Along with this new fic, I'll soon be posting a TLC/Steven Universe crossover story. I was rewatching Coraline the other day, and I thought that it would be interesting to write Winter in Coraline's place. This will be more inspired by the movie than the book. I hope you enjoy!
Winter had discovered the little door not long after she was moved to her new rooms.
In a way, she was grateful for this change of home; now, a whole palace wing away from the queen, she allowed herself to feel a little more secure. A little more like Winter. Her left cheek was still swollen and sore, and according to Jacin, the wounds would scar and she would be forever blemished. Winter tried not to mind. After all, she couldn't ever see herself. Once the pain was gone, she could forget.
That little door, hidden in the corner of her own little parlour, came up just a bit above her knees. She would spend afternoons staring; it sat behind the flowered wallpaper that had been plastered there years ago. The ridges, hinges and keyhole stuck out quite well. There was no handle.
"Do you know if there's a key to the little door?" Winter asked her governess.
The governess, who held obvious disdain for the young princess, snorted. "If there is, it has been discarded long ago."
"Why?"
"Your Highness, I do not know why the key would be discarded." Her lips thinned into a sneer. "Nor do I know why a princess would care about little doors. It's probably just storage."
Winter would've asked what was being stored there if the governess hadn't had such a look of scorn painted on her face. She was starting to find that such a look was unbecoming of nearly everyone. Instead, she decided to interrogate her ladies' maid.
"I'm afraid that I wouldn't know of a key for such a little door," was her answer.
"Please, Thaïs! You have all the keys to this part of the palace. There has to be something," Winter sighed. "I really want to see what's in there."
"Your Highness..."
Winter pouted her lip, knowing that it worked like a charm. Lately, she had been excessively bored, and all she had on her mind was that little door. Maybe it was full of cool old trinkets. Or maybe it was a passage to Earth, far away from court and her stepmother. Perhaps, even, a doorway to heaven, where her parents would be waiting for her.
"Here," said Thaïs, dumping a drawer-full of keys on the carpet. Winter crouched down and analyzed the pile. "These are all the spares and unused junk. Once you're done trying them, let me know so I can clean up this mess," her voice lowered, "and before I can get in trouble."
"Of course, of course." Winter smiled, rummaging through the keys, of all different shapes, sizes and colours. She was left alone to do her tests; first, she took one key and tore through the wallpaper around the door. Next, she tried every one of them in the keyhole, but to her despair, none fit. They were all too big, too modern—the keyhole seemed to accommodate an old toothed key, much like those in fairytales. She searched again through the pile until she landed on some black, tarnished thing, carved of regolith into the shape of a button. It seemed like it would do the trick.
She let out a laugh as it fit perfectly into the keyhole. The lock clicked as she turned the button key, and the door was pulled open with a loud creaking sound. Dust and loose stone chips dropped from above. Suddenly, Winter's spirits fell—for behind that door, there was nothing but a wall of bricks.
"That's it?!" Winter cried, her arms flopping at her sides. She frowned. Begrudgingly, she took out the button key. She slipped it in her pocket. "I'm done!" The princess shouted.
Thaïs hummed as she made her way back into the room. "Did you get it open, Your Highness?"
"There was nothing but bricks," Winter huffed. She pushed the little door shut.
"You know, this used to be a much bigger apartment," the maid said, tossing the plethora of keys back into her loose drawer. "Belonged to a long-ago queen. When the royal family moved to the newer side of the palace, they divided this wing up into much smaller rooms. I'm guessing that door led to a playroom, way back when."
Winter tried not to get upset at the thought of having been thrown away to an abandoned part of the palace. Ever since Levana's tantrum, it was clear that the queen had meant to distance herself from Winter, but she couldn't help but think that making her move was really all that necessary.
Behind her, she could hear Thaïs' rustling as she struggled to lift that heavy drawer. After a moment, when the maid was in the doorway, she let out a greeting to someone out in the hallway. "Your Highness! You have company!"
Winter stood and smoothed out her rumpled skirt, hoping that it was Jacin, although she should've known better; he was away with his parents to visit some family in a labouring sector. Instead, waiting at her door, with a strange package in his hand, was Alasdair Dunlin. He had a big old grin on his charmless face.
"Milord," Winter curtsied, hoping that he had no intention of staying for long. "To what do I owe you the pleasure?"
He looked up to the ceiling, laughing. "Don't worry, Princess. I don't mean to bother you." He held up the wrapped bundle. "I found this in my mother's chest the other day; I thought you might want it."
Winter narrowed her eyes—she hadn't forgotten how he had manipulated her at that last gala. She made sure to scribble his name down on her untrustworthy for life list. "I don't want it. Whatever it is, take it back," she replied.
"But I'm telling you, you'll like it."
"No thank you." She closed the door in his face—to hell with pleasing the court! He was annoying and couldn't take no for an answer. As a princess, she had the right to be left alone.
Alasdair knocked once, twice, and every time, she ignored him. Finally, when she was sure he wouldn't knock again, she opened the door a crack and peered out into the hall. He was nowhere to be found; only the package was left on her doorstep, with a little note taped to the front.
Your Highness,
Like I said, I found this in Mother's junk chest the other day. Remind you of anyone?
Alasdair
Winter let out a groan and took it the package back into her room. Despite her annoyance, she tore open the crumpled tissue, to reveal the strangest of things—a small doll, soft as cotton, made in her image. Dark skin, curly black hair made from wool, her favourite lilac dress, two button eyes that gleamed in the light, and three tiny scars finely applied with red paint.
Her mouth bobbed open. "A...a little me?"
It was eerie. Terribly eerie. But as quickly as they came, the shivers down her spine faded, and she found herself angry. Was this that little slime's idea of a joke? She toyed with the idea of telling Levana that Alasdair had made a crude mockery of the princess, but she knew that the queen would just brush her off. Or worse, tell her to be flattered.
She plunked the doll down on a chair. She then came to stand before it, her hands on her hips, as if she were interrogating it.
"Wherever you came from," she barked, "there can only be one Winter. You get that?"
The doll didn't say anything, much to Winter's relief. She didn't think that she could handle a talking doll. She didn't want to believe that she was developing psychosis, but the visions were growing more and more frequent. Come to think of it, maybe she had just imagined the past ten minutes. Alasdair had never come to her door. This doll didn't exist. She was simply mad.
Winter shuddered. This continued all the way until dinner; even Levana noticed her excessive nerves. Peering down at her plate, she tried in vain to avoid the queen's gaze. She had insisted, to the servants' confusion, to have the little doll seated beside her on a high chair. The whole time, Levana had been eyeing it with faint repulsion. "Who gave that to you?"
Winter, in turn, looked at the doll's shiny button eyes. They were black as tar. "Alasdair Dunlin gave it to me. I think he was trying to play a prank. I didn't find it funny."
Levana lip's pressed into a thin line, and she took another bite of her food. "You're much too old for dolls," she commented.
"It isn't a doll, Stepmother," Winter replied. "It's Alasdair's prank. That I didn't find funny."
The queen sighed.
Looking down again, Winter wrinkled her nose. The smell of chard certainly wasn't helping her unease; she felt sick just from the smell. "Why must we always eat this?" Winter dared to ask. She made a face and set her fork precariously over the horrid green vegetable.
Levana raised an eyebrow. "Why are you complaining about what I have fed to you?"
"Stepmother, you know that I despise chard."
"It's good for your health," Levana replied. She took the last bite of her own meal with all her typical grace.
"We always have chard. I don't want it," Winter said, pushing her plate away. "It looks like slime."
"It's slime or bedtime, Darling," Levana hissed, obviously irritated.
Winter looked over to the doll. "Do you think they're trying to poison me?" Slyly, she slipped a hand beneath the doll's chin and made it nod its' head in agreement. "Why can't they make the things I like?" Winter huffed.
With this, the queen's patience snapped. "Around here, Winter, the chef cooks, the maids clean, and you," she pointed her fork towards the princess, "stay out of the way. As for now, you can stay out of my way."
Winter blinked.
"Shoo," Levana whispered, her lips curled into a deadly smile.
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