Evangeline Pip's Story

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He found the center of Wonderland in a myriad of colors, flora blossomed in their sweetness and extending gangly vine arms, twisting, coiling around columns of refined marble, their leaves the most vibrant greens and toxic berries redder than the life blood pushing through needle veins. Princes and Princesses in the center of it all, the beating heart of Wonderland, and his eyes flickered, scoured the crowed tessellated in lurid colors, to the soldiers of chess and hatters swilling on honeyed teas, woman of leather textile wings and rabbit ears twitching at the murmur of hollow wind chimes. How very alive were they; guests of supple skin caressed by starshine, glistened by their vigor and mirth that composed the ambiance, and thus the occasion was a jovial one of peace, their minds bleached and liberated from paranoia that plagued common-folk and highborns alike.

He'd laugh too, the threads of his vocal cords melted and initiating their own tiny spasms at jokes told, the antics of jesters and a four handed woman who juggled apples, oranges, and a porcelain doll head skewed by the craftsman's penchant against the previous Bloody (Red) Queen. Charming creatures hailing from the West to the East, those that burrowed emerging from tunnels and washing grime from hair thinner than sheer fabric as avian singers perched on crystallized wires, and his lips remained upturned, pulled into cheeks pigmented a diluted moonstone, his pale skin mimicking the living, mouth grinning, talking, eyes reflecting streams of illumination that had been filtered through ice statues and the prisms of their angles. They existed marvelously, and his pupils oscillated between those imbibing on saccharine rose wines and the wallflowers murmuring gossip disguised as poetry into the ears of anyone that would sacrifice to them time.

However, it was the dead who possessed eternity in their caskets, be them made of wood, ivory, water, the living were predestined to wither with the years and decompose once their tenuous hearts ceased beating. A celebration of ephemeral characters simply could not transcend the boundaries of clocks, and ruled were they by mechanical ticking, waiting for the bells to ring and for the flesh to rot. Hymns of everlasting bliss were plucked from harps sealed in liquid gold, lemon cakes were served with miniature cherry blossoms resting upon the sugar dusted surfaces and his fingers turned, delicate motions twirling his parasol of teardrop lace and the snowflake's fractal elegance. He strapped not a rapier to his side because he was no fool, understood the meaning of being openly armed at a place purged of violence, and yes, he was certainly not a fool, no one would see the blade concealed within the handle of his parasol.

Memories of nothing, their minds were fated to drown in silence whilst he collected photographs which would never fade. Noir cravat tight around his throat and dress shirt he chuckled at a fable told by a stilt walker, a tale of witches that cursed pretty maidens to a life as insipid as their thoughts - and that's how butterflies came to be, he explained in a voice weaved with old, false magic. The man gifted the Prince a monarch enclosed in a jar and her wings fluttered alongside glass dented and molded into pellucid roses, and the mannerisms of these people were queer but endearing. He almost regretted not visiting these lands sooner, and Prudence's eyes waned into crescents, humor discovered in the notches of the celebration, enemies parodying friendship and admirers finding themselves bold in the afternoon's zeal. The beauty sustained here was divine, but the warmth in the heart of Wonderland was an unsavory antagonist, not quite a foe because with a breeze gentle and bounteous any fear for his wellbeing disappearing in languid whispers of wind.

Underneath the shade he stayed, donning the glacier glory of The North in attire white and silver, silk gloves devoid of color sheathing his hands and therefore when holding the winged insect’s transparent prison hoarfrost did not creep along the surface and only mere condensation spread, moisture congregating across the contours traced by skeletal thumbs. “Such a curious, feeble creature - why must you endure peril? How can torment be disregarded by any ignorance, or does purity make you naïve, little one?” He questions the limited sentience in hushed words, brothers to snowfall which made no noise in the night. The syllables born from his larynx were synonymous with instruments for dainty hands, a quiet aria striving for no vengeance and his voice is as ceramic and deceptive as the cold always has been.

“Perhaps you will live longer in Evangeline’s hands.” The woman’s presence was momentarily absent, removed from his line of vision when whisked away by all that he had not seen before, never had ventured beyond the North, but as small as she was he’d find her again, preferably sooner than later, lest the butterfly freeze and die like mortals so easily do. Still, he mused the possibility all the same, shards of light swallowed by his irises blacker than licorice, thanking the stranger who so kindly recognized the Prince of Diamonds, as very few could.

His palm cradled the container against his chest, attention wandering from the departing storyteller to the procession of attendees arriving in pairs and groups, very few alone as they entered the garden and even less isolated in a space where merriment sparked a labyrinth of infectious joy throughout the air they breathed. Lightning storms in his lungs his grasp on the parasol relaxed, became tenacious again, and he had traveled from a palace of winter not for frivolous socialization but rather - and his pupils twitched, jerking to a woman with a child’s marble eyes (hair red like candied apples) to her companion in the nimious waltz, and vision shifted again to a man with dragons tied into his long locks of dusk indulging in what was presumably tea - well, the corners of his lips quirked, thoughts severed, rearranging.

Prudentius meandered, his legs taking leisurely strides, walking through the crowd in an endeavor of abandonment, wind jostling the tails of his formal uniform, raiment tailored to the traditional style of the Diamond’s Kingdom imperial era. Folded collars, cuffs, fastened buttons of gray spinel and silver thread embroidered into images of Northern stags, his white trousers were much less elaborate, leather boots hardly denting the grass, which was astonishingly resilient, nothing at all like the snow. “In this age a Jabberwock is branded a marvel, my lady.” He reflects in the same tender tone, emerging from the warren of guests and their wispy faces of diaphanous paint, offering a smile to the woman of dark hair and grim visage, then to the albino hare quietly ingesting tea, nodding to her with a sign of respect.

“Notwithstanding the balance,and incongruous to our surroundings, I did see this young Jabberwock depart from company, drawn in by the carousal's rear end.” Lips curled, benevolence masked a story of musing. An individual's network of senses was their greatest asset when conjoined to neuro-pulsations, and he spoke of the woman caught in his gem of eyes, ensnared by observance, just as presently his attention drifted from the hybrid to who so curiously sought out a creature made sparse in Wonderland, so scarce that if incorrect of theory then the reality would be paradoxical. After all, legends and stories do spread as wildfire. “Would I be mistaken to think you are Princess Clubs?” Prudence asked, suspicion strong yet spoken tentatively, head tilting but centimeters to the left and the parasol spun, the butterfly fluttered her wings, and people sang their lighthearted songs all around them, dancing without a single nightmare within their empty skulls.

=flashback=
"How cruel of you Vitriol. coming and going just as you please. Why can't you just stick to one spot? It'll make things so much easier on the rest of us." A woman with a huge sun hat on and a victorian blue dressed covered in white ribbon, had walked in placing her items onto Valentine's counter.

His serene self put her things into a nicely gifted box. Tying it with ribbon he chuckled softly at her choosing of desire of words. it flowed freely out of her mouth, you could tell she was both angered and unsatisfied.

"As I say to all of my customers, my dear lady. 'If you find this place it is meant to be.' It means that whatever it is you desire or wish to trade is true enough, you will luck out and seek what you need. But if your desires are falls and your trades are not true enough, you will fail in seeking this place." His smile was light as he handed her the box while she traded it for a silver charm made of pure silver that was in shape of a locket.

"Well, whatever. Oh and one more thing. There is a party going on. It's location is in the Center Gardens of Wonderland at 3pm." With that she left. All that was left was the sounds of her shoes walking down the graveled walkway and into her carriage.

Once she was in the clear, he let out a short huff of a sigh. Closing his eyes as he locked away the charm that he made the trade for. Out of no where the air about him started to shift, he could feel the strong powers of magic floating about the room. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked over to the side.

"You can't do it Cat, stop trying. Can't you use the door just like everyone else that comes for a visit?' He smirked turning around, leaning himself against the shelf behind the counter, to see his unwelcomed guest.

"Heh heh heh, someone as mad as myself, can not become like everyone else." Slowly the Cheshire Cat made himself known in the room. First his eyes and smile had shown, than his head and slowly his body. He chose to come in cat form today.

"Yes yes, you are mad, but use the door." Turning around he took off his gloves and switched the open sign to closed.

"Going to the party I see. This should be one night that everyone will always remember, unless they are mad, in which every night is worth remembering." The Cheshire hissed his chuckles. The pun was intended to make one laugh, but not to Vale.

"Maybe you should go, cat." Walking up to his room he got a change of clothes suited for the Party. It was a simple outfit with a few ruffles here and there.

"Don't worry, I am there even when I am not. I wont miss a thing." Vanishing he left behind the echos of his hissing chuckling.
=end flashback=

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There he stood near the entrance of this mysterious party. Who could have started something such as this and not explain why? But who wasn't the biggest problem that stood about, the more of the question, was why, why invite all of these people? there was bound to be no good about. He shook his head as he thought.

His thinking was cut short, a familiar smell to him came about to him, once a lady had passed by leaving the party before anything was to happen. She had probably just got there and already drunk off of tea. "Shameful thing" He chuckled to himself. "Now now, what is my precious master doing here, I wonder? Was all the royals invited? This makes things all the more interesting..."

Now having a spark of interest in his eyes he slowly made his way into the garden, enjoying each step as he got in, taking his time to look about the area. It was fairly decorated, it had teas and foods of all sorts, something for everyones liking. Many people were dressed up, but one could tell no one knew what to dress up for, they just wore their best outfits. The sounds of whispers and loud talking flooded the Center Garden of Wonderland. It was bigger than it had looked and everyone here made it seem even bigger.

As he looked around his eyes noticed a few familiar people. The royals of course, but one in particular caught his eyes. Diamond, his old master for now and ever. The one he would always be faithful to. Politely he kept his distance, he was in a conversation. "It would be rude if I shown my face now." He thought as he walked over to the shadows, keeping an eye on the party. If anything was to happen, he kept the Prince in his view.

"Vitriol, I see that you did take my invite, I am glad." The woman from before smiled walking up to him, offering her hand in his direction.

With a gentle nod to his head he bent down and kissed the knuckle of her hand. "Of course, my lady, after all you did take the time to seek me out. I should at least, pleasure you with this." His smirk like smile made her blush instantly, even her eyes seemed a little surprised.

Clearing her voice he yanked back her hand and started to fan herself with her hand fan that was designed out of peacock feathers. It matched well with her blue and green gown, but for the occasion it was a bit too much.

"my lady, do you know whom and what this party is about?" Placing his hand on his walking stick he glanced around them at the sea of people.

"Uhm, I wouldn't know, I didn't think much of it. Someone by the initials of T.D sent out the letters to everyone here." His question did not faze her time of fun. She had waved him off as she walked over to her crowd of friends, leaving him in his thoughts.

"T.D, huh...?" He question the situation even greater than before. Only this time he slowly looked over each person, not trying to miss even one of them. Maybe there was a thing or two out of place and a few people to question, but in order to know what is going on, one must stay to find out. So that is what he did.

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Hares were always the most skittish of creatures, created with anxiety tied into their limbs, and as destiny would have it the girl is gone, scurrying into the crowd to no longer hold his attention, not now. Focus is taken by the woman of carnivorous nature, underneath the woven material shielding the entirety of her feral anatomy were muscles made to cripple bones. The Princess of Spades suited the portrait whispers had painted her to be; a warrior with earth caked onto her skin and gravel in her throat. There's the delicate twist of a smile and his fingers become moors, uncurling so the glass jar obeys the law of what is forsaken, slips from the lax grasp and plunges to the ground below. The butterfly cage of transparency rolls past his feet and those mosaic wings beat as a drum against the boundaries of the container, and Prudence does not bat an eyelash to the gift, mouth a marionette that curls and lifts as the screams of humans sing in a symphony around them.

"Lady Atcha, it's a pleasure to meet you." His words are caramelized honey drops compared to the shrikes of adrenaline horror, the human's cries breaking ravines into the atmospheres, dismantling harmony in an impromptu of discord. A string tugs inside the brain, and it's the tolerated pain of curiosity, though seeing can wait when in the presence of royal blood not terribly unlike his own, the woman cradling power that simply cannot be disregarded. Her hand is taken, the cloth of his gloves slick against her flesh and the appendages slide in gentle strides, a river the bends to the shape of her mountain, and the cold spreads as he know it does, a chill of winter murmuring against her warm body. "Oh, it'd be an honor if my name is anything more than another story in your memory." Musing in the midst of pandemonium a woman stumbles, heeled shoe sinking into the dirt before she falls beside them, clutching her hand as he bows in less than a right angle, polite without groveling, respect without tarnishing his name.

"I am Prudentius Diamond, crowned Prince and active monarch of The North. You may call me Prudence, if you so wish. I've been told it is easier on the tongue." They separate, the winter returns to him and settles in the crannies of his joints, and the limb rests by his side as the parasol spins, perhaps in tribute to the fallen woman as she scrambles and dashes for the exit. Ah, what may have happened? Surely there was bloodshed, the excitement in the air of violence and mortality, what fools fret about, caterwauling into his draconian skull. "I thought it was time for us to meet, and it does sound that my presumption was right - my, can you hear them panic? You'd think they've been told to lose their heads." It's a carefree jest but his hands wish nothing more than to sew golden thread between their lips, close them for eternity so he need not hear their idiotic screams, each one more vapid than the last and the cacophony crawls underneath his skin - he wants to liberate them of their sound. His visage however remains composed, if not pulled into quirks of concern characterized by amusement, and he turns his head away from Atcha to finally be a witness to the drainage of life, pomegranate juice soaking into the roots of grassling plants.

There are many curious sights to see, and time is always hasty in madness, yet he stores away their faces in his museum of recollection; the morbid woman that will haunt him as she disappears, the Hatter shouting of a man turned fable, the corpse bride torn from her pedestal. "De'Laire?" The name had been heard before, in history books and retellings, warnings and teaching to mold his strategies into perfections and sharpen the scenery of the world, but he hadn't expected the name to be attached to an accusation now, not at a party, not even if dead girls and boys rained from the sky. "...Could this lunatic be right? Anyone possessed by fear and ignorance will blame their monsters and make scapegoats, although...Why, isn't this an interesting development?" The contemplations are drawn away, do not require to be spoken and he scrutinizes flames that caress the flora and fauna, the dragon winged girl and bastardized man beside the creek of red and watches the curious, suspicious fall of the hatter.

Prudence's heart won't beat again, will not pulsate and he is himself a structure of ice, bereft of life and therefore he stands without fright corrupting his sanity. An observer is who he will be for the time being, will transfigure information into weapons and defenses, and the parasol again rotates, knows that if it comes to it he can disembowel any enemies by directing the concealed blade within. "Lady Atcha, I have spotted your Jabberwocky kneeling across the late celebration. You should go tend to her, it seems as if she has been wounded. I would also suggest there is psychological trauma, but Jabberwockies don't lead typical lives...neither do they do typical things." The suggestion merges with his examination, raindrops descending from the heavens and onto the planes of infinite transience, and the parasol is lowered, closing inwards and tied by a string purified of all color. That body, he must get to it somehow, utilize this earache of a tumult and steal the cadaver.

"I must find my friend as well, but we will speak again soon, I promise you that." He speaks with a guarantee, a smile, monochrome light drifting into the crypts of his pupils as not a single lie passes his meticulous lips, for he does need to find Evangeline after all, vaguely wonders if she happened to stab anyone during the course of this party. Albeit, as important and precious as she is, she is not a priority, not when she could dismember anyone daft enough to attempt strangling her breath away. It's the body, that is what he needs before there is notice or righteous acts of appropriating her for burial. With a nod to signify end of conversation his regard for Atcha depletes, another opportunity will come, and he walks forward, pushing and sliding through the invigorated crowd as they stagger on their feeble legs, bruising his shoulders in their brutish escape. No, he will not permit her to rot in the ground - she will rise from death, and she too will walk.

Vale, watched as the scene unfolded before him. Something about this whole thing, made his insides tickle with laughter. The panic of the people, a dead body, fire, confusion, just all of it was the cherry on top of a perfect party.

"Haha haha haha haha!!!!!" He held his stomach as he laughed so loud that most of the people quiet down to stare at him. 'Haha! Forgive me for laughing so loudly! Talk about a dead part before, it sure did light up fast! Hahaha!" He breathed in and sighed with a smile on his face.

People looked at him as if he was mad or crazy. Sure maybe he was, but he wouldn't be here if he wasn't. "Do forgive me, once again. Thy name is Vitriol, Valentine Vitriol." He bowed ever so gracefully.

You could hear already that people have heard of him as the Mysterious Shop Keeper. Many have thought him to be fake. But that was surely untrue.

Apart from that he went on with what he had to say. "Wonderland sure has gone down over the years, or so I see. It seems that the new rulers to this place, have nothing to rule over, if the madness has gotten this far out of hand. It's a shame really. I am disappointed." He placed both hands onto his fancy walking stick with his poster perfect and his head facing down as if he was ashamed. "I guarantee that alot of you will most likely die, if not tonight, along down the road. It's best to take care of the problem while it is in hand. And from the looks of it, there is more than just 'De'Laire' behind it all. But before that, maybe none of you should point fingers at who it could be, for all we know. The culprits is the Royals. Or it could just be one big show!" He threw his hand up and started to laugh. "But in all ends seriously, it seems that someone wants the Royal's attention and we all know that everyone hates every last one of you. So it could have been anyone hear." He spoke nothing but the truth, just as how he saw it. "Well, most of everyone. Haha."

Normally he was a very kept cool type of guy, but this was over the top even for him. But he couldn't help it, he was just so entertained that it broke him, turning his laughter into madness. It had made his compused side vanish and there was a slight twist about his eyes. That only those who know him, knows what it means. He was excited to the point that he wanted to be involved of whatever is going on. Even if the was the accused, he wanted to be in. This had interested him and nothing could get him out of it.

"There is but one thing that I know, if you want to know who is behind all of this. We must find the Cheshire Cat. He sees everything. He is the eyes and ears of wonderland. Find him and we get our answers."