Day 8 of the AntiAlice Experiment
The Queen was excited. The anticipation was killing her almost as much as the doctor, yet, she held her posture. She nibbled at her breakfast, making small conversation.
"Maid," the maid came over as expected,
"Yes, your Highness?"
"Is the girl ready yet?" she questioned with as much patience as she could handle,
"Quite almost, your Grace" the maid replied curtly,
"Good. Have her be down as soon as she is dressed, understood?"
"Yes, your Grace." And she bid the maid to her duty.
The Queen had invited the doctor to breakfast this morning, which would become ordinary routine for them, as the doctor posing as the girl's scholar. The doctor, quite pleased with this arrangement, sat wordlessly; fidgeting with his cuffs and glasses. She should be down any minute, appearing to her as normal as any other day.
A brilliant mop of blue emerges from a sea of white sheets, a pair of arms and hands also emerge, flexing upward. She does not bother to stifle her hearty yawn as her fists retreat back from their stretch to rub the sleep from her eyes. She is awake.
She swings her legs over the bedside with her nightgown brushing over her knees, she stands up. Cracking her knuckles, she drags herself to her dresser, taking both handles, and pulling them apart. There it is.
It's her normal wear dress, stylish and flexible, easy to battle in while looking her best. A knee length, red polka-dotted white dress, the bottom functioning as a tutu, with a red smock embroidered with black lace that tied in a bow at the back. She discarded her nightgown, shoving her head through the fancier dress. Then she picked up her matching stockings, which were white but had bigger red dots, and put her feet through them as well as her Mary Combations; a descendant and hybrid of army combat boots, steel toed of course, with Mary Janes, so they could easily be used for walking and running.
She zipped up her boots, tied the laces as tight as they would go, and skipped her way to her mirror. Looking at herself, she grinned childishly, seeing her bedhead that stood straight up. Quickly, she fixed her hair, clipping a polka-dotted bow in carefully. Feeling pleased with how she looked, she carried herself quaintly to her door.
The maid was waiting for her, just as every day, but today, she seemed a little bit more lively. Lively wasn't the right word, Javan decided, the maid seemed to be anxious.
Fidgeting with her skirts, eyes darting furiously.
"Mistress Javan, the Queen is waiting patiently for you to arrive for breakfast" the maid, Kathleen, addressed her, voice quivering subtly. Kathleen gestured to the door.
"Thank you, Kathleen."She smiled politely, following the servant down the spiral staircase. Her boots made comfy "thud" sounds as she trod.
The Queen was astonished as she heard the unfamiliar sound of the Mary Combations fleeting slightly on each stair. She looked up eagerly.
This is what she had been waiting for.
She was meeting her revenge.
Javan was smiling, but not brightly, it was the same civilized smile she had given Kathleen, the maid. She had been happy her mother had been interested in her enough to send someone to escort her to breakfast. Her mother was so kind, smiling a little bit wider as she thought this. Then, a peek of crimson came into view…
The grin on Javan's face touched her ears now.
"Good morning, Mother"
