Chapter Text
Her name is Red; like the color... the rage-inducing fire of a Naga-viper when it touches your tongue. Or the crimson stains bubbling up from sticky lips as an innocent loses to fate, once again.
As the heads roll and voices scream.
Her mother wasn't very creative, but then again, Red could have been Mal. Or Hook the Third. 'Hearts' and 'Queenie' are both atrocious, so she really should be grateful, honestly; that her name is something more indicative of an adjective and less of a symbolic calling card to the woman who birthed her before promptly regretting it.
Red is heat.
Red is dangerous.
Red is death.
Things that are 'red' are often left alone- for fear of impending pain and devastating consequences- and Princess Red of Wonderland is no different. She's been alone since day one, rotting in bed with Maddox as her only companion (which is a horribly depressing concept in and of itself), but isolation is better when you pretend it's your choice, so she does.
“I’m a lost cause,” she likes to say, while ripping her knife down her mother’s sixth portrait. “Nothing good comes out of Wonderland,” and as the years pass- the vandalism escalating to irredeemable crimes- she realizes Maddox has grown less inclined to contradict her.
“I am seriously worried about you.”
“I hope she likes it.”
“If you continue down this path, I won’t always be there to save you.”
“That’s funny.”
"Red-"
"Thinking I can still be saved-"
“I find that outfit offensive.”
“Wish being me didn’t offend you.”
“Love doesn’t exist…”
“I heard you the first thousand times.”
“Then what are you arguing with me for?”
Auradon Prep is a collection of drabby stone buildings, with tacky banners streaking yellow and blue along the windows. There’s a line, of course, when Red reaches the entrance; one promptly cut by her mother, whose status as Royal Dictator doesn’t exactly translate well to democracy.
“Name, please,” the woman at the desk says.
The way she says 'please' is a little hoarse at the end. Whether it’s a scared cough or a sick one, Red doesn’t know. She’s too busy looking at the ground and scuffing her toes against lopsided gravel to differentiate.
“You know who we are.”
“Yes, your Majesty. But for school policy, I still need you to voice it.”
Just follow instructions, Red begs.
You’re the one who gave me permission to come here. Don’t be dramatic and cut off her head or cut off my head or cut off that blue lady’s head or that girl’s head over in the… the girl… blue hair...
By the time Red's brain has fully cataloged the conversation between her mother and the woman in blue- "Bridget… her Royal highness… should be proud"- it’s already painfully over. Her mother is barging into the building like a woman gone mad (fitting), leaving Red alone on the steps, with a woman whose question will forever go unanswered, a woman whose face is forlorn and distant... and a girl dripping in pastel blue.
A really pretty girl dripping in a rainbow of pastel, baby blues. A girl with curly hair. And brown eyes. And really long eyelashes, with lips that are kind of red but not completely- more pink, actually- and that’s cool. It’s whatever. It’s boring, really… because everyone has lips, so it's not a big deal. Not a big deal at all, but with every passing second, the girl is creeping closer and closer; inching her way into Red’s bubble until the personal space she’s established is practically communal.
“Hi! You must be Princess Red,” she says, with the kind of Auradon excitement Red always assumed was hyperbole. “From Wonderland, right? I'm Chloe! Chloe Charming. I’ve always wondered what it’s like over there. Get it?”
“I get it.”
“Wondered. That’s a good one. I’m actually pretty proud of it.”
Her face is giddy, and when she smacks her two hands together in a goofy high-five, the force pushes her hair gently over her shoulder. It’s cinematic almost. The way it falls.
Red is busy stuttering out a response when- from of the corner of her eye- she sees her mother watching… no. No. Crap- she’s not watching, she’s dissecting. Her eyebrows are sharp and downturned, meaning she’s thinking and when she thinks, people have a tendency to die. The words are out of Red’s mouth before she can counteract them.
“Are you always this annoying?”
“Wha… what?”
The girl’s eyes have fallen, and when she takes a step back, it’s like a piece of Red’s heart takes a step with it.
“This whole ‘goody two-shoes facade?” she continues, words bitter in her mouth. “Are you always this ignorant and naive? It’s like you’re a child, or something. Just... leave me alone-” and then she’s rushing forward. Quick. Frantic- until the girl and her mother and the woman at the table are all too far away to hear.
Red's mother, however, is uncomfortably drawing closer.
“Did you know that woman?” Red asks, though she knows the answer won’t be genuine. Her mom- Bridget? Yeah, Bridget. Apparently- just scoffs.
“We were classmates.”
“What?”
“She’s a two-faced snake, with a daughter, it seems, that doesn’t fall far from the tree. Perhaps when this is over, you’ll make me proud for once. Feed her to that stupid Jabberwocky you’re so fond of.”
Glistening eyes. Soft smile. Red fights the urge to turn around and instead, nods her head.
She clenches her fists.
“Yeah,” she mumbles back. “Yeah… she’s uh. She’s a real pain.”
“I never got the chance to go to Auradon Prep…”
“Excuse me… do you mind.”
“As a matter of fact, I do…”
“Thank you, Red. You finally did something useful.”
“This was never about me.”
“You’re going too far!”
“She disobeyed a royal order… and what do we do about that, darling?”
“Who are you loyal to?”
“Even your daughter knows it’s wrong. She can’t do it.”
“She can’t do it.”
Can’t do it. Can’t do it- Lost cause. Nothing good. Nothing right, never right.
“Let her go!”
“Let me go! Get your hands off me!”
“Wait!”
“I’m trying to save your life! Let go of the watch-”
“MOM!”
Red doesn't mean to drag Chloe along in her ill-attempted mission of the past. This was supposed to be a one-woman job, culminating in a stolen deck of cards and a life forever ruined. However, when the world erupts into yellow numbers and flickering lights, the only thing Red can focus on is the feeling of warm hands around her wrist; a touch rooted in fear, not kindness or love. But it's touch all the same, and as blue starlight tumbles into her mouth, she comes to a realization. The last concept she registers- her eyes closing as the shimmers leak out of her fingers in cascades of gold- is how nice it is, not to die alone.