Lucien Agares's Story

Gray was never one for parts, especially ones that involved lots of people, people being well everyone. The most he ever does at parties, is just stand there bored out of his mind, hoping it will get over with. There was very little people he could ever find himself having a mild decent conversation with and that wasn't his choice to speak to them first. Yet still, he would accept those little people. This event was different though, everyone was expected to come, meaning he would have to look his very best at all times.

Parting some of his hair up with silver dragon chopsticks in his hair. He had completed it with a black and silver hanfu. This was something he always wore, but in the colors of mostly blues or blacks, sometimes red, it all depended on his mood or occasion. This was a party, the black held background as for the silver either held power or elegance, it wasn't too flashy. Of course this went along with his black and silver geta's. Sure this might seem odd to you, it may seem odd to most people, but in his land, the land of Tea in Wonderland, it was tradition to dress in old japanese styles.

It wasn't long before he was reminded that he had to attend the party. He would be arriving there by carriage, it's not like he chose this, if he could get away with it, he'd walk instead, but it was a far walk and in the process of trying to walk through wonderland, one might get lost and end up somewhere they wish not to be or wish to be, depended on which path you took. When the carriage had stopped, Gray took a look out the window of it behind the thick black curtains. Earlier that day he had told his Adviser to meet him at the party and not come with him, something inside him told him that it was probably a bad idea.

Without a word the driver helped the Prince out of the carriage and drove off once he was a good feet away. Valentine, was one person he was looking forward to meeting. He had never met the guy in person before and was told many things about him from the Cheshire Cat. What he had told him spiked his interest. Valentine was a Trader of Goods of all kinds, he was also a man who had live longer than any lives that had been given to him. The picture he had in his mind was of an older man, maybe holding a cane or have a white beard that dropped to the floor, who knows. But there was something else that spiked him even more. Valentine was special and the one who knew more about this was Diamonds himself. Supposable Valentine had been working with him for a very long time and suddenly quit?

Pulling himself away from his thoughts, he had made it custom that he'd try the tea at the part, to see if it was fit enough to satisfy the people. If it tasted bad, that looked bad on him and his land. Without a word or glace to anyone, he made his way slowly over to the table that held all the foods and drinks, he kept his attention down onto the ground, making it seem as if he was walking around with his eyes closed and his face proud. Some would say almost too proud, others might say he was like a dragon, beautiful and mighty, one would only dare to stab it. Contact with someone wasn't a bad thing, but he wasn't really in the mood for conversation with anyone.

Taking a cup of the tea, he moved his way over to a spot where less of the crowd was, this time he closed his eyes and stood there, sipping his tea in a polite manner. From the spot he stood, he could hear almost everyone speaking. A few lady spoke about clothing, some people spoke about the royals and how exciting it would be to see them. A few gawked over Prince Gray, especially once he walked into the area, all eyes was on him. As if he was some kind of fancy art piece that was about to fall down and shatter to pieces. They always stared at the Royals like that. As if they was something special to be stared at. Well ok, they are, but that isn't what the point was about.

Phaedra waved her hand through the air, wiggling her fingers to tighten the laces on her corset until it was pleasantly tight on her waist. Telekinesis was a wonderful gift, she thought. She pulled on her dress, a rather wonderful green number with enough coverage in the sleeves and the skirt to conceal a number of weapons. She knew that De'Laire was holding the party on neutral ground, but she didn't trust the rebellion not to start something at the gathering. She didn't trust any of them as far as keeping the peace went. She trusted them about as far as she could throw them.

Phaedra slid her weapons into place, making sure they were adequately concealed. In all honesty, she was not looking forward to this gathering. It was everything she despised. Gardens, flowers, people. It was a delight to behold. But De'Laire had insisted upon their attendance, so as his faithful cohort, she was required to go. Leaving her rooms, Phaedra stepped outside into the glaring sunlight. She climbed into the driverless carriage and began her journey to the neutral ground. On her arrival at the party, Phaedra was disappointed to find everything as garish as she had feared. For one, there were far too many roses. Phaedra opened out her parasol and painted a smile on her face. She was going to let no one know she was having an awful time.

Phaedra glided through the gathering, at least thankful for the wine on offer. If there had been just tea, Phaedra may have been inclined to breech the neutrality laws. She sipped the wine, De'Laire had the sense to make it a good wine, watching the crowd around her. She could see Cordelia and Lucien sat in a corner over a game of chess, Lucien cradling a dark drink, whiskey perhaps, Phaedra couldn't tell from this distance. Despite De'Laire's disregard for appearances, the other three dealers were surprisingly sharp dressers. Everyone here was remarkably well dressed. Well, there had been little to celebrate recently, so it was understandable that everyone dressed to the nines at the first available opportunity.

Figuring she had nothing better to do, Phaedra glided across the garden towards Cordelia and Lucien, watching their game with absent interest. They had clearly just started the game as few pieces had moved and neither player appeared to have the upper hand yet, "Don't mind me," She said, taking another sip of her wine, "Just watching," She smiled at her fellow Dealers, waiting for their game to continue.

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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.

"Tick.........tock. Tick........tock. It's almost time for the grand opening" The faint, muffled sounds of screaming was just barely audible. The cloth was doing it's job so well. A young girl, no more than 18 bound by her hands and legs sat gagged atop a tree branch. Try as she might nobody could hear her scream. Tears rolled down her pretty little face as she came closer to the inevitable.

De'laire slayer sat on the branch next to her, twiddling a small knife between his fingers. Unlike the rest of the people at the party going on below him De'laire was not dressed for the occasion. He simply wore leather breeches and woolen tunic with a leather jerkin on top. Simple attire for a simple occasion. Of course De'laire couldn't be seen at this party. It would ruin everything. He also trusted the other dealers not to reveal their identities either. To much planning had gone into all of this. It would be a shame to mess it all up. As the party began to fill De'laire decided it was time for the opening act.

A wicked smile cut across De'laires face as he gazed at the girl beside him. She broke down crying once more, grasping at her bonds desperately trying to get lose. She screamed as loud as she could but no body could hear her anguish. Grabbing her cheeks he pushed his lips against her ears. "It's time now for your part in todays party. Don't worry you will be the centre of the show." He laughed to himself, enjoying her screams. He pushed is tongue against her cheek and tasted the tears that rolled down.

Finally he pulled his face away from hers and stood up. Balancing himself on the thick tree branch he placed a thick rope noose around the girls neck. It was time to stir the party and shake the guests. One hundred years of waiting and he was now ready to make a move. It would take some time but ultimately his victory would be crushing and wonderland would be his to subjugate once more. The royals would be replaced by each of the dealers and wonderland would be ruled by chaos once more.

Kneeling down in front of a terror stricken girl he put the little knife in his hand. "Know I'd like to say this won't hurt a bit, but that would be a lie, it wouldn't be fun if it didn't hurt". Grinning he pushed the girl down against the tree branch and placed the knife against her forehead. Slowly he pulled the knife across her forehead and down her pale white cheeks. She groped and screamed begging for relief but it was no use. If she was lucky she would succumb to the pain and pass out. Continuing down her cheeks he turned the knife across her jaw, slowly cutting and outline across her face. Eventually it was done. "Time to start the show"

De'Laire pushed the girls body off the tree and sauntered off as the rope unravelled and suddenly became taut. Peering down he could see the girl sway in the soft breeze. She swung lifelessly above the party crowd, her white dress now stained with crimson blood and the outline of a skull carved around her face.

De'laire made his way towards the outskirts of the party, making sure not to be seen. Hopefully the others would be able to find him here. The time of the Dealers had come.

A few moments later, Thackery noticed that Hatter had arrived. He had almost missed Hatter's entry, not accustomed to seeing Hatter dress so simply. The bowtie, a garish explosion of colour, was Hatter to a T though, he thought with a small smile. He dipped his head slightly, acknowledging his friend's arrival at the party. When Hatter joined him, Thackery was greeted by a gentle nudge on the shoulder, "Not your cup of tea?" the Hatter asked, before exploding into laughter.

Thackery gave a small chuckle, "It is and it isn't," was his answer when Hatter had calmed down. Thackery stood diligently as as Hatter scoured the tea selection for a suitable choice. Thackery watched as Hatter's face lit up when he found a tea to his liking. On Hatter's return, Thackery found himself being used as a leaning post, something he was completely thrilled about. No, really, he was. He cast a harmless glare at Hatter, who was happily drinking tea, peppermint, if Thackery's nose wasn't failing him. Hatter's attention was on the crowd, so he probably didn't even notice Thackery's look of disdain at Hatter's utilisation of his shoulder.

"How's the party, Thacky?"

Thackery did a double take at the shortening of his name. 'Thacky'? The last time he had been called that was when he was leveret and his infantile tongue couldn't manage the complete syllabic make-up of 'Thackery'. But, this was Hatter he was dealing with. His closest friend who was prone to moments of infantile behaviour, such as calling him 'Thacky'. Thackery had a feeling deep his gut that the name was going to stick as well, "Amazingly polite and well behaved. Everyone appears to be enjoying doing nothing," He sighed, "Our tea parties were much more fun than this," He said mournfully, "Perhaps we should go into the business of party planning," He mused aloud, not really taking the idea seriously himself.

Once again, Hatter was not paying attention. He was now eyeing the cakes. With all the delight of a child at Christmas, Hatter disappeared again. The relief Thackery felt in his shoulder from not having Hatter's elbow digging into it was exquisite. Thackery rolled his shoulder a few times to get some feeling back into the joint before Hatter returned. Once again, Thackery was used as a prop while Hatter indulged himself on cake and more peppermint tea. Despite his dislike at being used as a lean-to, Thackery couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him as Hatter looked at the cake and tea in utter wonder, "Thacky!" Yes, the name was sticking, "It's amazing!" Hatter exclaimed, eyes wide as if he had just discovered some kind of epiphany,"You've got to try the peppermint tea and angel food cake together! It's complexly magnificent!"

Thackery nodded as Hatter continued to stare at the cake, utterly transfixed, "Soon as I've finished this," He said as his ears began to twitch inside his hat. Thackery tensed. This shouldn't be happening. This was neutral ground. There should be no danger here, "Hatter, my ears and I believe something awful is about to happen."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the body of a young girl was swinging from a tree on the other side of the garden. From this distance, he could see her face was bloodied and she was very much not alive. Thackery looked around, slack faced and at a total loss of what to do, waiting for his instruction from Hatter, as he often did in difficult circumstances. A woman dressed in black moved towards the body, simply watching the girl swing while she drank. "Oh my," Was all Thackery could say, his voice barely audible.

---

Phaedra frowned when Cordelia moved the pawn diagonally. It was almost a reflex action to protest that pawns could only move diagonally when capturing a piece, but she refrained herself. This was not her game, if Lucien had a problem with the way Cordelia was playing, Lucien could raise it himself. That, and the fact Cordelia was one of the last people Phaedra wanted to anger. Especially when she trying her very best to maintain the neutrality of the garden that she so despised. No, Phaedra was going to be on her best behavior today.

A chorus of screams rang out, causing Phaedra to jump slightly, and a nearby waiter to drop his tray, the drink being saved by Cordelia, "De'laire has struck again," She said, looking to a tree. Phaedra followed Cordelia's gaze and saw a girl swinging gently in the breeze. Her face bore the bloody outline of a skull and her pretty white dress was stained with patches of red. This secret show of terror was De'Laire's doing. There was no one else left in Wonderland who could pull off such a stunt with such chilling effect. Cordelia stood closer to the dead girl, her delight evident int he chaos. Phaedra rolled her eyes, feeling the need to distance herself from Cordelia, who was drawing attention to herself by being so thrilled. Phaedra subtly looked around the garden, her eyes searching for De'Laire. She saw a movement on the edge of the garden. A man dressed in dark leather. De'Laire.

Phaedra looked around her fellow party guests, their attention on one another or the macabre show of a dead girl. She silently slipped away from her fellow dealers, making her way to De'Laire. In the shade, Phaedra lowered her parasol, holding it like a cane. She cast another look back at the party, glad to be away from the festivities, "That was a pretty little show you put on back there," She said to De'Laire with a smirk, "Very interesting."

De'laire sat enclosed by trees. His body now exhausted from the work of magic he had just done, he sat to rest and regain some energy before the next step in the plan. Hearing now the fruits of his labour coming to life in the forms of shrieks and shattering tea cups he managed to let go of a little grin, before quickly suppressing it. Resting in his hand was the knife that had carved the young girls face, the traces of blood ran down the blade like veins in the skin. Trickling slowly until they hit the tip, then dropped down all the way to the forest floor, never to be seen again as they soaked into the moist earth.

His patience was beginning to wear thin when Phaedra finally appeared into the small opening. The youngest of the dealers she often seemed the most innocent. Not that De'laire thought it was a bad thing. A wonderful trait to have when trying to be devious. An innocent person is more likely to be accepted as trusting and used. An awful mistake for anyone to make with Phaedra. "That was a pretty little show you put on back there, Very interesting." "I am glad you liked it" he replied, "Now wes must move onto the next part of the plan."

In the distance De'Laire heard someone bemoaning his name. Already playing the blame game? he thought to himself. "Thats fine, but what until you see whats next". In the bushes nearby he heard the voice of the ever arrogant Lucien. And he was causing a commotion. "Bloody fool" he muttered, slowly pushing his body up with his hands. De'Laire did not dislike Lucien. He was a powerful dealer, but sometimes his ego got the better of him. Like now.

When he finally arrived in the clearing De'Laire was furious. He waltzed up to Lucien and pushed his face right up to him. "For fuck sakes Lucien what are you doing out there, you're going to get us all caught. Lighting things on fire and messing with a bloody Jabberwocky, using your magic publicly? You better be damn sure it didn't follow us back here and realise what the hell is going on or I swear you will regret it." Finally calming himself De'Laire stood back and took a deep breath. He was tired enough as it is, getting angry would not be helpful in the situation. Raising his arm to his forehead he wiped the sweat from his skin.

"Where the hell is Cordelia anyway?" he blathered. "Probably off wandering around as usual. Whatever, we don't have time for this, find her later". De'laire walked towards the back of the clearing and pulled away the trees revealing another young girl in a similar white dress. She stood silently, the only visible motion was the slow and steady movement of her chest as she inhaled and exhaled the oxygen in the air that sustained her. "We tried to take Wonderland by force before, it failed. It costs us dearly and here we are years later trying again. Except this time we will do things differently. We cut the head off of the snake last time. This time I want the heart. But to get the heart we have to mess with the mind. Wonderland needs a little bit of paranoia before we can introduce the madness. People already believe I .... we are back. Now we have to make them doubt. Question themselves and stutter in their stride. Make them lose whatever confidence they have. It will take time but we will break Wonderland and force them all to kneel and beg for mercy. We will torment them until they can take no more and then deliver the crushing blow. Then, then we shall take Wonderland, when all of it's leaders are destroying themselves from inside out we shall take Wonderland and rule it for ourselves!" De'laire stopped to take a breather, his enthusiasm only clashing with his fatigue. Once he regained his composure he stood up again and grabbed the young girl by the arm.

"I have wiped this girls memory clean. She doesn't know who she is, where she is or what she is doing. It cost a lot of my energy, an awful lot of energy. Phaedra." He turned to her and pushed the girl into her arms. "Use your manipulative ways and craft a new story for this girl. Give her this knife and make her believe that her goal in life is to kill the Prince of Spades and then set her free to find him. Tell her her name is T.D. I want that snooty bitch of hearts but it would be too obvious. The Prince of Spades has no connection to me. They will think that this girl is just a crazed murderer out to kill a royal. The blame will be shifted but the name De'Laire Slayer will rest in the back of minds. The seed will be planted." Wiping the girls memory had taken more effort than intended. Such magic was among the darkest of all the arts. He walked past the two dealers using their shoulders for support. "Don't mess it up, make it work, make her believable. Lucien I need you to observe everything that happens with the rest of the party. Make some friends, put your looks to work. And make sure Cordelia doesn't do anything silly. I'll be back at the lair, I need my energy back before we do anything more."

Slowly De'laire made his way out of the clearing. "Good Luck, all of this will be ours soon. Patience."

Thackery watched on as Hatter ran across to the girl, cutting her down from the tree. And this, Thackery thought, was the reason that Hatter was the leader of their ragtag group, not Thackery or any other member. Hatter was the loudest and most outspoken of them all.

"Listen! Everyone!" Hatter began, "I believe that De'Laire is behind this! I fear that he was the one that gathered all of us here today, to make some sort of statement! But De'Laire is a coward! He has refused to show his face here and has instead mutilated a poor girl!" Hatter looked toward the girl who was now leaned upon the tree. "If you think you're so high and mighty, De'Laire, why not show us your face! Come out and show your 'guests' your face, coward!"

Thackery's eyes widened. De'Laire? He was a story, wasn't he? His ears flattened against the inside of his hat. De'Laire couldn't be real. Thackery took a steadying breath, looking down at the ground. Losing it now wouldn't do, not when there was so many people around, especially De'Laire, assuming he was real. Thackery's eyes shot back up when he smelt an odd smell on the air, like a metallic burning. He saw Hatter on his knees and ran over to his friend, knocking Wendy out of the way, dropping to his knees beside Hatter, "Hatter?" He asked, his voice full of concern. Realising that his friend was just stunned, Thackery looked around for someone who might be responsible for Hatter's current state. He spotted a dark haired man dressed in black who looked very pleased with himself and was currently setting fire to the garden, much to the annoyance of the Jabberwocky present. Thackery would have loved to rip the man's head from his shoulders, but he had more pressing matters to attend to, "Wendy," He called, getting the White Rabbit's attention, "Help me get Hatter safe," He instructed her, hooking Hatter's arm over his shoulder.

As he lifted Hatter from his knees, Thackery looked down at the dead girl. The poor girl deserved better than this, a proper burial with her family in attendance. But Thackery had more pressing matters to deal with and he had no means of finding out who the girl was. Another girl, well woman really, dressed in black, was watching the girl with considerable interest. Thackery watched the woman for a moment, before silently leaving the girl to her care. He made sure Wendy had a hold of Hatter and began walking his friend away from the party.

---

Phaedra could barely suppress a smile when De'Laire gave Lucien an earful about setting fire to the garden. While she didn't care much for the garden herself, it was always nice to see Lucien being put in his place. Phaedra's attention was then caught by a girl, similarly dressed to the one De'Laire had just killed, but her face was a different kind of blank. De'Laire pushed the girl towards her, allowing Phaedra a closer look at her face. She was pretty in a very conventional way. The girl was someone you probably wouldn't spot in a crowd.

"Use your manipulative ways and craft a new story for this girl. Give her this knife and make her believe that her goal in life is to kill the Prince of Spades and then set her free to find him. Tell her her name is T.D. I want that snooty bitch of hearts but it would be too obvious. The Prince of Spades has no connection to me. They will think that this girl is just a crazed murderer out to kill a royal. The blame will be shifted but the name De'Laire Slayer will rest in the back of minds. The seed will be planted. Don't mess it up, make it work, make her believable."

Phaedra wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulder, taking the knife from De'Laire, sliding it up her sleeve. Phaedra lifted the girl's chin slightly so she could see into her eyes. Phaedra smiled sweetly, "You must be tired after your long journey," the girl looked at her blankly, "There is nothing for you to fear from me, I have no intention of hurting you, T.D was it?" Again the girl looked blankly, "Yes, T.D," Phaedra confirmed for the girl, "Come my dear, you must be thirsty," She said, leading the girl, T.D, into the garden, ignoring the jaberwocky trying to douse Lucien's flames. Phaedra felt T.D resist her, digging her heels into the grass. Phaedra stopped and looked at the girl, "Something wrong my dear?"

T.D looked around the garden, lingering on the flames for a moment longer, before looking back to Phaedra, "What is your name?" T.D asked quietly.

Phaedra nodded. Her memories had been erased but she could still remember speech. Well that was good to know, "Phaedra."

"Well, Miss Phaedra," T.D said ever so politely, "I am very tired and would like to go home."

"Of course my dear, whatever you wish. If you wish to go home then we will go home."

T.D smiled at Phaedra brightly, "Thank you Miss Phaedra," She said as Phaedra escorted to her to the carriage. She looked around in amazement as the carriage began moving by itself, "How is this moving?"

Phaedra leaned forward, "Magic. All my friends can do magic. I'll explain everything to you when you've rested, alright?" T.D nodded her agreement at Phaedra's plan, "There's a good girl."

---

---

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."