The Pawn of Ink [Twisted Wonderland Reader Insert]

Episode 1 [ 1 - 2 ]

Episode 1: The Crimson Tyrant

Hurry and paint the roses red.

'What the-?' I had arrived at some sort of maze. The hedges towered over me, nerving me a bit.

Hurry before the flowers wither.

The whole environment around me was coated in a greyscale palette. It was a bit jarring for me but I suppose I wasn't affected by this entirely.

Hurry, hurry! We have to paint them all red!

I heard a few voices not far from me, and my legs carried me to an opening where a bunch of cards were scurrying about.

Paint... the roses?

I had spotted her until that moment, a short blonde girl adorned in a cute blue and white dress was seen around the cards. Confused and puzzled by their actions.

Why do you have to paint the white roses red?

She tilted her head in an inquisitor manner, genuinely curious with the scene around her.

Huh?

One of the cardman faced the little girl.

Why you ask? The truth is we made a mistake and grew white one.

The girl and I shared a look of utter dumbfoundedness.

The queen loves red. If she sees white she'll have our heads!

Really?

She innocently tilted her head once again, as if oblivious to the darker meaning of the card's words. However, I caught something that made me freeze in place.

That's right. Therefore we're painting the roses.

As the cardman answered her back, the little girl had tilted her head in my direction with an expression I couldn't comprehend at the time. I didn't have much time to react as I was soon brought out of this scene.

1ST POV

I stirred in my sleep as loud knocking spurred in the background.

"Wasn't I just asleep in the dorm..."

The sound coming from outside the door turned to insistent banging, and I begrudgingly opened my eyelids. I yanked my head forward and slouched in utter tiredness and frustration.

If this was any other night, I would definitely be cautious and afraid of who was outside. However, every cell in my body ticked in annoyance each time the hand bashed against the door.

The added fact of the now melted ice around my arms didn't make me feel anymore better at all.

I whipped my head to the nearby clock and, with the assistance of candlelight, eyed the hour-hand; it pointed at 2 in the morning.

"Who the hell is up at this hour?"

I dragged myself off the couch, leaving the candle on the coffee table, and slugged towards the front door. I yawned tiredly as I turned the knob.