Our journey mostly passes in silence – a short and sombre trip, but then again, that's rather fitting – there is a chance all of us travel to our death. It's almost as we reach the chessboard, our battlefield, that Alice clears her throat hesitantly and asks one question that I don't want to answer, brings up one memory that shouldn't linger in my mind.
"Was she always like… this?"
Was I always like this? I hear echo in my ears and I resist the bitter frantic laughter that wells up on my lips, deny it release. My pained grimace only seems to bring more questions, a shadow quickly flitting through her eyes as she looks into mine. I wonder then if she can truly see into my own, can tell what I am thinking. She opens her mouth and I hear, "We are here."
But it is not her voice; Tarrant's instead, ever coming to my rescue. I nod to him in gratitude, he beams a gap toothed smile back. I wonder why it is that I have never been able to love him the way I've always wanted to, the way I know he'd probably return. Why has he never inspired in me the level of feeling this small slip of a girl does with a mere look?
A Pawn manoeuvres the stairs to my side; I climb down gracefully, as I have done so many times. My eyes take in the sight in front of me… Ilosovic is by her side. He always is these days, could not bear a name that's more appropriate: the very epitome of a stain besmirching everything within. How far has she allowed his influence to reach? How far has he corrupted her? How many actions have been her own, how many his?
I glide, expression regal, as she walks towards me… but with every step I see the picture change. The colours bleed as if a pail of water has been thrown over our surroundings and where the colour stills, I see a very different scene.
"Hello… Iracebeth."
"Hello… Miwana."
And just like that, I am five years old again.
The sunshine is oh so bright within the courtyard of the castle – a spotlight on the ruins of the beauty that has once bloomed vividly around me. I only longed to see what lay within, what once was covered by the petals, what our mother had meant when she had said these roses were our father's love.
"What have you done, Miwana?"
I swallow hard as I look down around me, the snowy white petals littering the ground. "I wanted to see…." I whisper hesitantly, "I wanted to see…." But the truth is I don't know. The usual urge rose up within me: to peel each petal from the bud, to crush the fragile flower, I only wanted to… destroy. I start to cry, I know I am in trouble, these roses were our father's gift to our mother – his parting gift before he led the army to the Outlands, from whence he's yet to actually return.
"Sshhh…" I am wrapped in a warm embrace, Iracebeth's breath carrying a tang of peppermint as she murmurs in my ear, "Don't cry."
"I – I'm s-sorry," I sob a little harder and I truly am, that's something I have never forgotten, I didn't mean to do it, I didn't mean to –
"What is the meaning of this?" The voice cuts sharper than any blade. Cold sweat breaks out on my brow, I know that Iracebeth is feeling the same – a hint of moisture slicks her palm.
We both slowly turn, she keeping my hand in hers, shoving me out of sight behind her as she hisses, "Keep quiet, not a word."
"Iracebeth?" Our mother's voice is quiet, dangerously low, "Would you care to explain?"
"Uh, it was like that when we got here. We just came in a moment ago and we found this. I am sorry, mother. I know how much these meant to you."
The queen advances slowly on us both, towers over us, anger and sorrow shadowing her face. Her eyes fall on me and I know she'll see and so I shut them… and keep them closed and until I hear her say, "I told you, Iracebeth. You were warned the last time and now you don't even have the decency to tell the truth."
"But I didn't –"
"You never do, Iracebeth, but this is the final straw. You leave for Gui'lirden right now, to the nuns of Zah'irren… who, I can only hope, will be able to –" Our mother's voice breaks and I finally open my eyes, shocked to see the sadness veiled by a glint of tears.
"I didn't do this." Iracebeth's teeth are as clenched as her entire body, my hand painfully crushed in hers.
"Then tell me, Iracebeth, who did?"
A silence reigns across the courtyard, heavy and oppressive. Finally my mother shakes her head, "That's what I thought."
The trumpet cuts across the memory, "On this the Frabjous Day, the queens – red and white – shall send forth their champions to do battle on their behalf."
I am plunged again into the memories of when my sister was my champion, the overwhelming feeling of love flowing through my veins as if that day was yesterday, "Oh Rascie, we don't have to fight."
"I know what you're doing, you think you can blink those pretty little eyes and I'll melt, just like Mummy and Daddy did."
The accusation lingers in the air between us just as our shared memories darken our eyes. Our parents have never thought me bad, before that day, and all the ones that followed after, they'd always refused to see what lay within. Had I confessed that day, I'm not so certain that my mother would have believed me… but just like many things, it's in the past, we'll never know.
"Please…." It is not just me that whispers it, the five year old Mirana pleads as well.
"Please…." My eyes beg my Rascie as I see the guards advance upon us. "Please let me tell the truth."
Please tell me I can change.
"No," she squeezes my hand till I am sure that my bones will crack. The guards lift theirs to grasp her shoulder firmly.
"NO!"
I jolt… the 'no's could not be any further apart.
"It is MY crown!"
Her eyes are crazed with bloodlust and despair overwhelms my love: this is what I'll be without a champion, what I will turn into if Alice does not succeed.
"I am the eldest," I allow the final softness of the memory envelop my subconscious for a moment, let go of the girl that I once knew, as she transforms into the hate-filled creature echoing her younger self grotesquely, "I AM THE ELDEST!" An instant later, "JABBERWOCKY!"
She turns and we all watch the Red Cards part.
We both back up: she from myself; I from my memory, my love. I watch my consort cower as her ferocious beast strides forward, leaps, destroying all that trembles in its path.
"Where is your champion, sister?" Iracebeth's sardonic gaze pierces me. Now that I'm not there for you, now you are weak.
The armour tinkles quietly as she walks right by me. Involuntarily I smile softly, but no matter how I long to touch her once for luck, I gently lift my hand. "She destroys everything that she touches." Another memory floats through my mind swiftly; my mother's words haunting me as often as my crushing guilt.
Yes, as do I.
Good luck, my champion, I smile, good luck, my dear Alice. With resignation I admit, even if you cannot save me from myself.
