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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Storybrook: Present
Twenty eight years. That's how long I've been locked up in this damn cell. Twenty eight years of counting every day. Every 365th day, I carve a small tally on my forearm. Twenty eight tiny scars to count every day.
I'll never forget my first day here after the curse was cast. I screamed when I woke up in a cell. I imagine most would. It wasn't until an hour later that a doctor with blonde hair and a sickly sweet smile showed up. She took me to a small, cream colored room with only two chairs.
The doctor introduced herself as Dr. White. A clinical Psychiatrist who's "here to help me".
I tried telling her the truth. That we're all trapped here because The Evil Queen cast a curse on us all and everyone, except me, apparently, forgot who they were.
Yeah, that landed me with a diagnosis of schizophrenia.
Psychosis if they're feeling dramatic.
Dr. White told me she believes that I believe I'm from a story called Alice in Wonderland. She believes it's because of some childhood trauma. That I can't accept my own screwed up reality. That my name is Morgan.
At the end of the day, she'd given me a set of clothes. A short sleeved white shirt. Over the years, it's become too big and thin from malnutrition and wear. The white, long sleeved scrub top that I wear over my shirt that has the name Morgan stitched on. That serves as a cleaning rag when the cell gets too dusty. Along with it, a matching pair of scrub pants that I keep tucked into my crew socks. And don't forget the white, slip on shoes.
When she tried bringing me back to my room, that's when reality settled in.
"Wait, please, I haven't done anything! I don't understand why I'm here! I'm telling you the truth!" I cry out as two men carry me by my arms back to my cell.
She spares a single glance over her shoulder.
"Please, try to understand, this is for your own good, Morgan."
"My name's Alice!" I shouted.
The men throw me to the floor of my cell, slamming the door behind them.
Morgan. She's the only one to ever call me by that name.
That night, I'd carve my first tally into the wall, using a fork I stole from my dinner tray. I cried myself to sleep remembering. Remembering my life. My actual life. I cried out for my husband to save me.
But he never came.
It only took a week for me to become exhausted. Like the walls themselves were an entity, draining me. After a week, my throat had gone hoarse from screaming. Trying to explain. But it'd be a long time before I stopped trying.
Dr. White would bring me to the room with chairs every day.
I'm already glowering at her before she opens her lying mouth.
