project: masquerade
disclaimer: i do not own naruto, or the characters in it, or wonderland.
summary: she will follow the white rabbit. she will fall in love with the mad hatter. she will kill the queen of hearts. but fairytales don't always have a happily ever after and she doesn't believe in once upon a times.
pairings: sasusaku
notes: so basically, i've taken liberties with the uchihas—aka, i've stolen a different character (the cheshire cat) and thrown them into that family.
chapter: trois: the mixed up memories
—don't ever laugh
as the hearse goes by
for you may be the next to
die
.
.
he closes his eyes
((and she's alone))
.
.
The room was bathed with blood.
It dripped from the ceiling in thick, fat droplets, splashing lightly onto the floor. It trickled down the walls, still warm and still fresh—it fell from the window ledges, the plant pots, the bookshelves and every single nook and cranny. The television flickered black and white; then, finally, it too became red, sprayed with the liquid.
It coated his eyelashes and hair; it stood out, bright red, against his pale skin. It clashed with his top, he remembered; his mother had dressed him in blue, because she loved the colour so much and she said it made him look magnificent. The blood stained it purple. It looked odd. His mother wouldn't like it at all.
It doesn't matter what she likes, he thought.
She's dead now.
The little boy stood in the middle of the red room, trembling, terrified. His mother—his loving, caring, wonderful mother—lay broken on the floor, a few steps ahead of him.
Her blouse was torn open. A long, jagged rip ran down the middle of her body, just between her breasts; stretching from underneath her chin, right down to the bottom of her stomach. It was a wide rip—cruel and disgusting. A repulsive way for such a beautiful woman to die. She was lying on her back, with her feet facing away from him, but her head was tilted back, so that he could see her ghoulish features.
Her mouth was curved into a clownish grin. Her eyes had been pulled from her face. All that were left were gaping, oozing sockets. He stared into them, transfixed, until finally he couldn't take it any longer. He dropped to his knees and bent over, his entire body shaking. His tears mingled with the blood running down his face.
She was twisted and wrong.
She—that thing—was not his mother.
He heard footsteps; one, two, one, two, one, TWO—getting faster and faster; and he felt his heartbeat quicken. Within moments, the person
(the monster)
outside the room would be there. They'd fling open the door. They'd chop him in half. Just like his dearest mother. Chop, chop, CHOP. And, oh, how he longed to move, to hide, to do anything—but he was frozen.
The footsteps stopped.
He could hear breathing—only faintly—and then a panicked scream.
The little boy moved.
He launched himself over his mother, tripping over her foot and catapulting headfirst towards the bed. He threw his hands over his head instinctively, protecting himself, and twisted slightly; he slid carefully, easily, underneath the bed, scraping his elbow across the floor and thudding into the wall. He curled himself into a ball and pressed his bloody hands against his mouth, tasting copper, muffling his sobs.
The door flung open. It wasn't the monster—the little boy could tell, almost immediately. This man was frenzied and panicked. He was panting heavily, as though he'd just run a long race, and, upon seeing the dead woman before him, he let out an anguished wail.
It terrified the little boy.
That was the cry of a frightened, trapped animal.
The man mumbled something incomprehensible. He staggered forwards and then backwards, before swaying on the spot. There were footsteps again, apart from these were slower and calculated—slow enough to cause fear, fast enough to know there was no escape.
The little boy found himself unable to make a noise. He lay there, curled up, one arm hugging his knees to his body, the other pressed against his mouth—he felt his fingernails digging into his damp cheeks, but he couldn't move. His eyes were wild and panicked, and his heartbeat quickened, but he felt a curious sense of calm overcome him. For the first time in a long while, he felt at ease.
The door opened. Light spilled dimly into the room. It was blocked out by a figure. The man sobbed feebly. The door closed.
The monster smiled.
"…I found you, Father."
The man let out another strangled sob and took a step back. The monster's smile widened—stretching and stretching, just like his mother's—and he took a single step forward. The other man screamed and fell backwards, sprawled across the bed.
Underneath it, the little boy remained silent.
"Well now, Father. This is pathetic," the monster drawled, and that's when the little boy saw the deadly katana by his side. "Mother put up such a fight. It was…"
The monster paused, his tongue flicking out and hesitantly tasting a smudge of blood by his mouth. There was a moment of tense silence, punctuated only by harsh panting and the occasionally sob.
His cruel smile became wider.
"…exquisite."
He smacked his fingers against his lips, mimicking a chef, and then doubled over, howling with laughter. Scary. The scariest thing the little boy had ever heard. Ever seen. The stuff of nightmares.
The man appeared to think so too; his wails and cries became louder, almost drowning out the manic laughter, but not quite.
Almost.
Eventually, the noise died down. The monster straightened, dusting himself down, wiping a tear from his eye, and then lifted the katana. Immediately, the man across the bed began to write and struggle, begging and pleading.
The monster frowned.
"Why didn't you tell me it was Mother?"
The man froze instantly.
"Come on now, Mr Hatter. Why didn't you tell me you'd fallen in love with Alice? You should've—you should've told me. I would have killed you sooner."
"But you're…!"
"Yes, Father. You can take our little secret to the grave, just like Mother dearest."
The katana arched through the air, a glimpse of silver followed by a spray of red and a piercing scream. It swept across the floor, before lifting and falling again. Another splatter of crimson. The little boy could feel it soaking the bed, dripping through the mattress and splashing across his face.
He whimpered, before he could stop himself—instantly, he clamped his hands against his mouth and remained as still as he could.
The monster shifted slightly.
The little boy felt a wave of relief flow through him, before he could stop himself from feeling it—he visibly relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders. He moved his hands slightly, away from his mouth. And then the monster dropped into a crouch, and red eyes appeared in the darkness, followed by a chilling smile.
The little boy froze.
A scream bubbled in his throat.
"Shush now, Brother," the monster pressed a finger against his lips. "You ought to sleep."
And, in the darkness, those red eyes seemed to spin around and around, getting bigger and bigger, until the little boy could see nothing else. Those red eyes filled his vision—filled the room—filled the world. He forgot about his dead Father and his dead Mother and the whispers of a crazy man, and he could only think of those crimson eyes.
The colour of blood.
.
.
she closes her eyes
((and she's falling))
.
.
"close your eyes, alice-chan. it's time to sleep."
.
.
Wonderland shook.
A hole opened up—it was black like ink, and it stained the bright blue sky. Strands of black clutched at clouds. From below, it looked like a giant spider-web. The creatures of Wonderland simultaneously looked up, scanning the sky for movement, waiting for her to appear; because they could feel her arrival boiling in their blood. It was as though Wonderland had a pulse—and all of the plants and animals and people of Wonderland could feel it.
Like a heartbeat.
Thumping away.
A small child in a white dress pointed at the sky.
"Look."
Wonderland looked.
A figure, wearing a blue dress, a white petticoat and stripy black and white tights, came plummeting through the hole. She tumbled downwards, dropping like a stone, hurtling head of heels. Spiralling, pinwheeling, she fell towards the earth.
Wonderland watched.
The girl became clearer to see—her face was pale and fearful, her eyes wide with exhilaration, and her mouth was stretched into a thin, excited smile. Adrenaline pumped through her body. She was clutching an umbrella—a pale white thing, which seemed feeble and weak in her grasp—but, just as she began to near the treetops, she held it over her head and opened it.
Almost like a parachute, it billowed upwards, and she clutched the handle desperately. For a second, she continued to descend just as quickly as before and she gazed down at the branches of the treetops.
Wonderland gasped.
Then she slowed down and heaved a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and letting out a shrill, nervous giggle. She drifted from side to side, grasping the umbrella with both hands and wondering how it could withstand her weight, then deciding that she'd never know. Wonderland wasn't that kind of place.
Everything was topsy turvy there.
She disappeared out of sight, sinking into the forest; and then Wonderland sprang into action. Everyone began to move—gathering weapons, gathering friends, gathering comrades—readying themselves for a slaughter, for a massacre.
After all, the first one to find Alice wins.
.
.
she opens her eyes
((and she's there))
.
.
Sakura tugged uselessly at the umbrella handle, scowling and cursing her stupidity; she should have aimed herself slightly, steered herself towards an empty clearing or something, for her landing. Instead, she'd floated down into the middle of a forest, complete lost and nowhere near the Mad Hatter and her friends—and proceeded to get herself stuck on a branch.
She glanced down.
It didn't seem that far down. If she jumped, she was sure she'd land well—possibly not; she'd never been that great at sports, and she might break her ankle or another bone in her body. She pulled gingerly at the handle once again, before frowning and letting out a huff of annoyance.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid—!"
"—having some trouble, Alice-chan?"
She froze.
She turned slightly, as best as she could without disturbing the umbrella—because the last thing she wanted to do, she'd decided, was fall and break her neck—and gazed at the newcomer. A figure stood in the shadows, balanced precariously on a branch, leaning against the tree trunk; and she recognised that voice. It sent chills running through her body.
"Ch—Cheshire Cat."
He stepped forwards, tail flicking from side to side, and beamed at her, spreading his hands wide in welcome. His eyes closed slightly, as he moved towards her, balancing perfectly on a branch—before finally stopping directly in front of her, at least an arm's length away. "It's nice to see you again, Alice-chan." He paused, tilting his head slightly to the side, and his smile became almost mocking. "I see you've gotten yourself into a spot of bother. Would you like a hand?"
He opened his eyes.
They were like the Mad Hatter's eyes, she thought to herself. So captivating. Almost enchanting. The vivid purple of the left eye; closer up, she could see that it was flecked with violet and lilac, as well as the occasional dash of indigo. The dull black of the right eye; as dark as the night sky, with the iris and the pupil blending into one.
They were dangerous—insane. She could get lost in those eyes.
She wrenched her gaze away, choosing instead to stare at a spot on the ground below them; she heard the Cheshire Cat chuckle, heard him shift forwards, and then suddenly his hand was cupping her face, tenderly. He brushed his fingers along the length of her jaw and she found herself marvelling at how soft they were.
She found herself staring back into his eyes.
"Sometimes…" The Cheshire Cat hesitated, unsure of what he was about to say, and his grip tightened slightly, to the point where it was almost uncomfortable. "Sometimes I just have to see if you're real, Alice-chan."
"Why wouldn't I be?"
He laughed coldly, darkly, and pulled his hand away. For a few seconds, Sakura found herself missing the feeling of his touch—and then she remembered that he was the tricksy Cheshire Cat, and he was not to be trusted.
Even so, she could not help but want to trust him.
His eyes were so confused. He gazed first at his fingers, turning his hand over in wonder, and then stared back at her face. For a few seconds, he simply looked at her, and she looked back; and, as their eyes met, she forgot all about the umbrella and the fact that she was moments away from falling to the ground.
His eyes were lost—elsewhere—sad and alone.
((time slows down))
He pushes open the door. Light spills into the room. His mother lies dead on the floor. Torn open. His father lies dead upon the bed. Eyes wide with horror. Guts overflowing. Steadily drip-drip-dripping through the mattress, stained purple with blood.
He hears sobbing.
He drops to his knees.
"…brother…?"
The sobbing is stifled. He sees a face, as pale and white as the moon. He sees round, terrified eyes. They are haunted. Trapped. Replaying the events that happened just moments before. He sees blood splashed across the younger boy's face. He sees grubby hands, pressed against quivering lips.
His lips stretch into a thin, clownish smile.
"Don't worry, brother. The bad guy—the bad guy's gone now," he says, and he stretches out one hand, reaching out for his baby brother, junior by just under a year. His smile is forced and it trembles slightly. "No one's going to hurt you. I'm here now—"
He hears the clatter of something dropping to the floor. He twists just in time. The katana sinks into the ground where he was kneeling, just seconds before. He falls onto his back, leaning against the bed; and he feels his father's dead fingers brush against his head.
The katana moves.
He looks up.
Above him, stands the monster. His red eyes are glowing. They are as red as the blood that seeps from his mother's body—they are crimson. He sees flecks of black moving in those eyes. They look like little teardrops. They begin to spin around and around, hypnotising and dangerously beautiful.
The monster says something—murmurs it—and he misses it.
The katana slices through the air again, and he barely manages to dodge. It slashes across his bare arm, cutting into his shoulder. He screams in agony.
He hears a whimper from beneath the bed.
The monster speaks again. This time, he manages to catch some of the words. Something about death. Escape. Kill or be killed. The monster smiles. The monster reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small blade; a pocket knife. He flips it around, clutching the metal blade and offering the handle to the other; he sees the blood welling up in small beads around the blade, and winces.
The monster barely flinches.
He takes the knife cautiously. He looks up into those crimson eyes.
"If you want to escape, kill him, little brother. Look at him cowering beneath the bed. Kill him, and I will let you live. Kill him, and you can grow stronger. Live a little longer. A life for a life. It's your choice."
With that, the monster turns and leaves. The katana drags along the floor, glinting in the faint light, deadly—it sends chills down his spine. That is the weapon which has killed his mother and his father. He gazes down at the tiny blade in his hand.
This is the weapon with which he will kill his baby brother.
The memory grows fuzzy.
He sees his brother—says something incomprehensible—there is a struggle—he feels his father's fingers press against him—knocks over a table—crashes to the floor—his baby brother pants, victorious—he feigns defeat and then twists, suddenly—there is a wail.
There is a splatter of blood.
The memory fades to black.
((time speeds up))
Suddenly, he moved, lifting his arm upwards and reaching out towards the blue sky—Sakura blinked, momentarily startled. The Cheshire Cat gazed at his upturned palm, confused, disorientated, before stretching his fingers outwards.
"You asked me, 'why wouldn't you be real?' You're forgetting, Alice-chan…"
He trailed off.
Distantly, Sakura heard movement below her; she glanced downwards, briefly, and spotted her friends, if you could call them that. The Mad Hatter, with a teacup balanced precariously in his palm. The White Rabbit, his blue eyes wide and alarmed as he fretted about her safety. The March Hare, mysterious as always, was gazing in the opposite direction. And she could barely make out the Dormouse, but she knew he was down there with them.
The Cheshire Cat laughed cruelly.
"Wonderland doesn't have any rules."
He shifted slightly, leaning most of his weight onto his back foot—and then, before Sakura could even begin to think of a reply, he twisted, spinning on the ball of his foot. He threw his arms out as he span—and his nails became so sharp, that they sliced cleanly through her umbrella handle.
For a second, she seemed suspended in the air—her mouth making an 'o' shape, her eyes impossibly wide—and then suddenly she was hurtling downwards. Branches tore at her face and naked skin, scratching cruelly at her. She heard branches snapping and cracking as she crashed through them—she threw her hands in front of her face and kicked outwards as she fell, unable to scream.
She was falling too fast for that.
"Sakura!"
.
.
he opens his eyes
((and she's safe))
.
.
Suddenly, she could no longer feel the branches scratching her skin—and she was no longer falling. She opened her eyes slowly, cautiously, and found herself lying in the arms of the Mad Hatter.
"You… you caught me…?"
She could barely hide the disbelief in her voice. That… that wasn't possible. Considering the speed at which she'd been hurtling towards the floor, and the height she'd fallen from, there was only the tiniest chance that he'd have been able to get to her in time. And even then, it was even more unlikely that he'd be able to catch her easily, without injuring his self or her.
That pretty face, she decided—that sculpted nose and pale skin—that was nothing more than a porcelain mask, hiding the true Sasuke.
Hiding the Mad Hatter.
His lips quirked into a smug smirk. "Hn."
Sakura rolled her eyes, wrapping her arms around Sasuke's neck and leaning on him, attempting to shift herself into a more comfortable position. He grunted softly, leaning heavily on his back leg in an attempt to support her extra weight—but, despite the fact that she was perfectly fine, she didn't want to let go.
Holding onto his neck, with his arms pressing her close against his body, she felt safe.
"WAHHHH—SAKURAAAAA! I WAS SO SCARED; I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO DIE!" Naruto shrieked, throwing himself towards the couple—and Sasuke scowled, before unceremoniously dumping Sakura onto the ground. "SASUKE, YOU BASTARD! CAREFUL WITH SAKURA—SHE IS A PRECIOUS FLOWER—!"
"—shut up, idiot."
"WHO'RE YOU CALLING AN IDIOT, IDIOT?"
"…because that's original."
Shikamaru cleared his throat loudly, effectively silencing the other two. "As interesting as you two are, the Queen is waiting," he murmured, stretching and glancing briefly up at the sky. "Luckily for us, Alice—no, Sakura—managed to fall pretty close to the palace. It should take us around forty, maybe fifty at a stretch, minutes to get there, as long as we start moving now."
Sasuke merely grunted in response.
Sakura coughed softly, still sprawled across the floor from when Sasuke had dropped her. Naruto grinned sheepishly in response, offering her his hand and tugging her to her feet. She staggered slightly, before steadying herself and frowning slightly.
"Who's this Queen, Naruto?"
"Ah, you could say Wonderland is divided into two parts; those who side with Alice, and those who side against her," Naruto explained, rubbing the side of his face as he spoke. "Obviously, the Queen of Hearts, otherwise known as the Red Queen, fights against Alice. She reigns across most of Wonderland. The White Queen, however, fights for Alice. She gathers up an army; and we're the most trusted members of it. Her palace provides a safe-house for Alice. I'm pretty sure she's currently got the Vorpal Sword as well, which is Alice's treasured weapon."
"So, she's one of the good guys, right?"
Naruto grinned.
"Of course."
.
.
High in the branches above them, the Cheshire Cat rolled his eyes, before disappearing back into the shadows.
.
.
M
A
S
Q
U
E
R
A
D
E
.
.
let the good times roll
with god as my only witness
.
.
The White Queen once lived in a White Castle.
The gates were painted white. The bricks were made entirely of marble, each and every one of them a smooth, creamy white, shining in the sunlight. The curtains, which billowed through the open windows, were made of the purest, softest silk. Two spires spiralled out of the castle, twisting high into the sky; they were both as white as the clouds which surrounded them. The grass was white; every single flower—every single plant—was as white as snow.
And, oh, the people!
Pale faces—sickly pale—snow white lips; fair hair, falling in curls around their faces, always reaching down to their hips. The women were dressed in white dresses, with huge skirts and tightened corsets—with ribbons and laces and frills. The men were also dressed in white, but each of them wore a white suit, complete with a white bow tie. They were all so beautiful and all so sickly kind and sweet.
However, since then, time has passed. Seasons have changed. Alice's have come and gone. Games have been started, played and then finished—some with a good outcome, others only bad. Things have gone from bad to worse.
Wonderland has changed.
The White Castle has changed.
The gates are now rusted shut, the paint peeling off them, showing a layer of silver beneath. The marble walls have been weathered away, battered and bruised. The windows are now barred shut—instead of windows, there are steel metal bars. One of the two spires is completely broken. It lies in ruins, scattered throughout the palace gardens, as a memory of the lives that were lost from one of the many attacks of the Red Queen. The second spire is almost completely covered in green ivy. The white grass is dead. The white flowers—white as snow—are dead.
But the people are still as beautiful as ever. They are dressed perfectly. They are still as happy as ever—they are still as kind as ever. They still dance in the palace grounds. They still laugh and sing together. They still welcome all those who enter the White Castle.
They are the White People.
They cannot buckle in the face of evil; they are justice and they are good. Their way is fair. Their Queen is kind. They are untainted by jealousy and spite. They have yet to be rotten away by hatred. They will be victorious in this battle of White versus Red—of good versus evil—of right versus wrong.
They share Hope.
And, because of this, the White Castle is still beautiful.
.
.
Sakura leaned forwards, placing her hands on her knees and gasping for breath. She wasn't the fittest girl, she'd admit that; from a young age, she'd decided to trade her exercising time for more studying. She supposed it wasn't the greatest idea she'd had. She was going to have to start jogging soon.
"Hey, are you okay back there?" Naruto called, from further ahead.
He and the others had easily taken the lead, striding purposefully onwards, and the conversation had fallen to nothing, as they marched along. Sasuke was in front, every now and then adjusting his hat and murmuring to himself, followed closely by Naruto. Sakura wasn't at all sure where the March Hare had disappeared to—one second, he'd been stood next to her, completely silent; the next, he had vanished. She wondered briefly where he'd gone and then decided it didn't matter.
She sped up, rushing towards them, suddenly aware of how dangerous it would be if she fell to far behind. They knew these forests—they understood Wonderland.
She didn't—still—but she assumed it would happen in time.
"Are we… are we almost there?" Sakura murmured, as soon as she'd caught up with them, slowing to a halt and gasping in another breath.
Before Naruto could answer, the Mad Hatter was stood in front of her, surveying her exhausted appearance in disdain. He reached lazily into one pocket and pulled out a familiar looking glass bottle; sure enough, he offered it out to her and, as she took it from him, she realised it was the very same bottle the March Hare had given to her, on her first journey to Wonderland. The bottle with the magic potion in it—the one which made her shrink.
The very same glass bottle that she'd hidden underneath her bed, with all her other childhood monsters and forgotten memories.
"You've… you've been in my room!" She cried, pointing an accusing finger at Sasuke.
He nodded.
"You've been through my stuff! Who gave you permission to do something like that?" Sakura screeched, and she longed to punch him—hit him in his smug, smirking, arrogant, pretty little face. "What if Shizune had seen you? I'm not… I'm not allowed boys in my room!"
Sasuke raised his eyebrows.
"…I'm a sadistic, psychotic, mad hatter, and you're worried about what some old woman thinks of you having guys in your room?"
"W—well…!" She scrambled for words, unsure of what to say. "…yes!"
He rolled his eyes, gesturing at the bottle again. "Drink it. Now," he murmured. "You're moving way too slowly. If you drink that, you'll shrink. You can sit in my hat, with the Dormouse, and I'll carry you. It'll be quicker."
Sakura scowled, but tugged the stopper out of the bottle anyway. Within seconds, she had taken a sip and she was shrinking; she could hear her bones cracking and feel a distant throb of pain, but it was numb and dull. If she shrunk a few more times, she doubted she'd feel that pain any longer. She wondered if that was a good thing.
Pain shows you're alive. Pain is real.
No pain…
She wasn't sure if feeling no pain was a good thing at all.
Sasuke gripped her elbow as she shrank, keeping her upright, until she was finally simply dangling in the air, the last folds of her dress slipping off her. Naruto let out a strangled squeak, fishing into his pocket and pulling out another dress; this one was as white as snow. He handed it to her carefully, pinching it between two fingers, and she took it gratefully—Sasuke placed her in the brim of his hat and she dressed herself, before wandering around until she finally found the Dormouse, curled up asleep on the opposite side of the hat, using a feather as a pillow.
He cracked open one eye as she sat down. "…Naruto's getting better at sewing…" he mumbled blearily, straightening slightly and leaning against the hat, hugging his legs against his chest. For a few seconds, he simply stared sleepily at Sakura—then he grasped her hand and tugged her towards him. "…you might want to hold onto something."
She found herself clutching Shikamaru, as the hat suddenly moved through the air—Sasuke placed it neatly back onto his head and then glanced briefly at Naruto. His lips curled into a thin smile. "…I'll race you."
Naruto blinked, his eyes widening briefly in surprise. He looked as though he was about to protest, glancing swiftly at the two tiny figures sat on the hat. Then he shrugged slightly and slipped into an easier stance, as though about to break into a sprint. He grinned.
"Oh, it is on!"
And then Sakura was gripping Shikamaru with a strength she didn't know she possessed, as the wind whipped at her face and made her dress billow around her. She found herself pressed against the hat and couldn't move even if she wanted to—the wind was far too strong. The scenery around her became blurred. For a few seconds, she was certain Sasuke would run into something or that she'd simply go flying off the brim of the hat and fall to her death. She turned slightly, blinking at Shikamaru, and was surprised to find him nodding off to sleep.
"Are you… are you crazy?" She found herself screaming above the roar of the wind, her hair blowing into her mouth as she spoke.
The Dormouse yawned.
"We're all a little bit crazy, Alice," he answered, and she found that she was able to hear his voice perfectly. "Even you. Even me. Even Naruto. Even Sasuke—especially Sasuke."
"We could die!"
"It's troublesome, but…" Shikamaru shrugged. "The Mad Hatter knows what he's doing. Just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride."
With that, the Dormouse returned to his sleep.
.
.
real world
00:23:28
Kiba couldn't sleep.
He'd been lying awake for over three hours, at least, simply gazing at the ceiling and remembering. It was those eyes that did it; the eyes that weren't quite Sakura's. Those eyes had been filled with hatred. They'd been hungry for blood, longing to kill.
They'd been far too much like his eyes for Kiba to feel comfortable.
He'd always prided himself on knowing everything about Sakura, just as she'd known everything about him. It had been a strange friendship. He'd been the little boy everyone felt sorry for, with the father everyone was scared of—and, because of that, no one had spoken to him. No one had stood up for him and no one had done anything about the things that happened. Not even his own mother.
She'd been the little girl everyone was scared of, though no one admitted it. With her books and her baggy jumpers and her creepy eyes, no one had spoken to her. They'd thought she was arrogant. They thought she thought she was better than them. They didn't trust those blank eyes. They didn't know what she was thinking.
It had been such a cliché meeting, as well.
He'd bumped into her—literally—as he raced across the playground. He'd been running fast. He'd liked to do that, as a kid. It was one of the many things he was proud of, how fast he could run. He'd been running so fast, that he'd been unable to slow down, and smacked straight into the pink-haired girl and her pile of text books.
Papers had gone flying up into the sky. A little girl had gone tumbling down.
He'd apologised over and over again; she didn't seem bothered at all, that he'd run into her. Rather, she seemed more afraid of the fact he was speaking to her. He'd begun to ask her questions, like when her birthday was and what her favourite game was, and, at first, she'd replied with short, sharp answers. Eventually, he'd managed to coax more out of her.
Eventually, they became best friends.
((in his mind, he sees two children; a boy and a girl. they are laughing. they are smiling. they are naïve. he thinks nothing can go wrong, as they walk side by side, holding hands and enjoying the feeling of the sun on their bare shoulders.
the little girl giggles.
"we're going to be friends forever, right kiba? we'll going to go on adventures together. we're going to stay young forever, you and me. best friends until the end of time. pinky promise?"
he locks his little finger with hers.
"…pinky promise."))
Kiba rolled over onto his side, frowning slightly, his face twisting into a scowl. He'd disappeared for too long. He'd been running for too long. His father had almost caught him—he'd been so close, as well—and they'd had to stay with a friend for a while, until everything was safe.
He'd returned to school, all arrogant and cocky, expecting everything to be just like before.
But something had changed.
Those two guys had turned up—the noisy one, with the blonde hair, and the other one; the one with the hateful eyes. For a moment, Kiba was overwhelmed with anger, as he remembered the condescending look Uchiha Sasuke had given him.
((the little girl takes a step forward. one step, two steps—over and over again—and as she moves, she changes. she is no longer a little girl. she becomes taller, but only slightly so. her hair gets longer; her fringe disappears. she turns into a woman. a beautiful, attractive woman, and he does not recognise her.
"hey, wait up!" he calls, and he reaches out towards her, but there is no response. she has grown up without him. he will remain a frightened little boy forever. "where are you going? wait for me, sakura. you SWORE. you PROMISED. why are you leaving me?"
she stops.
he grounds to a halt.
she glances back over her shoulder—and those beautiful green eyes are dark, filled with hatred and anger and misery. she smiles, but it is a cruel, cold smile.
"people grow up."
those three words hit him like bullets—they scar him like no weapon ever can. they terrify him, as well. she has changed; she is no longer the little girl from before. this is a woman, and she doesn't believe in the fairytales and adventures and neverland, like the girl of the past.
he cannot speak, and so she turns away. she stretches her hands out, reaching for two invisible people—and then he can see them as well. uchiha sasuke. uzumaki naruto. she turns and walks with them, and kiba finds that he is frozen in his place. he longs to chase after her.
he watches as she disappears into the distance.))
Kiba scowled, rolling onto his back and returning to gazing at the ceiling. For a second, the image of Sakura's back, getting further and further away, was stuck in his head—he remembered the way she'd held hands with Sasuke and Naruto so casually, as though they'd been friends forever, and found himself angrier that he'd ever been in his life.
He knew why.
He couldn't do anything.
He couldn't catch up with that lonely figure, because she'd changed and he hadn't been ready for that. He couldn't catch up with his best friend, because her eyes were different. They were cruel and they were wrong. He couldn't catch up with the girl he loved, because he was scared. It was the fact that he couldn't do anything, which angered him most. It wasn't Sasuke's smirk or arrogant drawl—it wasn't Naruto's obnoxious nature—it wasn't those dark, chilling eyes.
It was the fact that he'd turned back into the scared little boy he'd been before—the little boy who'd been scared of the monster under the bed, only to find out that the monster was his father and he wasn't under the bed. It was the fact that he was so weak, that Sakura felt the need to protect him. It was the fact that he was helpless again. He was out of control.
He didn't like it.
He rolled off the bed, grunting slightly as he stood up, and glanced swiftly around for his phone. It was lying on top of a heap of dirty clothes. He scooped it up, skimmed through his contacts and pressed CALL next to Ino, Yamanaka.
He listened as it rang.
Eventually—
"…it's practically one 'o' clock in the morning, Kiba. What the hell do you want?"
Kiba grinned, balancing the phone on his shoulder and tilting his head slightly, freeing up his hands so that he could search through his junk for his laptop. "Get your pretty little self over here, as soon as possible, Ino."
"…you've got to be kidding me." He heard her yawn pointedly. "Don't you know how dangerous it is for me to be outside without a hunky male? I could get raped, y'know."
"Oh, spare me the melodramatics."
"What's so important that it can't wait for tomorrow, anyway?"
"A-ha," Kiba murmured, flinging a few books and an odd sock off his desk, brushing aside a few crumbs and placing his laptop in the empty space. He flipped it open and pressed the button, waiting as the screen loaded.
"What? Stop being cryptic and tell me already," Ino replied, but he could hear her rummaging around her room, making soft noises every now and then as she sorted through her stuff. He heard the rustle of clothes, the creak of a floorboard, and then the jangle of keys, followed swiftly by a door opening and shutting. "Jeez, my dad's going to kill me when he finds out I've left to go and see a guy."
"If he finds out."
"Which he will. My dad's a police officer. It's his job to stalk his teenage daughter," he could practically hear her scowling. "Anyway, stop stalling and tell me what's up."
The laptop's screen flashed once, and Kiba typed in a password, his fingers flying over the keys, as quickly as possible. He frowned, tapping his foot as the laptop whirred once again, loading way too slowly for his liking.
"…Kiba? Are you still there?"
"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm here."
"…you don't plan on telling me anything, then. Oh, that's fine. Be that way then. All cryptic and mysterious. Trust me, it doesn't work as well for you as it does for—"
"—Sasuke."
He waited patiently for a moment, waiting for Ino to respond and waiting for his laptop to finally work properly. It was too slow—ridiculously slow—in fact, he should have just stolen Hana's. It would have been easier, and she always had the latest laptop. Apparently, being a classy vet paid well. Having a rich boyfriend paid even better.
"…what about him?"
Kiba hesitated, ready to spill everything—he wanted to, that was for sure. He wanted to tell Ino all about his anxieties and the fact that he thought Sakura was in danger just being around the Uchiha. But he couldn't. Not over the phone, where the words seemed meaningless, like feeble paranoia.
He simply shrugged.
"Have a safe journey, Ino."
"Don't you hang up on m—"
.
.
"You can wake up now, Shikamaru," Sakura mumbled, tugging at her friend's tail in an effort to wake him—he murmured something incomprehensible, stretched, and then pulled his tail out of her grasp, grumbling. "We've stopped moving."
"…don't touch that."
She raised an eyebrow. "Don't touch what?" She paused, considering the question, and then pointed at his tail. "Why not?"
Shikamaru opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a louder voice.
"He's sensitive about his tail, Sakura-chan!"
The Dormouse scowled, clutching his tail almost protectively against himself and glowered darkly at Naruto, who was beaming at his smaller friends over the brim of the hat. "I'm not… sensitive about it, I just don't like people touching it."
"See?" Naruto announced, grinning widely. "I told you he was sensitive."
She raised an eyebrow. "Why? I think it's cute."
"It's troublesome," Shikamaru replied blankly.
Sakura was about to respond, when she was plucked easily from the brim of the hat and held in the air. She found herself gazing into the sea-green eyes of the March Hare, who merely gazed at her in response. There was an almost awkward silence, in which Sakura dangled in the air, kicking slightly in an attempt to show her discomfort.
Finally, Gaara spoke.
"We're here," he stated, and placed her gently on the palm of his other hand, holding her up so that she could see her surroundings.
And she was in such a beautiful place. She was gazing at a palace—all spiralling towers and ivy and pretty flowers—which looked as though it had fallen directly out of a children's fairytale. She could almost imagine Rapunzel leaning out of a tower, her braided hair tumbling to the ground beneath her as a ladder for a passing prince. She could practically see Snow White lying in her glass coffin, hidden somewhere behind the stone walls. She could nearly hear the music, as the Beast danced with his Beauty in the grand ballroom.
And the palace itself looked as though it had been covered in a blanket of snow. Every single thing she could see, as she peered out of the forest, was nearly white—from the rusted gate to the flowers on the palace grounds. Yet, she could spot a few different colours. A smudge of brown, a splatter of silver, and a bundle of ivy, which climbed up practically every single wall or surface, like a stain.
Still…
"This is… this place is… this is beautiful."
Gaara raised an eyebrow—or, at least, that's what she assumed he was doing, as he didn't actually have any eyebrows. "…that is the White Castle. It is where the White Queen lives. She would like to speak to Alice. Do you accept?"
"R—right away?"
"Of course. It is not polite to keep a Queen waiting," Gaara's voice took on a mocking tone. "If you do not see the Hatter and the Rabbit again tonight, in Wonderland, I am sure you will see them tomorrow, at school."
Sasuke didn't respond.
Sakura glanced from the March Hare to the Mad Hatter, before shaking her head and deciding she'd better not ask. Whatever grudge the two had, it didn't matter to her. It was much better that she spoke to the Queen and found herself another ally in Wonderland.
She glanced up at Gaara, only to find him staring intently at her. He was a beautiful person, she realised, just like everyone in Wonderland. There was something strange about him, however—his skin seemed too smooth to be real.
It was almost as though he were wearing a mask.
"Come now, Alice," Gaara said, finally, and Sakura felt a wave of panic overwhelm her, as his fingers curled around her body, effectively cutting off any movements. "I am going to run. I advise that you remain as calm as possible."
And then she was moving too fast, and she couldn't speak. She simply watched as Sasuke and Naruto became smaller and smaller, surrounded by branches and bushes, until finally she could see them no longer, and they disappeared altogether. For some reason, she found herself scared without them. They were her protection, in such an unfamiliar world. And, despite the fact that the boy she was with now—the March Hare—was also an ally, she was terrified.
She felt alone.
She pushed the negative feeling away, concentrating on her surroundings and watching, alarmed, as the White Castle loomed closer and closer, becoming much bigger. Had it always been so huge? It was as though it were growing before her very eyes.
Gaara slowed to a halt, in front of the gates. He seemed wary—he was beginning to grip her tightly, holding her closer to his chest. His shoulders were tense. He glanced briefly around him, obviously suspicious.
"…there are no guards."
Sakura blinked, looking around as well. "…so?"
Gaara peered at her and she could vaguely see disbelief in his eyes. "…Wonderland is at war, Alice. It is the Red Queen, more commonly known as the Queen of Hearts, versus the White Queen. It is a valid assumption that there would be a need for guards. This brings me to the current situation—there are no guards, whatsoever."
"Maybe they all went on a break?"
Gaara rolled his eyes. "At the same time?"
Sakura ignored him, choosing to lean forwards and take another look around. It was true; there definitely were no guards. She glanced back up at the redhead, but his face was unreadable. "So, what're we going to do, then?"
"We shall enter."
"But there are no guards!"
"Which means no one can stop us from entering," Gaara finished, before breaking into a sprint and leaping off the ground.
There was a brief moment in which they simply hurtled through the air, and Sakura swore they weren't going to make it over. She screamed despite herself, clutching Gaara's fingers for dear life—the redhead merely grunted, grasping easily onto the top of the gate with his spare hand and easily flipping himself over.
He landed in a neat crouch.
Sakura found herself speechless—Gaara merely snorted and continued on his way, walking swiftly towards the Castle doors. There was no one outside, lounging on the grass, either. In fact, as far as Sakura could see, there were no signs of life at all. Now that she thought about it, the Castle seemed more like a ruin anyway, and the March Hare was insane. It was highly likely that he'd just imagined the entire encounter. Or it could be a trap, set up by the Queen of Hearts. Gaara might have betrayed her—he could just be leading her to her death.
Somehow, she knew that neither theory was right. She remained silent, simply waiting as the Hare knocked once upon the palace door.
It creaked open. A servant—with the face of a frog and the body of a man—dressed entirely in white, peered back at them. "Ah, Mr Hare. Miss Alice. Her Majesty was expecting you. Right this way, if you please."
Gaara's lips quirked into a small smile. "…you thought I was insane, didn't you?"
Sakura smiled. "Someone told me everyone's a little crazy, here in Wonderland."
Ahead of them, the footman coughed softly. "If you would please, Mr Hare, the Queen is waiting," he called clearly, and Gaara nodded respectfully, catching up with the taller frog-man easily. They walked in complete silence, the March Hare easily keeping pace with the footman, until they came to a tall door.
It stood out completely against the rest of the room. The door itself was painted a deep black, with a single crown, painted in white, positioned in the middle of it. The footman knocked once and waited.
"Come in."
The footman pushed open the door, bowing respectfully. The room within was perfect. The white chairs were elegant and made from the finest craftsmanship; positioned on top, were plump silk pillows, all as white as snow. To the left, beside the window, was a four-poster bed, complete with flowing drapes, which were pulled shut around the bed. To the left, was a pair of glass doors, leading out to a balcony, from which a good part of Wonderland could be seen. Directly in front of Sakura, leading up from a white satin carpet, was a looking glass. Stood in front of the looking glass, was the White Queen.
She was perfect.
Everything about her was beautiful. She wore a fancy dress, with a tight, modest bodice, and a wide skirt, which fell over numerous petticoats. Her sleeves hung low over her hands. She wore a ribbon tied tightly around her waist, the bow at the back. Her skin was as white as snow—she had a rounded, heart-shaped face, with soft, elegant features. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain; it was a dark midnight-blue, and the only splash of colour in the entire room—her lips were the same colour as her hair, smiling daintily.
Her eyes were closed, and Sakura could see that her long lashes were as dark as her hair. Gaara dropped to one knee, bowing his head respectfully.
"My Queen."
"You may rise, noble Hare," the White Queen murmured, and her voice was tender and loving, as well as being suitably feminine. "You have done well."
Everything about her was perfect, Sakura decided. The Queen looked to be about her age—if slightly younger—and, yet, Sakura knew she could do no wrong whatsoever. She was so trustworthy. Kindly.
Oh so beautiful.
"Your Majesty, I have delivered Alice to you," Gaara murmured, rising to his feet—he held his hand out, his fingers unfurling to show Sakura, in all her pink-haired glory.
The Queen blinked.
"Oh dear… She is a little smaller than I expected."
"That can be easily corrected," he replied, and tugged the smallest slice of cake out of his pocket, barely bigger than a crumb. He handed it to Sakura, who took it easily. "You must always remember to return to your usual size, Alice. We cannot be sure of what might happen if you do not."
The White Queen turned away, walking briskly across the room as Sakura began to grow—she rummaged through a wardrobe, tugged out a short white dress, and then returned, handing it to the other girl. Sakura accepted it greatly, tugging it on; it was actually quite a nice dress. Still, she was beginning to miss all of her jumpers.
The Queen smiled, "I have many things to tell you, Alice, and very little time. Firstly, I must tell you that this castle will always be your safehold—you may stay here at any moment you feel fit. You are always welcome here."
Sakura opened her mouth to respond, but she was stopped, as the White Queen held up her hand.
"I apologise, Alice, but there is no time for words; already, I can see you beginning to fade away. You must listen closely—secondly, I have here a looking glass for you," the Queen announced, striding over to her bedside table and picking up a small wrapped package. "It is a magic mirror, to put it simply. I have one much like it. Should you ever need my services, simply gaze into the looking glass and think of me."
She handed it to Sakura, who turned it over, admiring the fine detail. The mirror was black; midnight black, unlike the room around it. Much like the door Sakura had come through, it was as black as ink, with a white painting of a figure in the middle—a girl in a dress, with striped stockings and a black bow in her hair. She assumed that girl was Alice.
"Ah, you're vanishing already…"
Sure enough, Sakura was beginning to fade away, her feet first, much like the Cheshire Cat. She wondered if she would vanish until only her smile remained.
"One last thing, Alice—could you please tell my darling Rabbit to come and visit me again? Oh, I do miss him so," the White Queen sighed, clasping her hands in front of her body and gazing at the other girl beseechingly.
Sakura smiled.
"I promise."
And, with that, she woke up.
.
.
yesterday upon the stair
i saw a man
who wasn't there
he wasn't there again today
oh, how i wish
he'd go away
.
.
—Wonderland is a world where everything is what it is not and nothing is what it is.