Summary: The Mad Hatter becomes engrossed with a strange human girl. What begins as a break in a routine and to destroy the perfect exemplar of a human, ends in the unloved to be loved. But this love soon fails, for a fallen angel could never be loved nor love.
Note: Belial is a WO-man (well, as woman as an angel can get). No question about it. She has no male parts. So, henceforth, Belial will be referred to as a "she". Thank you for your understanding.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, nor do I own Jefferson's Airplane's White Rabbit. And yes, I do believe Mr. Carroll was smoking Opium while writing Alice's Adventures.
Chapter Five
Painting Roses Red
The record player was on, playing a soft and gentle waltz. The equipment far outlived its allure. The record was worn and carried out static through the dusty amplifier. You could almost imagine yourself in a grand hall, surrounded by velvet and sheer fabric gracing your bare ankles. Hands locked, heads swaying back, hair begging to be let free. Chuckling could be heard amongst the growing masses. Your partner is enjoying herself greatly; cheeks red with delight and head rocking with her feet. My hands clasp tighter... "don't let go." She smiles and presses closer.
Bride after bride catch my eye. Their breasts pressed into their corsets, rising up and down as best they could. Thin and long legs swinging in the hoop of their skirts. Suddenly my hands are vacant. A young lady lays to my feet, hair sprawled over her face. "Don't let go!" She screams desperately. My hands grasp her limp ones. Nothing but blood.
One's head snaps up to the record player. The needle is stuck on a ridge. One goes up to fix the problem. Poor young women all line up to taste One's lips and before purity is even stolen, death doth claim them. Nine hundred ninety-nine of them. A mausoleum lays under the foundations of One's castle. There a young bride shall soon join them. Pale silver hair, like moonshine, will wither with golden and auburn locks, collected throughout the length of One's lifetime. Tan flesh will rot along with fair, medium, golden, black, darkened... Young princess, know you not what awaits you? Know you not what rests behind One's smile.
"Hell-oooo? What are you doing Hatter? Aren't you teaching me chess?" She chides, nudging the chest board forward.
"One apologizes, my Princess. Let us continue then." One sits in front of the young princess, her cogs working, trying to find a move to make. Her hand graces the Queen.
"Why is the Queen able to make so many moves?" She asks.
"It's true One said that if the Queen were loss, in some cases you may as well throw your chances at winning," One pointed to the leftmost knight, giving her hint. "This game is fairly old, princess. The Queen is most powerful possibly because it is most historically correct. Queens manage the castle even without leaving it, using their King as a puppet," One moves a pawn, "checkmate, my dear."
"Oh shit..." She looks around, "help me out here, Hatter."
One looks to the princess, amused. One points to the Queen once again, laying her life to smite the unruly knight. Whore. Slut. Disgusting mastermind. Puppeteer. Smite the wicked bitch.
"Hatter? Your turn."
"Oh yes, thank you, princess."
Poor little princess. You know little of what this Queen can do. She will feed you to Hell itself. All for the man who never saw her for what she truly was.
The smell of tea biscuits filled the small town flat very quickly. She never liked the taste of cookies in a tin and enjoyed the smell of the pastries that wafted from the small little gas lit oven. She made quick work out of any dough with those thin, seamstress hands of hers, twirling the wooden utensils as though it were tiny needles. One watched as her attention was placed wholeheartedly on the task at hand: she was building a tray of delectable treats for the guests that gathered in her garden; guests that she refused to turn away.
It was a wonder in itself how she had not turned away One such as I. She held onto this whimsical life for some time now that it consumed her. She was enveloped in the promise of a grander life One had given simple flashes of under One's top hat. But something bothered One: she promised nothing in return and yet One was still chasing her skirt hem. It was amusing to find Oneself, time and time again, in her presence. Was it the promise of a sweeter tasting fruit than any other fruit that continued to drive One to the small flat in Rouen? Or perhaps this was all madness and there was nothing here but a grand delusion? When did One become the very embodiment of the Mad Hatter? It was baffling. Her influence ran deep.
"Can Moi help?" One offered.
"Ah!" Alice exclaimed, burning the tip of her finger on the warm stove. "Yes, can you please help me get this cake? Ah, yes, merci."
She exchanged the simple pound cake for the tea biscuits and began decorating it with a coating of icing. With one simple candle placed on the top, she took the matchbox and struck a match. It was amazing to see what lengths one would go for a beloved.
In the garden, my dear Francis sat by the rose bushes. He noticed his sister approaching and sat up, adjusting the quilt that gathered on his lap. He mirrored her enthusiasm –perhaps for her sake- and beamed as his guests cheered him on. His cheeks puffed as he prepared to blow out the candle, but hesitated. He looked to One, who was watching the whole scene unfold from the backdoor. And then suddenly, cheers erupted once more as he extinguished the candle flame.
Never one to let One out of site, the cunning little brother. He wasn't a problem; quite the opposite, fact. He will let One delve into Alice's rabbit hole and peer into the world she hid away from everyone else. Perhaps then One would comfort in One's choice.
"Here," Alice took an envelope tucked away in her skirt pocket and handed it to her brother, "bonne anniversaire."
"Merci." He took the envelope and opened it hungrily. But his face changed sharply, contorted with both shock and dismay. "No, Alice… I can't possibly..."
"Nonsense," she rejected, "you can and you will."
"What is it?" One party-goer asked.
"It's…" Francis began.
"It's tuition," Alice said, "for Oxford."
He smiled brightly. "Thank you, Alice."
"Certainement, Francis." She came up to hug him across the neck. He gave her a quick pat on the back. One was certain that this sudden gift halted any intentions of affections from the man.
"That was quite nice of you," One said, watching as Alice climbed the stairs back into the flat.
"I have grand aspirations for the boy, Hatter."
It was true, she did; that much was clear. She promised to herself that to hell or high water she would get him to the fabled Oxford. It was admirable to see a woman of very meager means come up with the tuition necessary for a brother that took every inch of her being. It was a drama in itself: to see those two make a world for themselves while the odds continuously stacked against them. And the fighting wasn't agreeing with poor Alice as lines continued to draw on her face.
"I suppose it isn't for Francis anymore," she whispered, slightly ashamed by her admission. "I want this so much for him that it can't possibly be for him anymore."
"You're a good sister," One reassured. One wanted her to admit it, One wanted to see what lay beneath that good will.
"Perhaps. I willed for him to go to Oxford and that is what he will do. It seems that everything is against me, everything is telling me I should stop." She set the empty plate of cookies on the table. Her brow furrowed before settling. "But you're always here. Thank goodness I have a friend like you, Hatter."
One smiled; such a sweet flower. "You are a kind friend to Moi, as well."
"Honestly," she pressed, leaning into the space that was customarily built between man and woman, "I have no one. No one seems to understand what I am willing to give, what I have given to my cause. They laugh and whisper to themselves."
"I can see through, ma chère. You see a bit of yourself in your brother. You want to live vicariously through him."
She chuckled. "It's sad when said. I even put the house for sale for this pipe dream. I won't need it when he leaves."
She was troubled by the way this endeavor made her feel. It made her feel powerless and made her look at her own shortcomings. But worst of all it made her realize that she wasn't the selfless hero her brother built her up to be. No, she was a sad woman, crippled by her awful drinking habit and her inability to assimilate the conflicting messages around her. Be kind but be bold. Develop an identity for yourself but only one that would be pleasant. Be chaste, but not enough to bore any potential suitors.
"Francis seems happy though, so I am happy," she commented wistfully on the display from her kitchen window. Or perhaps that was something she was only telling herself to placate the haunting vision that was plaguing her, the one where she was killing her brother.
Her face fell as the scene outside began to degrade. People stirred, crying was heard and Alice ran to back porch. Francis was laying on chair outside, where she had left him but his body was limp and his cake had fallen to the ground. Alice cried for help, desperately fumbling around her brother.
It seemed as though he suffered from another seizure, as so the doctors had told Alice. One thought it unlikely but wouldn't comment over the doctor's diagnosis; it was most certainly stress building in his fragile but healing body.
"There seems to be quite a lot going for him right now," the doctor chastised Alice. "Let him rest. Make sure he doesn't have anything that would upset him and send him in another fit. Care for him, he is the last of your family after all."
She swallowed it and thanked them for their help. She knew deep down this was all her doing and so she allowed their harsh words even under her own roof.
"What am I to do now?" She began to cry. "He'll never see Oxford, will he?"
One gently caressed her shoulder. "Let him rest. We will see when he wakes up, yes?"
She nodded and walked down to her sitting room where a bottle of aged cognac was stashed away for her drinking pleasure only. One stayed next to the young Francis, the catalyst. One was seeing a side of our prospect that One wouldn't have seen otherwise, only speculate. One of selfish desires.
"Wake up, Francis."
"You're still here, Clown? I'm getting rather tired of seeing your face."
"Moi doubts that to be true. How do you feel?"
"Ill." He adjusted himself up his pillows.
"This wasn't a seizure. You fainted because of stress. You've been lying to Alice, haven't you? You've been a rather busy little bee."
He smiled. "So you're a doctor now, are you? Yes. I've been working for my cousin since Normandy, balancing his books. I just couldn't sit here any longer. And now that I see to what lengths Alice will actually go…
One felt a longing presence by the doorway: Alice. So, if it was a show she had wanted then One would have to oblige. "She is working diligently to have you go to Oxford. Is that not something you want?"
"Want? You understand that this is all ludicrous, don't you? She's doing this for herself. She's tearing herself apart to live a dream through me and I can't live on knowing that. I have to refuse, even knowing it would kill her. It's for the both of us."
One tipped One's hat, "good night, Francis. Sleep well."
One walked out of the bedroom and closed the door firmly behind. "You're brother loves you," One said to Alice as she slumped to the ground, her head resting on the wall.
"I know."
"Would you let him do something so suicidal as to live on your dream?"
"I could never," she snapped. "Not to him."
There was something tragic about all of it. She hadn't an idea in the slightest what was occurring. One was paying careful attention to her interactions, taking mental note. When One had nearly became crestfallen by the idea of this pristine offering being tainted by her own selfish desires, in reality she had the most noble of intentions. She loved her brother and it was that love that would consume the both of them.
"You love your brother, don't you?"
She smiled. "Love does strange thing to people."
A/N: Oh my... 6 years and I still haven't forgotten about this one. To be honest, every time I felt down, I would come and read this. And then finally I decided it was time to actually work on it. I really hope it lives up to people's expectations... I mean, those that are still around.