Wonderland: Origins of the Oraculum

Chapter One

I woke up in a cold sweat again. I splattered the ugly contents of my lungs all over the silk sheets. My first thought wasn't my own wellbeing. My first thought was how the Queen would be mad. Again.

Oh well. A small price to pay for what she wanted. Even if it was the third time this week.

My bed was a small couch in the crook of the circular window. I used to have a bigger one, but it's been left untouched, the sheets still crisp from the last time it was made. My current bed was thin and had a view. It reminded me of the attic back home. Maybe that was why I liked it.

Maybe it was guilt lest I sleep in a bigger bed.

The moon bore down on me, watching me with a disappointment I couldn't pin. Some say that the moon was servant to the White Queen. The saving grace of Underland. At this point, I was sure she was just a ghost story made up by a bunch of the outer villages to keep the Queen scared. Or perhaps a sob story by the Queen to victimise herself. There was no evidence of this White Queen, no sight of her. Good gracious, if she ever stepped foot in Salazen Grum, she would be just as red as everything else here. We would be none the wiser.

"Don't look at me like that," I whispered to the moon, slipping out of the sheets so carefully. If she was real, maybe she could save me. I had this thought every night and still, no one came for me. So in return, I think I could allow myself to wish the most violent things to be inflicted on a mythical saving grace.

The mess I made dribbled onto the tiles. I cursed at the white pearl, the sole audience to my shame, as always.

I moved like an automaton, not even feeling the chill of the tiles in the base of my feet. I pulled fresh sheets from the top shelf of the cupboard, stripped the old ones, using a pillowcase to mop up the residue on the floor. My muscles ached from shaking out the duvet, the chore far to laborious for the middle of the night and a freshly-awakened corpse. Even lugging the sheets into the unlit fireplace took a toll on my muscles.

Still, the task was done and I slipped back into the cocoon. As hard as I tried to fall back asleep, my eyes kept prying open. I huffed, fluffing the pillows and beating my duvet bloody, tossing and turning until the cushions beneath me were warm. I still wouldn't drift.

I turned over to stare outward. The moon beamed down, illuminating the sliver of garden that made up the sight below my window.

The rest of the portrait beyond the garden was shadows. Claws of wrangled branches, ghosts of dirt mounds, the movement of flying creatures unidentified at night. For the millionth time since leaving home, I wished I was back in my own bed.

Wished that the Queen had never found me in the first place.

***

I don't know when I drifted off, but I was unhappy to be shaken awake. Especially by slimy hands.

Breccan was watching me. I would never get used to those bulbous eyes, or the reason that they served me instead of human ones.

"Good morning, Miss Daanya."

I wiped my face with my hands, the dry flakes moving across my palms. Breccan stood at a scrawny two feet, his amphibious feet flip-flopping back to my dresser. A silver tray covered with a matching cloche was brought to my lap. His webbed hands removed the mirror covering to reveal the usual display of breakfast.

I sighed, then flinched at the rumble stirring inside of me. Back home, I would eat the same farmed crops for breakfast with my father, just happy to be blessed with a full belly and his company. But now? I was served with pastries and fresh fruit and a huge helping of disgust.