The sight of the Queen of Hearts is enough to send me into a whirlwind of unease. The way she's perched on her chair, the scarlet veil draped over her face, send mixed thoughts running through my head. A nobleman stands beside her, gripping a long, velvet tube that she apparently communicates through. A crowd of twenty or so people stand on either side of the outdoor courtroom, wearing masks of majestic animals and outfits lined with red and black.

I shuffle uncomfortably in the dress King Maurice requires all his maids to wear. It clings to my hips, the fabrics making my legs itch, but I don't dare move to chase to itch away.

"What business do you have with the queen?" The man with the tube asks, his posture bold and daring.

I take in a deep breath, summoning up the remains of my courage, and begin my tale. "My best friend, Cinderella, needs you're help." My voice is steadily stronger than I feel. "She made a deal with a powerful man, not knowing the consequences at the time. But now it's too late to go back on her word, and that man..." I gulp, ignoring the penetrating stares that bore me down. "He wants her firstborn."

Whispers of shock dance across the crowd. I hear a woman near the back muttering, "How dreadful!"

The man doesn't wait for the murmurings to die away. His brows crease along his forehead, mouth twisted in an unpleasant frown. "Who is this man you speak of?" He demands.

I bite my lip, closing my eyes slightly as I respond. "Rumplestilskin."

The chatter immediately dies away. Silence wraps around me, sending a horrific chill spiraling through my blood. So he's been heard of here, too.

The Queen of Hearts straightens in her throne, smoothing out the wrinkles of her dress before whispering into her velvet tube. The words are loud, but not decipherable. The man besides her listens with a cold expression, the one he has been wearing since I arrived. But it instantly falls at his queen's words, eyes narrowing and mouth forming a tiny "o". He turns to face me, but his eyes stay downcast. A bit of redness touches his cheeks, and I can make out a faint expression by the curves his of brows. It almost looks like... fear.

I stand frozen in place as he composes himself and gives me a penetrating glare. "The Queen wants nothing to that man." He remarks with a snide hint to his tone. "He is nothing but pure evil, and believes he is more powerful than the queen." He purses his lips, choosing his next words carefully. "Also, the queen will not have an association with you. Your past has been tainted by the unholy mistakes of your father."

"M-my father?" I stutter, the ground swaying beneath my unsteady feet. "Both my parents are dead." I inform them, feeling myself growing weary with unease.

The man chuckles, the fear in his eyes replaced by pity and amusement. He knows something I don't, and he plans on holding this secret over me.

"You're father is alive and well." He sneers, enjoying the horror plastered on my face. "Who ever told you he was dead?"

I don't answer. His words sink into my mind, chasing away my worries about Ella and Rumplestilksin. If my father is alive, that means Aunt Leslie lied to me. Why would she never tell me he was still alive? And what could he have possibly done that would keep the Queen of Hearts from helping his offspring?

"We're done here." The man declares, waving his gloved hand at a couple of the queen's guards. They rush over to my stunned figure, motioning for me to start walking. My footsteps feel light and feathered, like walking on thin clouds. The incredible scenery of Wonderland doesn't speak out to me as they lead me away. My thoughts are too churned up by false images of my father, wondering where he is and if he even knows I exists. I'm barely conscience of where the guards take me.

"You will wait in here till your fairy transports you back to your realm." The man's words echo in my ears, sounding distant and miles away. He gently maneuvers me into a giant domed room, slamming the heavy metal door behind him.

I suck in a deep breath, willing myself to calm down enough, and take in my wondrous surroundings.

The room is enormous, the opposite wall hidden behind rows and stacks of fabrics of every color imaginable. Hats are piled in numerous areas around the wooden floor, some round and plain, others patterned and lined with feathers.

I take cautious steps forward, nearly tripping over my own feet as I twist and turn, mouth agape at the strange room.

"What is this place?" I whisper to myself, fear creaking at the edge of my tone.

I don't expect an answer, but a deep, desperate voice wavers in the air, drawing me toward the far north wall. I strain my ears, willing myself to listen for the source of the mysterious pleads.

"Get it to work! Get it to work!"

I halt, realizing the distinct voice belongs to a man. A very frustrated, desperate man. Following his despairing calls, I weave around the numerous piles of hats, curiosity rather than fear urging me forward.

"Get it to work. Get it to work..." His frustrated cries morph into solid desperation. Whatever this man is doing, it almost sounds like his life depends on it. I shudder at the thought, curving around a towering pile of decorative hats, almost twice my height.

I almost gasp at the sight of the pleading man. He isn't old and stiff with age like I expected him to be, but young and frantic. He sits cross-legged on the floor, clothed in an outfit expressing that he isn't rich, but not incredibly poor either. His hair puffs out from a twisted top hat, curving around his young and chiseled face. A bright orange scarf is tied around his hat, a note sticking to the side, but the letters are too eloquent and graceful for me to read. His eyes are round and wide, darting from one area to another in spilt seconds. He works furiously with a hat in front of him, sewing a needling through frantically and hurriedly, shoving a feather onto the rim, all while muttering the same, chilling words.

"Get it to work!"

I watch in horror, pitying this poor man who has gone mad trying to get hats to do... What?

The question is left unanswered. I creep forward, my footsteps hesitant and slow, but mind determined. I walk up behind the flailing man, halting just beside him, and reach my hand out. He's too keen on getting his hats to "work," he doesn't have the slightest clue I'm here. But the second I rest my shaky fingers on his shoulders, his muscles tense up, his head jerking around to face me. I whip my hand back, unable to tear my gaze from his liquid golden eyes. We hold an intense gaze, neither one of us daring the move. I watch him precariously, waiting for him to lash out at me in a bout of anger.

Instead, he simply asks, "Who are you?"

'E-Evangeline." I stutter, fear freezing me in place.

He eyeballs me coldly, the black hat tumbling from his hands. His expression fades into curiosity. "How did you get here?"

I swallow, willing myself to calm down. "The guards took me here."

"No." He rises to his feet unsteadily, stumbling as if walking is a chore for him. I instinctively reach out a hand to help. He gazes at it wondrously, but manages to balance himself, and continues. "How... How did you get to Wonderland?"

I tilt my head, opening my mouth to answer. But he interrupts without waiting for the reply.

"Did she trick you too?" He presses, his breathing quickening rapidly.

"Who?" I respond quietly, instantly thinking of the Queen of Hearts.

He kicks one of his hats, watching it with venomous eyes at it rolls away. "Regina."

"Regina?" I repeat, familiar with the dark-hearted queen. "She tricked you?"

"Yes." He sighs, pacing around his piles of hats and stretches out his long legs. "She took advantage of me and my hat. She knew only two could leave, and didn't tell me she came for her father."

I narrow my eyes, no longer scared of this man but mildly curious. I want to know his story, and I'm persuaded to tell him mine. Maybe he can help me, if the Queen of Hearts won't. "What is your name?" I ask, bravely taking a step toward him.

He turns to me, a hint of a smile dancing across his face. I'm a little taken by surprise, and somewhat flattered, as he gently takes my hand in his, kneels down to one knee, and whispers. "I'm Jefferson," before placing a tiny kiss on my hand.

He chuckles as I feel my face heat up, and straightens up. "So tell me, Evangeline. What brings you to Wonderland?"

Scarlett sunlight leeks in through the stain glass windows, bathing the hats and fabrics in a crimson red. Little flurries dance around the air, flowing with the swift breeze carried in through the front door that has been propped open.

Jefferson stares at the blue hat resting on his lap, knuckles white as his grips the ends with unneeded force. I sit to his left, my voice husky with too much use, my throat beginning to dry up with the absence of a drink. I watch him carefully, clearly unnerved by his lack of responding to my story.

"You said she won't help you, because the problem involves Rumplstilskin." He speaks finally, as though lost in thought.

I nod, waiting for him to go on.

"And the other reason she won't help you is because your father was a bad man."

I take in a deep breath. "Something like that."

He keeps his gaze leveled on his hat, muttering something to himself. I lean forward, catching the words, "...Doesn't see the truth."

"What was that?" I inquire.

He gazes at me with surprised eyes, as if he just remembered I'm here, and speaks softly. "Evangeline, do you not see the truth?" He takes my hand in his, his thumb caressing it gently. I expect myself to feel appalled and uneasy at his gesture, but instead I'm overcome with comfort and something else, something that almost feels like... Longing.

"What truth?" I whisper, drowning in his golden eyes.

He lets his light brown hair fall across his face, his fingers interlacing with mine. "I think what the Queen was trying to say," He pauses, purposely refusing to meet my stare. "I think she's trying to say that Rumplestilskin is your father."

I raise my eyebrows, at a loss for words from his theory. "My father?" I repeat slowly. "That doesn't make any sense. The Dark One doesn't have kids."

"How do you know?" He asks, his tone darkening.

I start to respond, but stop myself as I realize I don't have an answer. It was always just an assumption that Rumplstilskin never fell in love or had children. I've never had any proof of these accusations being true.

Jefferson calmly awaits my reply, and when he sees I don't have one, he sighs and strokes the thick locks of my brown hair. "Do you already have a father?"

I shake my head, fiddling with a tiny hole worn into my skirt. "I live with my aunt. She told me both my parents died after I was born."

"How did they die?"

"They were killed in the ogre wars."

He frowns skeptically, tossing his blue hat over his shoulder with a disgusted grunt. "How old are you?"

I furrow my brows at his random question. "I'm twenty. Why?"

"Ev. Don't you see?" I'm taken aback by his forceable tone and his new nickname for me, but he carries on nonetheless. "The ogre wars were eight years ago. When did your aunt tell you that's how they died?"

"Two years ago..." I shudder. "She refused to tell me how they died till I was old enough to handle it."

He repeats my words carefully, fixing me with a hard stare. "How are you not seeing the truth?"

I shake my head frantically, refusing to believe his words. "Because my aunt would never lie to me! She isn't like that!" Salty tears begin to well up in my eyes, but I hurriedly blink they away.

Jefferson's voice softens. "When you get back to your own realm, ask her about your parents. Make sure she tells you the truth."

He is cut off when a shimmering blue light brightening the room from behind me. I whip around, taking in the magnificent beauty of the Blue Fairy.

My heart drops. As much as Jefferson's words have scarred me, I'm not ready to leave him behind. Not yet.

Not ever.

"It's time to go." The fairy informs me gently.

I nod, heaving myself to my feet and smoothing out the creases of the skirt. Jefferson also rises, standing almost a head taller than me. "Do me a favor." He whispers, his breath tickling my ear. "If you find a young girl named Grace, tell her I'm going to find a way back to her."

I round on him, prepared to ask him who Grace is and how I can ever find her, but he stops me by leaning forward and softly pressing his lips against mine.

My eyes widen in shock, but I feel myself almost drowning in his deep emotions. I instinctively wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him back deeply and passionately. He is the first to break apart, regret shining in his eyes.

"Go. Help your friend."

I nod slowly, ruefully turning away from him and facing the fairy.

"Let's go." I croak, my mind set on only three things: Finding this Grace person for Jefferson, looking for a new solution for Ella to keep her baby, and discovering the real truth behind my father.