Alistair

The Queen of Hearts

Bayley puts their arm around me. We begin to walk down the hill, approaching the woods. She called it the Tulgey Woods, right? It looks huge (this static is a different colour, more red-ish). What the hell kind of twisted people or creatures live in there? The purple isn't very comforting. "So, tell me about the Tulgey Woods. Why do we need to go there?"

Bayley looks in my general direction, her gaze kind of empty, their pupiless eyes almost glazed over as their smile stays perfectly wide. "The Tulgey Woods is a home of sanity and a box for the wicked," they begin, their head slowly twisting and going upside down unnaturally. I try not to stare at their skin as it tries to put the head back, or cringe as her bones creak and pop. "We need to go because it beckons you, to shed what was and become who needs to be."

"Wow, thanks for being so clear," I tell them sarcastically. A home of sanity and a box for the wicked? What's that even supposed to mean? Is there an insane asylum or something inside of it? Will they trap me there? What does becoming who needs be entail? So many questions to ask, but I have a feeling she won't answer all of them, and even if she will, we're getting quite close. So, I ask the most important one: "Am I going to die?"

Their head snaps back into place, and their eyes flash a bright scarlet. "Death? I forgot what that feels like. Haven't been there in such a long time..." She starts to mumble under her breath, staring at me as they float along, speaking too quickly for me to understand. Still, that doesn't answer my question.

Am I ready to die, if that's what might happen?

We arrive at the border of the Tulgey Woods, the grass surrounding it different from the way the rest of this place looks. For starters, it isn't just some static. I can actually see this; it's a darker green, like looking at a swamp. The same sense of unreality that I've been feeling this whole time is even stronger here. Something is inherently wrong with this place. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand and a shiver go up my spine as my stomach drops. The fact I can actually see the border doesn't help with that.

"Are you sure the White King and Queen won't find me here? That this is the only place they won't?" I ask, slowing my pace. They quickly float behind me, shoving me forward, speaking more loudly than is reasonable.

"Yes! Yes, this is necessary, go forward now!" Her claws dig into me and I'm sure they've penetrated my skin. It stings, in a far away type of way. Like I'm getting a muffled version of it.

I'm digging my heels into the ground at this point when a soft hand touches my shoulder. "Now, now, Bayley, no need to use such force. I'm afraid poor Alistair here isn't ready to go into the woods. Look at them, they seem terrified." The voice is soft with an English accent, but still gives an air of power and command. It's the kind of voice that makes you want to listen to her no matter what, to follow her into battle if you have to. A leader's voice.

Bayley quickly lets go of me, and I fall backwards onto what feels like grass. I hear their raspy voice quickly apologise, saying 'I'm sorry' over and over again, sounding almost desperate. I don't see what the woman does, but Bayley quickly leaves. She crouches down in front of me, seeming upside down. "So sorry about that, darling, are you quite alright?" She stands up and offers me a hand.

"Yes, yes, I'm quite alright." I take her hand. Her skin is soft, like she's never worked a day in her life, and she looks gorgeous, like royalty, and her outfit matches that. A big poofy layered skirt made of all sorts of scarlet, orange, and red fabrics stitched together, with a corset as white as bone. She's this pale sort of beauty, almost unnatural in that ethereal sort of way. "Who are you? Are you related to the Red Royals?"

She tuts. "Of course not." She pulls me up. "Do I look off my head? Those so-called royals have nothing on me, darling, remember that." Confident too. That's nice. I smile, why is my smile so wide, I wonder if she thinks it looks weird. As I stand up I study her face. Her face is soft and round, with dimples near the corners of her mouth. She's taller than me by a few inches, though that might be because of her black and white boots; I think they had high heels. She looks so kind...

But wait, an English accent? "Of course, that was a dumb question, sorry. But then who are you? Are you from where I'm from?"

She wipes her hands together, dusting away imaginary dirt as she responds, "My name is Harley Lindsey Hugh. And no, I'm afraid not. I presume you ask because of my accent? It's just something I picked up from a different visitor."

I'm not the first visitor here? "My name is-"

"I know what your name is." She smiles.

Weird, but okay. "Do you get visitors often?" I try to rub the dirt out of my clothes, but I just end up spreading the stains. Goodness, this is so embarrassing.

"You could say that," she begins, tilting her head. "but you could also say we don't. Really depends on how you look at things." She steps in front of me and sits down on a Cesca chair, one of two in front of a little glass table. From a tea saucer she sips a drink, and as I get closer the smell of lemons hits me. It's like how Bayley smelled, but fainter. Little lemon biscuits sit in a teacup. "I like to see it as our many visitors never stay visitors for long." She stares blankly at her teacup before looking up at me. "Now, take a seat darling, lots to discuss."

That doesn't sound ominous at all, now does it? They don't stay visitors? I guess that could mean they stop coming to visit... Or they're trapped here for all eternity. Both seem equally likely at this point. I sit down in the chair across from her, this one big and wooden.

"Good, you can follow orders," she smiles, and it feels kind of condescending. Maybe she's not as kind as I thought.

"Apparently I can. Now, you said you had things to discuss?" I ask, trying to cut straight to the point. No use in staying here long, and I have to be prepared to leave in case those weirdos at the White Castle or Red Palace come looking here.

She waves her hand in the air, as if swatting the words away. "Yes, yes, yes, plenty to discuss. But first, relax. I promise, they won't find you here. It's just you and me. Biscuit?" She picks up the teacup and offers it to me.

I grab one and take a bite. It's sweet and sour rolled into one, the texture like cookie dough. I blink a few times; my vision feels off. Like, really off. I catch a glimpse of my hands, and they look humongous. "What the hell did you do? Did you spike my cookie?"

"Biscuit, darling, and I did no such thing." Through my warping vision I see her frown a little, placing a finger on her nose as she looks up. It looks weird, why is she doing that instead of helping me? Oh goodness, what if this thing has some plant she didn't know was toxic to humans, or if this thing is changing my size like the mushroom did? I do not want to pop out of existence again. "Just calm down, I didn't think you would be unused to this."

"You knew this would happen?" My breathing quickens as all my limbs feel heavier, fluctuating in size as my throat constricts. My mind and heart alike are racing at a million thoughts and beats a minute, and one thought consumes every fibre of my being: