I specialize in a very different type of security…oh, how cliché that sounds. I guard the entrance to a world that exists parallel to ours. Is that enough information for you?
I suppose not.
Well, I stand in front of this rather large tree, in which there is a rather large hole. I have time off on holidays, Friday the 13th, and whenever the weather is too horrible for someone to go near the thing anyway.
It was raining rather hard on the day when Alice Liddell got all those strange ideas, so I truly hope that she'd just been drugged. I'm not a saint, but I'd rather believe that opium was involved than think the unthinkable and run the risk of getting beheaded.
…
It was a bright spring morning when Dahlia Eames made her way up the hill to the hawthorn tree. Her family had recently bought the old mansion by the river, and beyond a charming wood, a small hill held the thickest hawthorn she'd ever seen. Being both an American and a member of the nouveaux riches, she didn't expect to get an invitation to tea with the neighbors anytime soon. Therefore, the bright sunny day left the well-brought-up young lady scrambling up a grassy knoll for entertainment.
Her dark brown curls were pinned back untidily and her dress, bought just the week before, already looked as if it had seen better days. A romp through the woods was not the sort of thing one dressed up for, but Dahlia had no clothes that were proper for such activities. By the time she had reached the tree, she was too tired and overheated to do anything but sit beneath it and hope her hat hadn't been blown away into an unreachable place by the mischievous wind. Just as she was about to close her eyes, she heard a branch crack. Looking up, she saw a dark figure tumble out of the tree overhead. She stared with shock as the man stood, trying to regain his dignity.
"Beg pardon," he mumbled, brushing grass and leaves off his shirt. Then, "Charmed, I'm sure," he muttered as he knelt and swept through the grass until he found a pair of spectacles. Soon his dark eyes were regarding her from behind two panes of glass. "Hello," he said awkwardly, after staring for a moment. "I'm A. Raven." Dahlia stared at his outstretched hand before shaking it tentatively.
"My name is Dahlia Eames," she replied, mustering some semblance of propriety. "What, may I ask, is your purpose in climbing trees on private property?"
"Ah. Miss Eames. Delighted to make your acquaintance." He blushed. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave as soon as possible." Turning away and pulling a leaf out of his raven-black hair, he then proceeded to act as if she'd left already. Dahlia stood and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around to face her in a single fluid motion, looking dangerous, and she flinched.
"You have no right to order me to leave, unless you're some sort of groundskeeper and there's a danger to my person." Dahlia frowned as she'd seen her mother frown at lazy servants. Being only seventeen, this genteel expression only looked ridiculous.
"I am a sort of groundskeeper," A. Raven replied, giving her a dark look and removing his spectacles, "and should you linger near this tree for any longer than is necessary, your person will most certainly be in danger." He put the spectacles in his pocket, and suddenly looked very serious, like someone to be reckoned with.
Dahlia turned away in a huff, trying to act like nothing about him scared her. Unfortunately, when she thought she was a safe distance to turn around and look, he was looking right at her. If only she hadn't looked.