~Wonderland, 30 years ago~
She didn't know how long she'd been down in the dungeon. Days? Weeks, perhaps? Hard to say without being able to see sunlight through a window, but there were none in the stone walls surrounding her. It mattered not, though. Clara knew she would never leave. No; the Queen of Hearts could have easily beheaded her and put her out of her misery, but instead she'd locked her away in the dungeon. A place for those confined to darkness and condemned to be forgotten by the rest of the world. To never see daylight, nor know the company of others ever again. Even now, the steady drip, drip of nearby water was interrupted by the distant wails and pitiful cries of other prisoners as they called out for their friends, their loved ones, their families…She felt her heart break, listening as their echoing cries continued to haunt her ears. There was no comforting any of them.
She tightened her arms around herself. This was her punishment; this was the price she paid for her role in the failed revolt against their merciless monarch.
The throw of the heavy bolt caused Clara to snap her head up, and the sudden illumination from two burning torches caused her to squint and shield her eyes. As her vision adjusted, she became aware of the two guards pulling open the barred door. She sighed, thinking they'd come to provide her with her measly rations for the evening, but when they both entered the cell, she cowered against the far wall.
"Come along, girl," the closest guard said, reaching out to grasp her arm, "it's time."
Time? She thought as both guards hoisted her to her feet. Time for what? Time for pain? Time for death? But her silent queries went unanswered as they dragged her through the long stretch of corridor, their torches casting an orange glow upon the stone walls flanking either side of them as they navigated their way through the darkness. At times, her eyes flicked to the shadows they created on the walls, catching glimpses of the occasional prisoner peering through the barred doors. Some cried out as they passed by, but their words gradually faded as they continued on, and she released a shuddering breath. This was the first time she'd ever been removed from her cell since her captivity began, and with the growing sense of dread spreading from the pit of her stomach, she could only assume the worst was about to come. Tears fell from her eyes, so warm against her chilled skin.
My fate, her mind whispered in defeat.
Turning a corner, they began ascending the narrow steps of a stone staircase, and when they reached a hallway at the top, her brow automatically furrowed in confusion. At the end of the hall, she thought she detected the faintest of hint of illumination cutting through the dark, not from torches, but…from a room. She closed her eyes, thinking it must have been her imagination, but when she opened them again, the light remained. Not a trick. And it was then that she made out the outline of someone standing near the doorway as they approached.
"Clara Forsythe," a gasp caught in her throat, recognizing the unmistakable voice of the Knave of Hearts. "For the crime of high treason against the crown, Her Royal Majesty, the Queen of Hearts, has finally determined a suitable punishment for you. And I think you'll agree: she has been quite merciful in her decision this time."
Merciful, she mentally snorted. Who knew what her definition of merciful could possibly entail? Squinting against the light, she looked up at the queen's devoted orator, and as his features came into focus, she was reminded of how much she despised that look of perpetual smugness on his face. Forcing her lips to move, it took a couple of tries before she finally found her voice. "And what…am I to do?"
She didn't miss the way the corner of his mouth ticked upward in a slight smirk. "An opportunity has suddenly arisen," he turned and entered the room, "that will allow you to employ the skills that warranted your arrest in the first place."
Warning flared within her heart, and it was then that she detected the faint sound of weeping coming from within the room. She swallowed, a feeling of uneasiness enveloping her as the guards led her in after the Knave…
"My body! Give me back my body; I need my body! Please!"
Clara's eyes went wide, gaping in horror at the sight before her. The screams hadn't come from her, or the Knave, or the guards at her sides…but from the severed head the Knave was holding up for her to see.
"Ahhh! Who are you?" It screamed again. "What do you want?"
She gasped harshly, her knees nearly giving out beneath her, but the guards held fast. Despite being detached from his body, that head—that man's head—was very much alive! Staring at her with wild blue eyes that seemed so full of terror and anguish that she found it impossible to look away.
"Get away!" He continued to shout. "Get away from me!"
She wanted to scream, but couldn't. Beheaded. This man had been beheaded, and yet he still lived. Fates! Her mind hissed, feeling the hot sting of tears behind her eyes once more. What dark magic is this?
"Miss Forsythe," the Knave spoke, "welcome to your new quarters for the duration of your sentence."
"Get away," the man demanded again, though she didn't miss the way his voice cracked. "Just give me back my body. Please…" And then he closed his eyes as he succumbed to weak sobs.
She drew in a quiet, trembling breath. It was such a gut-wrenching display of sorrow that Clara felt two tears slip from her own eyes. For a moment, she forgot about her horror, forgot about the Knave's words regarding her sentence…"Why," it barely came out a whisper, "is he still alive?"
"So that he may serve out his own punishment."
She snapped her head up to him, stunned. "And what exactly was his crime?"
"This intruder was apprehended following a theft from the queen's vault, and she finds this penalty to be more fitting than death."
Gawking in disgust, she slowly shook her head. "She is barbaric—"
Without warning, the Knave used his free hand to slap her hard across the face. Clara's head jerked to one side, holding her breath against the stinging pain in her cheek. It hurt, but she forced herself not to make a sound.
"It is not in your best interests to insult our glorious queen," the Knave warned, "unless you'd prefer to have your tongue cut out in retaliation."
Releasing a cough, she drew in a long breath and exhaled heavily.
"He claims to have come to Wonderland by means of a magical hat," the Knave continued, and Clara lifted her eyes to look at him once more, "and if he ever wishes to leave, he is to replicate that very hat in order to transport himself out of here." It was then that she noticed the long stone table behind him, and the headless body lying upon it. "Until he does," he set the head on the table next to the body, giving it a patronizing pat, "he's to remain here."
"Get it to work," the man's head rasped, "but there's no magic. No magic…"
"And that," he pointed a finger at her, "is where you come in, my dear. Since he will need his body back in order to complete his task, it will be up to you to sew his head back into place."
Her stomach plummeted to the floor. "What…?"
"Come now, you are trained in the healing arts, so this should be well within your skill range."
"I…" Her mind was reeling from his proclamation, and as her eyes darted around the room, they widened when she remembered his earlier words. Welcome to your new quarters… "You…s-said I am to stay here? Even after my task is done?" A slight panic welled within her chest. "W—why?"
Once again, he seemed to smirk. "The queen always makes sure that her punishments are well-understood by her prisoners, and she is particularly interested in making sure both of you truly understand the consequences of your actions against her." He turned back to the table. "As such, your abilities will not be limited to this one instance."
Numb. She went completely numb as comprehension dawned on her, and as the guards finally released her, her arms flopped uselessly at her sides. Not limited…to this one instance…
When the Knave turned back to her, she saw that he was holding a spool of thread in his hand. "You have all the materials you'll need here. Now," he held it out to her, "put him back together, girl; that is your task."
No, she wordlessly shook her head. No… "Please," she wheezed, her eyes pleading as she looked up at him, "don't make me do this."
He arched an eyebrow, and then he was kneeling before her, his face void of any emotion. "This is not a negotiation, Miss Forsythe; this is a direct command from the queen. You will perform the task that is appointed to you, or your refusal will result in both your hands being cut off at the wrists." As her jaw dropped, he grinned mockingly, holding up the spool before her. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Paralyzed with disbelief, Clara could only stare at him mutely. Stay…here. Forevermore to this…this…existence? She wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to lash out at him in any possible way, but…Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, ultimately resigned to her fate as she reached out to accept the spool from him.
There was nothing more on the matter. Without another word, the Knave and the guards left room—the cell, not just a room—slamming the barred door shut behind them with an icy chink. Clara was left alone, frozen to her spot on the cold floor.
No, not alone. Not ever again. For upon that stone table was the lifeless body of a man, and right next to his shoulder was his severed head, staring back at her with eyes that were very much alive and aware of his surroundings. Waiting for her to fulfill her gruesome duty to re-attach him to his body.
"Get it to work," he repeated, tears forming in his eyes again. "I have to get it to work..."
Clutching that spool of soft thread to her chest, Clara let her head fall into her other hand as she began to cry.