The Alphabet Challenge: E
Wowwwwwwwwwwwwwww. Been a while. o__o Dear school, you're a soul-sucking monster. Not really, but I do have like, no time.
ANYWAY.
Yeah, major angst fest, and I was experimenting with second person, rather than third or first, so let's see how this goes, shall we? X3 Don't expect anything too great, guys, haha.
*
Prompt: Empty.
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: Lots and lots of angst. Also, experimentation with writing styles, so flow may be wonky. (And a slight fluff warning for the ending. I'm not totally heartless and sadistic, just mostly. I'll have to make it up to the characters later.)
Length: 2,213 words.
Disclaimer: I do not own Alice in Wonderland (2010). This is a work of fan-fiction.
*
Empty
By Naranne
*
“You could stay…”
The words ring inside your head, the last utterance of your hopes in the calm after that monstrous battle. Naïve hopes, the cynical side of your brain reminds you. She has done what she needed to. There is nothing left for her here.
Yet as she paused, that horrible, disgusting, whisk-her-away from you take-her-away from you vial in her hands, you had thought that perhaps, just perhaps-
You knew that your face had spread into the slightest of grins, that there had been those hopes glimmering in your eyes, plain for her to see. And when she’d smiled at you, that right-proper-Alice smile on her right-proper-Alice sized lips which sparkled in her captivating Alice-eyes-stop-
The admonition is harsh, and for a moment you’re not quite sure where it comes from. Of their own accord, bandaged, thimble-clad hands make their way into your hair and tangle there, pulling, tugging, and you sink the floor, with enough force that even though the carpet is soft, a small amount of pain jolts up through your knees. It’s there for a moment, and then it is disregarded, as-
“What an idea… a crazy, mad, wonderful idea…”
Her voice is there, taunting you, tempting you, like she did, the words tumbling out as if she was not aware what she was saying, as if she did not know what she was doing to you. You cannot help the image that flashes through your clouded mind, clear as day: her bright, smiling face before you, and the life that she and you could have had as she seemed to have promised to stay-
Alice, stay with me. Please, Alice-
You see, as if you were reliving it, her smile fade. You feel your heart clench within you, painfully, constricting, binding, tight, squeezing. Somehow, with that awful feeling of dread and the dangerous lure of madness that always lurks and you must not let it out, with that intuition that you know you have when it comes to her and her alone, you know what she is going to say before the poisonous words escape her lips.
“But I can’t.”
It would have been oh so easy to succumb to the darkness awakened by that one statement - you had seen it in her eyes, knew she was lying, she must want to stay, she must. It would have been oh so easy to succumb, and keep her there. Rip the vial from her hands and shatter it into a thousand pieces, like she was doing to you then and there with her words.
But there was uncertainty in her eyes, and it gave you hope.
“There are questions I have to answer… things I have to do.”
Yes, there are, you wanted to tell her. Here, in Underland - so many things to see, to learn, to feel-
Instead, you watched, cowardly, unwilling to force her to stay yet unwilling to let her leave. She had lifted the vial to her lips. You watched her swallow, watched it go down, and you said nothing. Now, you kneel on the floor of your rooms in Marmoreal, moaning, and bite down on your knuckles to keep yourself from crying out. You won’t break down. You won’t let yourself.
Not again.
“I’ll be back again before you know it.”
Empty words. Oh, how foolish you had been - you wanted, so, so desperately, preciously badly to believe her, and you did, and - and then, and then - what?
You wanted to plead with her, to let her see, that she did not have to choose to return Above, that she could stay, and she would be happy - had she not seen? Yet, she had already supped of the vial, viscous fluid in the purple vial, and you knew that there was no turning back for her.
There were so many things you wanted to say.
Instead, all you could manage was one feeble sentence, shaking your head in sorrow as you voiced the doubts rampaging through your skull.
“You won’t remember me.”
You had felt the tears burning at the back of your eyes, but damn it all you would not cry in front of her, you had to be strong, her support, her guidance, but you knew, you knew that it would all come to naught and that it would be as it was every time. She would forget. It would all appear as a dream to her. You knew you would soon mean nothing.
You rock yourself back and forth on the hard, unforgiving floor, helpless to drive away the memory that haunts your every moment.
“Of course I will - how could I forget?”
There was such conviction ringing through her voice that you believed her, as you so desperately wanted to believe that she would come back to you, come back for you, yet now you are sure that you merely imagined it. The stab of hope you felt piercing your heart had been replaced by hollowness. Emptiness. And the madness, lurking, always there, always waiting to consume you.
“Hatter.”
You drank up her voice like water, the last few, scarce droplets.
“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”
Bittersweet.
Despite yourself, you’d felt yourself smiling, at the shared moment that was only for the two of you alone - that she still was there, in front of you, and you had felt such a swell in your chest at the time, even though you had been quite befuddled as to the cause, and had only realised it was her later, when alone. Alone.
“Haven’t the slightest idea.”
She had smiled, then, the same heartfelt, heartbreaking smile that she had given you when you had arrived at Marmoreal, in numerous shared moments, the smile that made you feel like for just that one instance, you were the only one that mattered to her, the only one she was thinking about, the only-
You grip your hair tighter, almost painfully tight, and a sob is stifled by your teeth on your knuckles, the faintest tang of blood reaching your tongue. Alice - oh, Alice…
The memory plays relentlessly onward, though you would give anything to avoid reliving the last few moments. The last moments of her in your life.
You had not dared to touch her, though every nerve in your body had been screaming out for you to take her by the arm, the hand, to pull her close and never let her go. To hold her, wrap your fingers in her hair, keep her close, keep her with you, keep her safe, keep her there, where she belonged.
But no - you had been too frightened. Too terrified that if her felt her in your arms, the overwhelming need to have her there with you, to keep from leaving, would draw you in to what lurked, and you would hurt her, you would do something - she had drank of the blood, and what could you have done against such magic?
So instead, you hovered close, as torturingly close as you could without having her in your arms, and whispered your farewell into her ear, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips.
“Fairfarren, Alice.”
And then-
Swirling mist, she’s gone, she’s leaving you-
Alice!
The sobs finally break free, and you clap a hand over your mouth, shaking your head furiously.
She’s gone, she left, she’s not coming back, she broke her promise, there’s nothing left for her here, she had done what she needed to do not coming back left she has gone she left you notgoodenough for her she doesnotneedwantfeelneedyou-
You don’t realise that you have stood up and begun pacing and that it has taken you until the sound of the door slamming open and someone sternly, but kindly, calling your name with an undeniable ring of authority breaks you out of your reverie. It is a mix that belongs to no one else bar Mirana, and you blink, endeavouring to clear away the fog, as you wonder why she has come. Usually, Her Majesty is wise enough to leave you alone.
You are about to turn and inquire - and thank her, in your own way, for bringing you down from that place - when another voice steals your attention, and you freeze.
“Hatter?”
You groan through clenched teeth, and squeeze your eyes shut tightly.
There is no way - you know you are dreaming, now, possibly, or worse - the memory usually has stopped by now, surely you will not relive it again, not so soon -
The sound of a throat being cleared.
You take a deep, calming breath, convince yourself that you are imagining things, and that soon it will all go away, go back to how it always is.
It doesn’t.
“Tarrant?”
The voice is tentative now, unsure of your lack of response.
Ashamedly, you swipe with the back of your hand at your wet cheeks, assuring yourself that you cannot possibly be dreaming. In your dreams, in your memories, she always calls you Hatter.
You don’t dare to hope, knowing all too well where that landed you the last time, but against every better instinct, you turn, slowly, as if taking it step by small step will ensure that it does not vanish. Not again.
Please, not again.
Footsteps. One, two, three - coming closer to you, cautiously.
Taking a deep, calming breath, you open your eyes.
For a moment, you cannot believe what you are seeing. You rake your eyes up and down, almost hungrily, devouring every detail, locking it in place, affirming it with your memory, almost unwilling to believe that what you are seeing is real, terrified that it is all a hallucination of your exhausted, empty mind. The curls, the beseeching eyes, her stance, her right-proper size, the slight quirk of her brow as she waits for your response, the faint scarring on her right arm, the slight smell of sea air and the smile.
Her smile. The smile that is yours and yours only.
You blink. Once, twice, three times.
She reaches out a hand, and warily, your eyes snap to her fingers, watching as they come closer to you, desperately wanting her to be real, to be here, yet terrified that it will still prove to be an illusion, a figment of your imagination. A dream. Then her palm comes to rest on your cheek, and gently, tenderly, she brushes away the last remnant of wetness with the pad of her thumb, her smile widening and her eyes glistening, and with that one touch, your doubts and fears and worries shatter.
She is here.
She came back.
You’re not sure how it happens, but suddenly your arms are full of Alice, and you’re clutching her to chest as if your very life depends on it, arms tight around her waist and face buried in her shoulder, marvelling at the way she fits. She gives one small start of surprise and then her arms lock around your neck and the fingers of one of her hands are threading in your hair, holding you just as tightly as you hold her, in an embrace that defies words. You mumble incoherently against the small patch of exposed skin on her shoulder, and reach a bandaged hand to stroke her hair, calming yourself, reassuring yourself that no dream ever felt this real. Of their own accord, a few tears of pure relief leak out from beneath your lids; she squeezes you to her, tightening her grip and pressing her face into your neck. You can feel her lashes against your skin as she blinks, feel her warm breath, steady, full of life.
You can’t remember how long you stand there, holding her to you, but she makes no move to pull away, and you’ll be damned if you let her go now that she has come back.
Your thoughts tumble out of your lips without conscious thought. “I’ve missed you, Alice,” you find yourself mumbling, and then suddenly wonder if that was the wrong thing to have said, for she laughs softly.
“I promised you I’d come back.”
“I didn’t think you would remember me.”
The hand tangled in your hair moves to stroke your neck soothingly. You tremble. When she answers, it is so soft that you are almost sure you’ve dreamed it up. “How could I forget you?” she breathes. It tickles your skin. “Really, Hatter.” There is a slight sense of playfulness in her voice, and it brings the beginnings of a gentle grin to your face, unbidden. “You mean far too much to me for that.”
She pulls away a little, and worry shoots through you for a moment, but it vanishes just as quickly as it had come, as she brushes a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, smiles. Alice dips her head, drops a feather-light kiss on your cheek; it’s the merest brushing of lips on skin, but nonetheless you freeze, your heart thudding wildly in your chest and the gentle grin widening rapidly to split your face in two.
You hear the sound of a door softly closing, but you take no notice.
She’s here - she’s back, she’s finally returned to Underland, and she came down the rabbit hole for you.
Alice has returned.
And the darkness has gone.
Hopefully it won’t take me so long, next time. And hopefully it won’t be a major angst fest. Anyway, tell me what you think, anxious to know thoughts on the style, in particular!
So now, on a totally un-related note, I felt like the biggest muso (musician, sorry, weird slang is weird) today - I mean, I had two free periods, so what do I do? I don’t study, I don’t hang out with friends - I spend the first one with one of my music teachers, going over a composition, and the second one reading Rolling Stone magazine (they had an epic article on Exile on Main Street, it was awesome) whilst I waited for rehearsal to start.
Ahh, music.
Anyway, until next time;
Naranne x
ANYWAY.
Yeah, major angst fest, and I was experimenting with second person, rather than third or first, so let's see how this goes, shall we? X3 Don't expect anything too great, guys, haha.
*
Prompt: Empty.
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: Lots and lots of angst. Also, experimentation with writing styles, so flow may be wonky. (And a slight fluff warning for the ending. I'm not totally heartless and sadistic, just mostly. I'll have to make it up to the characters later.)
Length: 2,213 words.
Disclaimer: I do not own Alice in Wonderland (2010). This is a work of fan-fiction.
*
Empty
By Naranne
*
“You could stay…”
The words ring inside your head, the last utterance of your hopes in the calm after that monstrous battle. Naïve hopes, the cynical side of your brain reminds you. She has done what she needed to. There is nothing left for her here.
Yet as she paused, that horrible, disgusting, whisk-her-away from you take-her-away from you vial in her hands, you had thought that perhaps, just perhaps-
You knew that your face had spread into the slightest of grins, that there had been those hopes glimmering in your eyes, plain for her to see. And when she’d smiled at you, that right-proper-Alice smile on her right-proper-Alice sized lips which sparkled in her captivating Alice-eyes-stop-
The admonition is harsh, and for a moment you’re not quite sure where it comes from. Of their own accord, bandaged, thimble-clad hands make their way into your hair and tangle there, pulling, tugging, and you sink the floor, with enough force that even though the carpet is soft, a small amount of pain jolts up through your knees. It’s there for a moment, and then it is disregarded, as-
“What an idea… a crazy, mad, wonderful idea…”
Her voice is there, taunting you, tempting you, like she did, the words tumbling out as if she was not aware what she was saying, as if she did not know what she was doing to you. You cannot help the image that flashes through your clouded mind, clear as day: her bright, smiling face before you, and the life that she and you could have had as she seemed to have promised to stay-
Alice, stay with me. Please, Alice-
You see, as if you were reliving it, her smile fade. You feel your heart clench within you, painfully, constricting, binding, tight, squeezing. Somehow, with that awful feeling of dread and the dangerous lure of madness that always lurks and you must not let it out, with that intuition that you know you have when it comes to her and her alone, you know what she is going to say before the poisonous words escape her lips.
“But I can’t.”
It would have been oh so easy to succumb to the darkness awakened by that one statement - you had seen it in her eyes, knew she was lying, she must want to stay, she must. It would have been oh so easy to succumb, and keep her there. Rip the vial from her hands and shatter it into a thousand pieces, like she was doing to you then and there with her words.
But there was uncertainty in her eyes, and it gave you hope.
“There are questions I have to answer… things I have to do.”
Yes, there are, you wanted to tell her. Here, in Underland - so many things to see, to learn, to feel-
Instead, you watched, cowardly, unwilling to force her to stay yet unwilling to let her leave. She had lifted the vial to her lips. You watched her swallow, watched it go down, and you said nothing. Now, you kneel on the floor of your rooms in Marmoreal, moaning, and bite down on your knuckles to keep yourself from crying out. You won’t break down. You won’t let yourself.
Not again.
“I’ll be back again before you know it.”
Empty words. Oh, how foolish you had been - you wanted, so, so desperately, preciously badly to believe her, and you did, and - and then, and then - what?
You wanted to plead with her, to let her see, that she did not have to choose to return Above, that she could stay, and she would be happy - had she not seen? Yet, she had already supped of the vial, viscous fluid in the purple vial, and you knew that there was no turning back for her.
There were so many things you wanted to say.
Instead, all you could manage was one feeble sentence, shaking your head in sorrow as you voiced the doubts rampaging through your skull.
“You won’t remember me.”
You had felt the tears burning at the back of your eyes, but damn it all you would not cry in front of her, you had to be strong, her support, her guidance, but you knew, you knew that it would all come to naught and that it would be as it was every time. She would forget. It would all appear as a dream to her. You knew you would soon mean nothing.
You rock yourself back and forth on the hard, unforgiving floor, helpless to drive away the memory that haunts your every moment.
“Of course I will - how could I forget?”
There was such conviction ringing through her voice that you believed her, as you so desperately wanted to believe that she would come back to you, come back for you, yet now you are sure that you merely imagined it. The stab of hope you felt piercing your heart had been replaced by hollowness. Emptiness. And the madness, lurking, always there, always waiting to consume you.
“Hatter.”
You drank up her voice like water, the last few, scarce droplets.
“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”
Bittersweet.
Despite yourself, you’d felt yourself smiling, at the shared moment that was only for the two of you alone - that she still was there, in front of you, and you had felt such a swell in your chest at the time, even though you had been quite befuddled as to the cause, and had only realised it was her later, when alone. Alone.
“Haven’t the slightest idea.”
She had smiled, then, the same heartfelt, heartbreaking smile that she had given you when you had arrived at Marmoreal, in numerous shared moments, the smile that made you feel like for just that one instance, you were the only one that mattered to her, the only one she was thinking about, the only-
You grip your hair tighter, almost painfully tight, and a sob is stifled by your teeth on your knuckles, the faintest tang of blood reaching your tongue. Alice - oh, Alice…
The memory plays relentlessly onward, though you would give anything to avoid reliving the last few moments. The last moments of her in your life.
You had not dared to touch her, though every nerve in your body had been screaming out for you to take her by the arm, the hand, to pull her close and never let her go. To hold her, wrap your fingers in her hair, keep her close, keep her with you, keep her safe, keep her there, where she belonged.
But no - you had been too frightened. Too terrified that if her felt her in your arms, the overwhelming need to have her there with you, to keep from leaving, would draw you in to what lurked, and you would hurt her, you would do something - she had drank of the blood, and what could you have done against such magic?
So instead, you hovered close, as torturingly close as you could without having her in your arms, and whispered your farewell into her ear, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips.
“Fairfarren, Alice.”
And then-
Swirling mist, she’s gone, she’s leaving you-
Alice!
The sobs finally break free, and you clap a hand over your mouth, shaking your head furiously.
She’s gone, she left, she’s not coming back, she broke her promise, there’s nothing left for her here, she had done what she needed to do not coming back left she has gone she left you notgoodenough for her she doesnotneedwantfeelneedyou-
You don’t realise that you have stood up and begun pacing and that it has taken you until the sound of the door slamming open and someone sternly, but kindly, calling your name with an undeniable ring of authority breaks you out of your reverie. It is a mix that belongs to no one else bar Mirana, and you blink, endeavouring to clear away the fog, as you wonder why she has come. Usually, Her Majesty is wise enough to leave you alone.
You are about to turn and inquire - and thank her, in your own way, for bringing you down from that place - when another voice steals your attention, and you freeze.
“Hatter?”
You groan through clenched teeth, and squeeze your eyes shut tightly.
There is no way - you know you are dreaming, now, possibly, or worse - the memory usually has stopped by now, surely you will not relive it again, not so soon -
The sound of a throat being cleared.
You take a deep, calming breath, convince yourself that you are imagining things, and that soon it will all go away, go back to how it always is.
It doesn’t.
“Tarrant?”
The voice is tentative now, unsure of your lack of response.
Ashamedly, you swipe with the back of your hand at your wet cheeks, assuring yourself that you cannot possibly be dreaming. In your dreams, in your memories, she always calls you Hatter.
You don’t dare to hope, knowing all too well where that landed you the last time, but against every better instinct, you turn, slowly, as if taking it step by small step will ensure that it does not vanish. Not again.
Please, not again.
Footsteps. One, two, three - coming closer to you, cautiously.
Taking a deep, calming breath, you open your eyes.
For a moment, you cannot believe what you are seeing. You rake your eyes up and down, almost hungrily, devouring every detail, locking it in place, affirming it with your memory, almost unwilling to believe that what you are seeing is real, terrified that it is all a hallucination of your exhausted, empty mind. The curls, the beseeching eyes, her stance, her right-proper size, the slight quirk of her brow as she waits for your response, the faint scarring on her right arm, the slight smell of sea air and the smile.
Her smile. The smile that is yours and yours only.
You blink. Once, twice, three times.
She reaches out a hand, and warily, your eyes snap to her fingers, watching as they come closer to you, desperately wanting her to be real, to be here, yet terrified that it will still prove to be an illusion, a figment of your imagination. A dream. Then her palm comes to rest on your cheek, and gently, tenderly, she brushes away the last remnant of wetness with the pad of her thumb, her smile widening and her eyes glistening, and with that one touch, your doubts and fears and worries shatter.
She is here.
She came back.
You’re not sure how it happens, but suddenly your arms are full of Alice, and you’re clutching her to chest as if your very life depends on it, arms tight around her waist and face buried in her shoulder, marvelling at the way she fits. She gives one small start of surprise and then her arms lock around your neck and the fingers of one of her hands are threading in your hair, holding you just as tightly as you hold her, in an embrace that defies words. You mumble incoherently against the small patch of exposed skin on her shoulder, and reach a bandaged hand to stroke her hair, calming yourself, reassuring yourself that no dream ever felt this real. Of their own accord, a few tears of pure relief leak out from beneath your lids; she squeezes you to her, tightening her grip and pressing her face into your neck. You can feel her lashes against your skin as she blinks, feel her warm breath, steady, full of life.
You can’t remember how long you stand there, holding her to you, but she makes no move to pull away, and you’ll be damned if you let her go now that she has come back.
Your thoughts tumble out of your lips without conscious thought. “I’ve missed you, Alice,” you find yourself mumbling, and then suddenly wonder if that was the wrong thing to have said, for she laughs softly.
“I promised you I’d come back.”
“I didn’t think you would remember me.”
The hand tangled in your hair moves to stroke your neck soothingly. You tremble. When she answers, it is so soft that you are almost sure you’ve dreamed it up. “How could I forget you?” she breathes. It tickles your skin. “Really, Hatter.” There is a slight sense of playfulness in her voice, and it brings the beginnings of a gentle grin to your face, unbidden. “You mean far too much to me for that.”
She pulls away a little, and worry shoots through you for a moment, but it vanishes just as quickly as it had come, as she brushes a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, smiles. Alice dips her head, drops a feather-light kiss on your cheek; it’s the merest brushing of lips on skin, but nonetheless you freeze, your heart thudding wildly in your chest and the gentle grin widening rapidly to split your face in two.
You hear the sound of a door softly closing, but you take no notice.
She’s here - she’s back, she’s finally returned to Underland, and she came down the rabbit hole for you.
Alice has returned.
And the darkness has gone.
Hopefully it won’t take me so long, next time. And hopefully it won’t be a major angst fest. Anyway, tell me what you think, anxious to know thoughts on the style, in particular!
So now, on a totally un-related note, I felt like the biggest muso (musician, sorry, weird slang is weird) today - I mean, I had two free periods, so what do I do? I don’t study, I don’t hang out with friends - I spend the first one with one of my music teachers, going over a composition, and the second one reading Rolling Stone magazine (they had an epic article on Exile on Main Street, it was awesome) whilst I waited for rehearsal to start.
Ahh, music.
Anyway, until next time;
Naranne x