Simple and sweet. Next chapter should be coming soon! *collective shouts of glee*

PS - Did I mention that I sincerely adore Madam Gazelle? I have no idea why, but I really like her!


Once Upon a Golden Afternoon
Chapter 8

After the Grave

The adults faded away like rainclouds on a sunny day, leaving Alice alone by her parents' fresh grave. It smelled like good dirt, Alice thought, wholesome dirt that she could sink down on her knees into, and the dirt would be there for padding when she cried. She wouldn't start crying right away, no. The tears that were locked behind her cornflower eyes wouldn't flow until the dirt had long-since been trodden and compacted, worn away and sodded over with fresh grass. No, Alice wouldn't cry. Grown-ups didn't cry.

Beside her, leaning her fragile frame on a crooked oaken cane, was the still ever-shadowing Madam Gazelle, a hand stately clasped upon her heart as if she knew the bodies buried beneath the soft mesh of loam and fresh grass. As if she knew the souls the bodies once encompassed, and felt pity.

Alice, at least, thought she did.

"We will need to discuss your options, Alice," Madam Gazelle finally intoned in her vulture-like voice. "Now that you have...acquired certain pieces of monetary value, we will need to reassess the wills and your future."

Alice looked at her, startled. "But Father wanted me to stay at Marionette's—"

"It is out of the question," said the headmistress. "The government has policies, Alice. If it were in my power..." she tightened her grip on her cane. "There is a time and a place to discuss these matters, and it is not here."

"Yes madam," she said softly, and looked back to her parents' tombstone. "I am sixteen."

"That you are, Miss Pleasance."

"Marrying age," she realized, and felt a quiver come over her. "I will need to be married?"

To this, the Madam only gave one single, solitary nod. There were social rules, customs, and regulations to follow. Although a sixteen-year-old was not a legal adult by any standards, she was legal enough to be wed, and bed, and propped up in the living room with a knitting set to be admired and adored. Her throat constricted at this intricate acting. She wouldn't be happy like that. She wouldn't be sound.

I will not make a good wife, either, she reminded herself. "But until then?" her voice was emotionless as well, easily disguising her dread.

"We shall see."

They drifted into a long stint of silence after, until a barrage of footsteps greeted their silence. Footsteps running, and suddenly stopping. Madam Gazelle gave the briefest glance over her shoulder, and then said,

"Alice, I believe we have a few late mourners. Are they friends of yours?"

The young blonde spun quickly around, and found three of the dirtiest boys she would ever meet. Two of which were covered in slime and chimney mess, and the third looked to have been drowned repeatedly in puddles that went up to his knees. At the very sight of them, she smiled. She smiled through the rawness in her eyes.

"Oh yes, Madam, they are."

"Very well then. I shall wait for you in the carriage." The old woman rose her head, and stalked off over the graves of long-dead people to the carriage at the front of the cemetery. She mounted inside the black carriage, and drew the dark curtains closed.

None of the girls at Marionette wanted to come, and Alice hadn't invited any of them anyway. They didn't care, and the ones that acted as if they did weren't very good at acting. Even Madam Gazelle, in all her human compassion, had failed to meet any certain mourning requirement. And all the other adults who had attended were business associates and neighbors—none of whom were especially fond of the Pleasance family, but were obligated in their humanly duty to mourn with the last surviving Pleasance.

I am the last, she thought soberly. She had not cousins nor aunts nor grandmothers. She had no one. I am the last Pleasance.

This realization made he shiver with cold unknown. If she was the last, then no one could ever carry the family name again. For forever on, she was the last. Like a dying breed of dodo birds.

The three boys—Bert, Neal, and Reginald—took off their sooty tams and came up to stand beside the graves. Bert put his hand through hers and smiled reassuringly.

"It'll be OK, Miss Alice. You'll see."

To that, the young woman gave a simple nod.

Neal added, "There's other fish in the sea. You're not alone!"

Reginald agreed, "And if you ever need anyone, we're here." And there were more meaning in those words than what it seemed.

Again, all she could manage was a nod. Simple, soft, and resigned. Wholly unlike the Alice she had been once upon a golden afternoon. She took a deep breath, and squeezed

Bert's hand in return. The locket about her neck felt cold, dripping of rain and silvery frost.

Finally, she muttered softly, "I wish I never left Wonderland."

And they, in equal soft dour, agreed.