Snippet #1634465

Jonathan ~

He sat calmly in what could only be described as his cave. The outside was hardly safe anymore, and he found the quiet calm of his home much better than the busy and murderous inhabitants that resided in the rest of this damned place. Jonathan quietly sipped his tea, as he heard a scream in the distance. Lyra was upset again.

Getting up from his chair, he put the tea on his table as he walked over to secure the door. No doubt the madwoman was out on her usual killing spree in no time, and it was best to be safe. Even with new Alice's arriving every day - much thanks to the White Rabbit - the Dark Alice's still ruled the land. Hopefully something would happen soon.

"I need a clean cup," he murmured, throwing away his tea.


Elysium ~

Making a map of the maze was one of the better practical jokes Elysium had thought up, seeing as the maze was ever changing according to his mind and ideas. The map gave people a false sense of safety, and lured others into unsafe places. He let Miranda enter and exit the maze without trouble, no need to give away the game too soon. But it seemed she had left something in the maze, and Elysiums curiosity was peaked.

From the outside, the maze seemed like nothing more than an seemingly endless structure of brick walls, twisting and turning in random directions as far as the eye could see. Elysium had spent years attuning the maze to his mind, and the rules were set. Nobody left the maze, unless he wanted them to - and many could be kept there for years before he would allow them to die. Of course, there were more to it than brick walls that could easily be torn down or rebuilt, but surprisingly enough there were few who lived to see the deeper parts of it.

A dragon-like creature spread it wings and soared above the maze. The creatures within recognized their master and left him be as he landed on one of the walls above Lyra's mother. He jumped down and changed his form, treading lightly on the dirty ground, arms folded on his back, as he walked over.

"You're hurt," he pointed out. The person had a wound to each shoulder, most likely from a couple of Lyra's knives. Hurt people died quicker, he seemed to remember. He crouched down by her and looked more closely at her wounds.

"What," he wondered, "what are we going to do with you, then?"