𝓑𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙚 || { Scaramouche x reader }

But what if I do?

—
⚠️Warning: this chapter might be a bit disturbing because the food will be described in a very horrendous way. So if you have a weak stomach, please read on your own risk. I will place this sign: 🔴 when the disgusting stuff starts and this one: 🌀 when it's finished, so you wouldn't have to skip the whole chapter.
—

              ﹥ˏˋ♡̩͙ . ♡̩̩̥͙ . ♡̩̥̩ ♡̩̥̩ ♡̩̥̩ . ♡̩̩̥͙ . ♡̩͙ˊˎ﹤

0110011001101001011001010110110001100100

   '*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

"What will you do, Alice?"

Cheshires' voice echoed through your head. It kept going around, swirling and twirling
like a carousel, a merry go round.
His smoke was ripping, pulling your skin off bits by bits. Most of the vapour allowed the cold air to dig into your raw flesh and break, tear every particle of your rotting vessel.

"What am I supposed to do?" You weren't sure what he was talking about, so you took a bite off your scone which was fully filled with  blueberry jam.
The fruity pieces were crashed by your teeth and slowly, but most surely melted by the warmth of your tongue.
Flavours were collapsing, fighting to be the first one you'd taste, not realising their death would await them at the bottom of your pit.

🔴
Yet, they weren't the ones being fooled.
As you proceeded to ask him again, the jam was crawling out of the pastry, morphing itself into worms. They were sucking onto your saliva, drowning in its enclosure.
The scone you had been holding was on the ground. Your hands were trembling abnormally. Words couldn't describe how petrified you were.
You could feel them move, nibble onto your cheeks and dig their teeth into your flesh, breaking the skins barrier and entering the freshly prepared meat.
You tried to spit them out, but to no avail. They were crawling and sucking every corner out. It was horrible, so so horrible.
You couldn't move,
you were frozen,
frozen into place like a tree.
A tree, whose habitants were possessed with a substance, to whom were falling, falling into the claws of ecstasy.

"What's wrong, dear?" Cheshire asked you mockingly. He was smiling, showing you his sharpened teeth.
Your eyes wandered to the ground, searching for the scone. You were startled to the bones.
There it laid on the ground. Half eaten and filled with blueberry jam. No worms, not a single one.
Your hand quickly touched the bits of your mouth.
Nothing.
There was absolutely nothing.
🌀

"Why did you do that?" You asked calmly, still terrified by the thing you just had witnessed.
He shrugged slowly, seeming not to understand what you were talking about. But you knew he was playing, fooling around with your consciousness.
"What are you talking about, dear?" "You know exactly what I'm ta- forget it."

It didn't matter how persistent you were, he would never, never admit it.
You stood up from your stool. "I think it's time to go back." 
He blew another smokey cloud into your face.
"Sure, dearest. But I advise you not to follow the shoes."
As the room started to collapse in a familiar way, you waved him goodbye. He returned the gesture, leaving you to wonder.

'But what if I do?'

Your eyes shot open and were greeted by artificial light. That's right, you were at the Northland Bank, waiting for him fo finish whatever business he had to attend to.
You were resting in a waiting room all alone, no soul available. The only thing that rescued this room from looking like a prison cell was the Cuckoo clock. Everything else was plainly white, even the chairs.
The clock was embedded into a wooden house, a paradise for a puppets desire. There were two figures dressed in blue clothes. A father and a son, each holding a pitchfork. On the other side were three figures. One mother and two daughters. They were holding hands, smiling at the observer. The scenery made your stomach warm. It reminded you of a home you once had. At least it gave you the impression that it was a home, because you hadn't felt the depths of such scenery for a very long time.
You weren't even sure whether it had ever been your home. Well, at least not after the incident.
As expected, once the clock stroke five, a wooden phoenix popped out of the windows. The wooden skin was painted with gold, followed by a rich touch of olive green.
A bewitching sight to sore eyes.