Prologue
The Commencement
The party was a rather dull affair; with cocktail dresses and champagne served to the finest of elegance in all of London. However, most fourteen-year-old girls would not find this quite amusing. They would remain lulled, perched in corners with wearisome tears in their eyes and watching as the adults presented a plethora of older wits and wisecracks, but these fourteen-year-old girls would find these witticisms utterly tiresome. As the sounds of their voices resonated threw the massive ballroom, those who did not belong would hold back the tempting sensation of tearing at their hair in boredom. It was suspected of a girl to behave sophisticatedly on such occasions, serving with gratitude and only to please their elders. They would abide their parents and be obliged to render in to joining them on their glamorous invitation. It was not polite to turn down such an exquisite opportunity.
A sullen girl with golden sun-kissed hair would occasionally roll her cerulean eyes as her elder sister threw her head back in a fit of harmonious giggles. She had been attentively watching as grown-ups passed by, staring her down with dissatisfaction. Perhaps it was permitted to intermingle with others, and she was now pigeonholed as disrespectful and introverted, but it was not anything she had not experienced before. It appeared as if the world reserved gratitude from her being downsized. "Oh, Alice, you must learn not be so wrapped up in those ridiculous children's books," she whispered, mimicking her sister's ratty tone. "Alice, I am absolutely repulsed by your discourteous actions!"
"I am sorry, but to whom are you speaking to?" someone asked, a voice belonging to girl who could not be any older than she was herself.
Alice submissively shrugged. "No one. I was just impersonating my sister. She told me that I was obligated to come here, even as I had practically refused."
"I did not feel I should have either, but my parents think it perilous to leave me alone at night."
"Why?" Alice asked. Surely, a fourteen-year-old girl was perfectly capable of looking after herself, was she not?
"Because…well…I do have a bit of trouble falling asleep at night," she proclaimed unenthusiastically, her face reddening in embarrassment. "It is for reasons of the past. I suppose it is a bit ridiculous to believe such nonsense." She seated herself down sat to Alice. "My name is Wendy Moira Angela Darling. What is yours?"
"Alice," she replied, not relenting on letting her surname be declared. "What nonsense are you speaking of?"
"Well, you see, I have had rather unpleasant experiences at night," Wendy confessed. The crimson hue that had filled her cheeks began to profound a shade richer than that of an unsullied raspberry. "My parents tell me it was only a nightmare, but I fear it was much more, something far worse."
"What can be worse than a nightmare?"
"It was not a nightmare at all, even as I tell you what happened, you would think it outlandish."
Alice stifled a laugh. Her own experiences let her believe in even the most peculiar of stories, the ones that depicted a scent of unreality, of vivid, scintillating imagination. Even if Wendy's story would consist of another parallel world in the mind's eye, she would swallow in all her words like uncontaminated liquid generously prickling her tongue. And she enjoyed watching others materialize wild stories about princesses and witches and pirates – eccentric stories that no ordinary girl would conjecture, with equally peculiar characters Alice yearned really did exist. She stiffened her posture and said, "I wouldn't, I promise."
"Well, I…I'd rather not, actually," Wendy said, and turned her attention to the intermingled adults talking amongst themselves without even as much as a care in the world.
Alice frowned. "Why?" she asked. "I had just informed you I would not find you strange or odd, no matter what you told me. I'm sure I've had experiences just as outlandish as yours."
Even with her calm, serene tone of voice, of assurance, Wendy did not appear persuaded. She let out a sigh of moderate reluctance and placed her hands firmly upon her lap before replying. "Oh, all right. But I warned you; and please do not taunt me after I tell you. Promise me you won't."
"I promise," Alice answered.
A relatively boisterous looking girl crudely interrupted Wendy as she began telling her captivating and far-fetched tale. "Oh, good. I see I'm not the only old girl here. I thought I would go insane." Her accent was foreign. She had her toffee-tinted hair tied into two braided pigtails with delicate cobalt ribbons and was dressed in a blue chequered dress and a pinafore. She seated herself down, unsolicited, next to Alice and Wendy with a smug expression on her face, perhaps aware her company was not wanted. The mischievous glistening in her eyes hinted her frequent joy of stirring unnecessary trouble. It was for this that Alice did not like her. "What are you two going on about?" she asked.
Alice leaned forward if as informing in on a scandalous secret she preferred no one would overhear – like a deceitful act of adultery. "We're just telling stories," she replied.
The girl's eyes lit up in reflective curiosity. "Oh, what kind of stories?"
"Nothing you'd be interested in, I'm sure of," Alice retorted sharply.
"You're not from England are you?" Wendy asked, her voice drenching with inquisitive anticipation.
"No, I'm from Kansas. My Aunt lives here, in London, and I've come to live with her," the girl answered. "My name's Dorothy. What's yours?"
"I'm Wendy, and this is Alice," Wendy gestured over to Alice. "She's a bit uninviting I'm afraid. Do ignore it."
This remark simulated an ounce of displeasure and for Alice to roll her eyes, though she refrained herself from speaking aloud her anger.
"We are telling stories about our adventures," Wendy informed.
"Adventures?" Dorothy asked. "How wonderful. I have a lot of stories to tell you. I've told my parents, but they thought it was my imagination."
"All right, that is quite lovely, but I would like to hear Wendy's story," Alice stated. "I am very curious to know what happened, why you have trouble falling asleep at night."
"I have night terrors."
"Why?" Dorothy asked.
"Well," Wendy started, "you see, about one year ago, at night, I was sleeping and was awakened by a boy who could fly." She began to tell them of the first night she'd awakened, perturbed and agitated, to see the lining of an unrecognizable boy's face and how he'd managed to whisk her off to a magical land of disturbed pretence. Alice and Dorothy stared conscientiously with enquiring eyes, lost in the depths of a story they surely would not forget.
