The Princess of Hearts

Prologue

This yarn that you're reading is not the written journey of the infamous little girl called Alice whom cascaded down the taunting rabbit hole and lost her way, yet came to be the most heroic being in all of Wonderland. This book is not a play-by-play on the day the Jabberwocky was brutally slain, nor is it an explanation on how the Mad Hatter became deranged. It is not about the sinister, yet seemingly confused and easeful, Cheshire Cat.

This is simply multiple nonsense words and actions clustered together in order to form the pitiful excuse of a story. The story of me, the queen's daughter. The 'Princess' of Hearts.

Like many other stories, mine ends tragically. It's filled with moments of laughter, as well as moments of sorrow. There are occasions of triumph, victory and glory, along with junctures of shame, embarrassment, and failure. None of such moments can be erased; and all of which will define my last mere minutes of existence forever. My story is the kind of tale that lives on after I die.

I know this because I'm telling you now, and you're continuing to read it.

If confusion has arisen in you, allow me to explain. My life was not frilly red dresses, and a large, pail head. I did not stand leaning on the side of a castle and talk to my very own prince charming. There were no fancy balls to attend in order to find the next bearer of the kingdom; no moments when I sat in a shimmering golden throne and shouted, "Off with their head!" My life was quiet. It was my duty, as the first Wonderer, to lay low, yet somehow continue to find others of my kind. No one knew I was there. I was, both figuratively and literally, invisible.

In fact, the matriarch didn't even know I was alive and prospering. I was executed by my mother's hand herself, and she never came to figure out that I was her daughter until after I was departed.

So yes, I am dead currently, as I have been. I transpire this story from the depths of my grave, under my mother's weeping eyes and Alice's sorrowful feelings. I tell this tale, and before me the Mad Hatter drowns in guilt, and my best friend lies beside me. Why, you ask? Well, see I simply can't tell you.

That would take the fun out of it.