Number Four

Hungry Roots

The house was... completely fine. In fact, it seemed better than the version she had bought back in her dimension, all fresh paint, bright wallpaper, soft, flowing net curtains, spick-and-span. Warm sunlight beamed through the windows, a vast difference from the shadowed atmosphere of the Upside-down.

And there he was- at the far end of the hall, coming through the door of one of the other rooms. He looked exactly as she remembered. Same clothes, same hair, all of it.

"Henry?"

He looked up. "Good morning, darling. What, you liked the dress so much you went for a walk in it?"

"Dress?" Bonnie blinked. "What dress?" She looked down. She was dressed in a knee-length, white, fifties gown, with layers of petticoat and lace sleeves. Slowly, she ran her fingers over the luxurious fabric. Smart, but pretty. It was of a kind that she had always secretly admired.

Henry frowned. "Are you alright?"

Bonnie simply gaped. "I... don't... know... what's going on?"

Striding towards her, he placed one surprisingly cool hand on her forehead, brow furrowed in concern; then, he lowered it to her back and steered her softly along the hall. "Let's get you some breakfast."

When they reached the dining room, he pulled out a chair for her and gestured for her to sit down. Bonnie, still very bewildered, sat.

"Tea?" He offered, reaching for the teapot.

The tea was sweet and aromatic, her teacup elegant china painted with red flowers.

He placed a plate down in front of her. Bonnie laughed. "Cake? For breakfast?"

He smiled at her from his position across the table, looking at her over his hands. "Why not?"

Now she was warming up, it felt almost like it used to be; when they spent everyday together and enjoyed each others company.
Grinning, Bonnie picked up her fork. And paused. Lines of poetry, from one of those elegantly-covered books Julia always had lying around, were playing through her mind.

We must not look at Goblin men,
we must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry, thirsty roots.

She thought of the Upside-down, black vines covering everything. Hungry roots indeed. Slowly, she put down her fork, and glanced up. There it was. Something sharp behind his eyes, and suddenly it looked like he was wearing a mask.

Bonnie stood from the chair. "No, this is odd." She turned and strode away, towards the door. He didn't chase, just simply followed at a leisurely pace, and stood behind her and watched as she walked down the hall.

She was walking, she was walking, she was walking... how long was this hall? And then she realised- the hall was stretched, impossibly long, going on and on, and on forever. Gritting her teeth, she let out a cry of frustration, "No!" and ran down the hall, breaking away and crashing against the door.

But the door was shrinking, smaller and smaller, like Alice in Wonderland, until she couldn't even fit an arm through. Crouched on the floor, she pressed up against it, peering hopelessly through the rose pattern glass. Uselessly, she scratched at the wall. "Let me out! Let me out!" Suddenly, she was reminded of solitary confinement; so small and tight, and claustrophobic, crushing in on her.

Bonnie blacked out.

A/N: It's no good refusing the cake, Bonnie, if you've already drunk the tea! XD We all know she's standing in the doorway of the Creel house with her eyes fluttering this whole time, right?

The poem is Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti. Picture of the dress is top of the page, and don't forget the music there too!

Anyway, I'm hoping to get LOTS of comments from you lovely readers for this one! XD