Alice's plan to overthrow the Queen of Hearts is thwarted by a dashing pirate with a hook. Years later, after the curse is broken, they reunite once again.
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The carriage bumps once again on the dusty road. My mother closes her eyes and sighs. I raise a brow at how tense she is. It's only a soiree, after all. My mother and I have been to plenty of them, much to my displeasure. These days, these types of parties only fill me with one emotion.
Dread.
When I was younger, I enjoyed them greatly. My father would go and talk business with the adults. I always made an effort to join him, thinking my input would be of great use. My father's colleagues found my advice on things I knew little about quite entertaining. It wouldn't take long for my mother to whisk me away to bother Andy, the son of my father's closest friend and my best friend.
Andy and I have been best friends since we were children. He used to pick on me for being strange, like all the other children of my father's colleague's. But one day Andy's father came alone for dinner. Both our mothers insisted we hang out one on one. He didn't want to admit at the time that it was the most fun he'd ever had. We had gone through the manor, pretending to be pirates raiding a castle for its gold. Ever since then, we've been inseparable.
I snap back to reality when my mother opens her eyes. I smile a soft, reassuring smile at her, which she gratefully returns, her expression unwinding just a touch.
"You're not wearing your corset." Her calm expression breaks back into one of annoyance. I furrow my eyebrows, trying not to look as though I'm pouting. Though I definitely am.
"Why should I have to wear a corset?" The last time I'd worn one, my ribs felt bruised for a whole week. My father used to laugh when I would call them silk cages.
"Because corsets are proper." My mother explains, despite knowing that it'll do no good. I shoot her an indignant look.
"Who's to say what is proper? If proper was to wear a pigeon in your hair, would you do it?" My mother sighs.
"I'm sorry," I say, dropping the argumentative tone. "I'm just tired."
Tired is a bit of an understatement. Delirious is more like it. I've never been someone who gets a lot of sleep, not even as a child. Plagued by dreams of a place that I can never seem to remember in detail when I awake. Recently, they've been even more frequent, causing me to pace back and forth in my room for most of the night. The maid, Josephine, even made a joke about me burning a hole in the carpet. Which led to me (holding her hostage) having a conversation about how fast someone would have to move to do such a thing. I should talk to my mother about paying her more.
"Are you having those dreams again?" She worries her brow. I merely nod, not wanting to go into detail, so as not to upset her further.
The carriage comes to a sudden stop. Outside the window is a neatly cut lawn and stone pillars that decorate the land. They remind me of candles on a birthday cake. I can't help but picture them being made of wax and dripping all over the grass. Mildred, Andy's mother, would faint.
