ALICE

"Okay, Alice," says the doctor, smiling down at me. I can't see his mouth through the sanitary mask, but I can see his eyes, warm and green. "Can you count backward from ten?"

"Ten," I say, my words clouding the plastic fitted over my mouth and nose. "Nine . . . eight . . ."

And then the light fades, and I am floating. I see my friends, the fairies and the unicorns. The mint bunny's wings brush my face, feathers so soft on my cheeks. I reach to touch them, but they float away from me, or maybe I float away from them. They fade like the light.

"I love you, baby." Alfred cups my face in his hands. Our wedding, him dashing in his black tuxedo and my white suit proclaiming false purity.

You may now kiss your groom.

Bride, I cry. Not groom. Bride!

His lips taste of blood, and his eyes are azure when we pull apart. His golden light darkens, drips black, oily corruption. He looms over me, evil and Russian—then he raises his hand, and when he hits me, it's the scarred, calloused blow of the Scot, the stepfather who was never my father. A demon into a demon into a demon.

I don't feel him hit me. Before his hand connects with my face, he bursts into butterflies, everything flapping festive colors, gossamer blessings leaving me behind.

He is nothing, I know, as I have always known but never wanted to believe. He is a ghost. He is invisible. He is nothing to me, anymore—not because he has changed, but because I have.

And then I am standing in front of myself in the mirrored blackness. Arthur Kirkland regards me with eyes like emeralds.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "For leaving you."

Arthur tilts his head, eyeing me.

"I'm sorry," I say again. "For killing you."

His brow furrows a little, and he shakes his head. "You didn't kill me. I'll still carry on. Just—" He waves to the black surrounding us. "Elsewhere."

I look around, too. "But is it fair? I get to go on, but you don't. I get to be with Gilbert—"

"Yeah, you can have him, love." He holds up a hand. "I'm fine without that. How exhausting. You have far more patience than I do."

I giggle a little at that. It's true, back when I was Arthur, I would think someone like Gilbert was too much. I never realized how much I've changed. "Do you miss Alfred?"

Arthur scoffs. "Like a hole in the head." But I can see, in his eyes—in my eyes—that there is a part of him that will always love Alfred Jones, no matter what.

"It's alright," I tell him softly. "I'll miss the happy times with him, too."

Arthur glances away for a moment, thick eyebrows knitting together. We stand together in silence, the same, but different.

The darkness flickers a little, and I know immediately that it is time to go. It doesn't feel as sad as I thought it might. It feels like having a friendship that's been drifting apart for ages, and this is the last time we'll ever see each other. This is the end, finally the end. At once a relief and a—not a tragedy, but a shame.

"Goodbye, Arthur," I say, holding out a hand to my not-self.

Arthur looks at me a moment, then holds up his arms. "Oh, come here, love." We embrace, and he pats my back. "I must say, this is one of the nicest hallucinations I've ever had."

"Um . . . thank you?"

The light comes rushing back, and in the last second, Arthur and I whisper us one, Cheerio.

When I open my eyes it's only a hair's width. The air oozes over my skin. This is the kind of snug lowness I always wanted from alcohol, but never managed to get. It feels like I have ten hundred blankets piled on top of me, weighing me down, but comfortable, too. Getting wasted always made me feel steamrolled. Dead to the world.

"There she is," says Gilbert, and I slowly turn my head to see him seated beside me, smiling lovingly. "How are you feeling?"

"O . . . kay . . ." I can't speak clearly. It feels like my throat has cotton stuffed in it.

"Doc says the surgery went great," Gilbert tells me. "Everything worked nice and smooth. You did great, just like I said. See how awesome I am? I can see the future. Oh, and I found Raivis. He was kinda thin, but he'll be alright." He leans closer to me, kisses my cheek. "I love you, Alice. Just in case you forgot."

I don't have the strength to smile. "I l . . . love . . ." My eyes droop closed. Time puddles and oozes, reality drifting away again.

I feel strong but gentle fingers holding my own. "Just rest, sweetheart. There's no rush. We have all the time in the world."