! I'm not crazy! Let me out!"
"Seeing things that aren't there are what crazy, little girls do. Crazy, little girls need to be strapped down when they're out of control so they don't hurt themselves. Are you a crazy, little girl?" Nurse Ratched leaned down, whispering close to Lacey's ear, "I think you are."
And that was the end of their conversation.
They left her alone in her room, strapped to the bed so that she could contemplate what she had done. She had been a bad girl, disturbing the peace with her outburst. She should feel ashamed.
Mostly, Lacey felt empty.
She had nothing to do but lie there and think. The man's eyes had been so real… too real… unlike anything Lacey had ever seen before (and yet, she had seen them before, hadn't she?). The unreality had not touched them—never touched them—and they were living in the world beyond her sight. They were what lay beneath the cracks, what were threatening to seep out and destroy the world. They were pain and hurt and fear and so very real.
Those eyes had penetrated her, going deep to the edges of her heart. They filled its dark corners with understanding (of what, Lacey wasn't entirely sure). That man had known Lacey better than she knew herself, and he wanted her to realize that. There was something she was missing, something just outside her memory trying to slip back inside. It was almost there, almost back inside, almost breaking in, it just needed a little…
Push. And with that thought, he was there, standing in the shadows of her jail. She couldn't see the face—couldn't see the reptilian eye- but she knew who it was and what he wanted: her. He had come as her reckoning, a reaper to pass judgment on her soul. She had failed his test, and now…now she would pay for it.
"Forever," some dark voice echoed through her mind like wind through a cave. Forever. But forever wasn't enough and now he had come and she would pay for what she had done (what had she done?). She had forgotten, but that was no matter. Memory or not, we must all pay the price for our sins.
Lacey's time had come to pay for hers.
She pulled at her straps, hoping they would come free from shear willpower. They held steady, holding her in place as a virgin sacrifice for him—spread, and unwilling, and waiting. She was so vulnerable, and there was no chance for escape. No weapons lay nearby, no allies came to help. It was just her and the man—themselves, only themselves, only ever themselves —just the way he wanted it.
But he never moved from his corner. He stayed there, hidden in the shadows. Lacey tried to forget him, tried to stare at the ceiling as the light fully faded from her room, the darkness conquering the day. But he was always there, an ever-nagging thought in an otherwise empty mind. She could only push him so far; her mind was only so big. There was not enough room for her to forget, nor would he allow her.
Every time Lacey dared to close her eyes, dared to try to sleep, he would move ever so slightly so that his long cloak would whisper along the floor like a prayer. Her eyes would snap open, he would freeze, and the whole process would begin again.
Lacey's veins buzzed, and her head felt heavy with pressure. Her body was betraying her; in her final moments, it would not allow her peace. So she waited for him to strike, and he stood silently in the corner, and the long night dragged on.