ೃ⁀➷ 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 .ᐟ
*ੈ 🌷͙֒ ‧₊˚movie 1 ── movie 3
❛ 𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗨𝗘 : set it off 𝗯𝘆 descendants ❜
╭ ──╯
╰┈➤
𖥻 JAY JAFAR ━━ ELIZABETH HEARTS.
❪ ongoing! ❫ 𝜗ৎ a fanfiction following the
disney movie...
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﹒⌗﹒🌹﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧ 𝓙𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓. The group lingered in the aftermath, the echo of Harry's whistle still bouncing off the walls of the alley. Elizabeth stood apart, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, gaze distant as if trying to silence a memory clawing its way back to the surface.
Jay leaned against the rusted railing, his arms crossed tightly. "You gonna tell me what that was?" he asked, not looking at her.
Elizabeth blinked. "What was what?"
He turned, eyes narrowed. "The way he looked at you. The way you looked at him."
Her silence spoke volumes. Carlos shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. Only Evie dared to step in. "Now's not the time. We need to focus on Ben. Whatever history there is... we deal with it after."
Jay gave a curt nod, but his eyes lingered on Elizabeth, full of silent questions.
As the others turned to whisper about next steps, Elizabeth slipped away quietly. She didn't know where her feet were taking her—only that she needed to breathe.
The alley curved behind the hideout, cluttered with discarded crates and old signage from forgotten Isle shops. She ducked under a low-hanging tarp and stumbled into what seemed like a collapsed courtyard. Vines crawled up the stone walls, and rubble littered the ground. As she stepped forward, something caught her eye.
A sunken patch of earth.
Her brows furrowed. Curious, she knelt down and brushed away loose dirt and ash. Beneath it, a warped wooden board. Its once-bright red door had faded to a dusky wine color, the paint peeling like dried petals. The neon sign above flickered weakly, only the words "Rabbit" and "le" still glowing. The "H" had died long ago.
She pried it up with both hands, revealing a dark tunnel beneath—narrow, grimy, but unmistakably a passageway.
A rabbit hole. Instantly, Wonderland swallowed her.
It was darker than she remembered. The air was warmer inside, but stale, scented like dusty books, forgotten sugar, and wilted roses. The ceiling sloped oddly, like a collapsing circus tent, and strands of string lights swayed even though no wind stirred them.
Hanging from the ceiling were teacups with cracked rims, teapots pouring endlessly into nothing, spoons twisted into spirals that defied logic. The floor creaked beneath her as she stepped further in, a checkerboard pattern of black and blood-red tiles that pulsed under her feet like a heartbeat.
And the mirrors. They were everywhere.
Lining the walls. Hanging crooked from the rafters. Embedded into the tables like coasters. Each one warped her reflection: stretched her limbs, softened her face, gave her a crown, replaced her eyes with spades.
Elizabeth kept walking.
Voices murmured faintly through the walls—echoes of laughter, of past music, of ballroom waltzes long ended. A mechanical white rabbit lay toppled on a velvet armchair, its gears still ticking.
Everything was sideways. A chandelier hung inches above the ground, its crystal arms bent. Books floated midair. Playing cards drifted like ash. A rose bush grew out of the corner, the petals deep crimson and dripping, like they'd been painted in blood.
She turned down a corridor lined with heart-shaped doors. Behind each one she could feel her history pressing in—memories of ballroom fittings, chessboard courtyards, her mother's voice sharp as the edge of a blade.
Finally, she reached the mirror room.
The original Looking Glass stood in the center, its frame gold and twisting, shaped like vines and thorns. But the glass itself had gone black with time. It no longer shimmered, no longer tempted. It just... waited.
Elizabeth stood in front of it, breathing shallowly. "Still here," she said, voice barely above a whisper. Her reflection stared back—unmoving, unfamiliar. Not monstrous, but... hollow. She touched the glass. It was cold.
Her chest tightened, and the air thickened with old pain. She could almost hear her mother's voice in the walls, whispering sweet poisons from her throne: You could have ruled it all, my darling. If only you hadn't run.
She turned from the mirror. The room swayed around her. She didn't want to leave.
A twisted part of her wanted to stay. To sit in the velvet chair and disappear into the dust and tea leaves and petals. To forget everything—Evie's voice, Mal's hurt, Carlos' knowing glances, Jay's quiet concern. This place still remembered her. It still knew her. And despite the pain, there was a comfort in that. Like being wrapped in something old and awful, but familiar.
She stood there for a long time. And then she forced herself to move.
One foot in front of the other. Through the corridor of hearts. Past the mechanical rabbit and the whispers in the walls. The teacups swung gently as she passed, almost like they were waving goodbye. The door loomed ahead, the light from outside barely visible through the grime-covered glass.
She reached it. Rested her palm on the board. Then opened it.
The sunlight hit her first, pale and weak through the Isle's sickly clouds. The scent of rot returned—harsh and jarring compared to the cloying sweetness inside. She stepped out into the alley and let the board close behind her with a low click.
And then she stopped.
Jay stood at the end of the alley, leaning casually against the wall. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.
His arms weren't crossed. He wasn't looking at her like she was broken or fragile. Just... watching. Waiting. The way you might wait for someone you knew would come back. Even if they had to go somewhere dark first.
Elizabeth walked slowly toward him. Her eyes were red, but dry.
Jay took one look at her, then stepped forward and pulled her into a hug—not tight, not dramatic. Just steady. His hand rested on the back of her head, and she let herself lean into it for a moment longer than she meant to.
He smelled like leather and dust and faint citrus, like something solid. Real.
