Chapter Text
"Do you remember being born?" she asks, looking at a younger girl who was smiling as she combed the hair of a blonde doll. The girl shakes her head.
"No, but Mommy says I was the most beautiful baby she's ever seen!" The girl swells proudly, jumping off the bed and approaching her. She huffs. "Why? Do you remember?"
"...No, but sometimes I wish I did." She sighs, closing the book in her lap and running her hands through the little girl's auburn hair, who smiles as she hugs her. "Maybe then I would know how things turned out this way."
. . . ✦ . . .
Normally, the sight of a beautiful and luxurious mansion in the west area of Yorkshire in the middle of summer, while sitting in the shade of an old and majestic willow, would be considered a good resting place after a long day of work. But this was definitely not the case for Alice.
Alice was a scrawny, almost skeletal girl. Her hair was long and straight, cut unevenly at the ends. Her height was short, even for a 11-year-old girl, making her look younger. Her skin was pale, but not in the delicate way poets describe their muses, no. Her skin was pale like that of a sick person, and it was likely a strong indicator of her state of health.
If you were to ask the young girl, the only feature she would consider "beautiful" about herself would be her large, violet eyes, unlike all others. It is a pity then that this feature was ruined by deep dark circles, which were highlighted by her paleness and the color of her eyes itself.
"ALICE! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING THERE?" A maid called out in the distance, looking at the girl angrily while holding a large basket of white linens. If Alice had to guess, this would be Lucília, who was actually one of the calmer ones to deal with in the mansion. "IT'S NOT TIME TO REST YET! COME HELP ME HANG THESE OUT!"
"And there go my five minutes of peace," she thinks, getting up from where she was sitting at the base of the willow, brushing the dust off her black skirt, adjusting her apron, and heading towards the maid, who was muttering hateful words to herself.
While hanging the linens, having to jump to reach the clothesline, she reflected on the misfortune of her situation, after all, Alice knew that 11-year-old girls should not be forced to be maids.
Alice knew that the aggressions, the scratches, and the periodic examinations done by masked doctors were not normal.
And above all, Alice knew that it was not common to have memories of a life that was not her own.
. . . ✦ . . .
Alice's memories were confused.
In them, she saw life through the eyes of another woman. One who looked like her, but better. Her dresses were made of the finest silk, jewels hung from her neck, adorning the intense blue eyes, and the same dark hair was reflected in the mirror, framing a smile the girl had never seen on her own lips.
Alice sometimes wondered if the memories were some kind of punishment. Aside from the physical appearance, the girl was nothing like the woman in the memories. Her memories were filled with love and admiration from those around her. Parents, friends, a sweet little sister and a dedicated lover. This contrasted with the girl’s tomboyish and irritating attitude.
"Not that I’m much better, but she’s still annoying! She has everything, and she throws a tantrum over the smallest things." She thought, holding back a scoff and biting her lip while scrubbing a persistent stain on the porcelain floor. Sometimes, she just felt like going out and breaking the idio...
CRACK!
"Oops!" A loud, high-pitched voice pulled her out of her thoughts, along with the shrill sound of breaking glass. Alice turned around abruptly, startled, and upon witnessing the scene, had to suppress another exasperated huff.
Millicent Pitterson is one of the many maids in the mansion. In the grand scheme of things, she's nothing special. Pretty, with her long red curls, sharp features and bright brown eyes, but so futile that she drove away all those who could see beyond appearances, while attracting those who used others to their will.
One of the teenager's favorite pastimes (because Millicent is only 17) is tormenting the younger girl with various "pranks", which consisted of making the girl's life more difficult than it needed to be, but not too much.
Is cleaning the glass off the floor inconvenient and unnecessary? Yes, but at least Millicent never acted violently.
At least... not directly, she made her trip before, but compared to some of the other things, this is qui...
CLACK! The sound of more glass scattering was heard, and Alice flinched, looking startled at an enraged Millicent, with wide eyes and gasping.
"LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO..."
"Millicent, that’s enough."
The voice, calm and monotonous, echoed and resonated through the walls, somehow overriding Millicent's shrill screams, and Alice shrank back. Millicent turned around, immediately softening her posture and looking more like a mouse caught in headlights.
Danielle Davis was a woman in her 30s who possessed a grace difficult to achieve, especially for a maid. Her dedication and commitment to her work had earned her the position of Head Maid, the eyes and ears of the master of the house.
Unfortunately, she also hate Alice, but at least she didn't mistreat her directly. She was merely indifferent, when not completely ignorant of the younger girl's issues.
"Um, Mrs. Davis, I was just defending myself, she started it!"
"And she will be duly punished for it, now, return to your duties, won't you?" Danielle said softly. Millicent turned away with a huff, intentionally knocking over Alice's bucket in the process, a muffled and insincere "sorry" was heard before she ran off.
"You will clean this up, and then you will go to the kitchens. Elise mentioned being short-handed on dishwashing." Danielle said, checking the time on her pocket watch. "You should be able to do that in about half an hour, if you don't dawdle. Am I clear?"
"...Yes, ma'am." Alice said, bowing in salute.
"Right." Danielle continued on her way, but before leaving the room, she turned to the younger girl, with an almost mocking tone. "Oh, before I forget, a new periodic examination has been requested, go to the infirmary at the usual time, won't you?"
"...Yes, ma'am." Alice said with a sigh. Mrs. Davis gave a sharp laugh, not bothering to return the salute, and she strutted down the corridors.
. . . ✦ . . .
The "infirmary," as it turned out, was not an infirmary, but rather a code for the office of Simon Breaunt, the Count of Breaunt and Alice's "boss."
Personally, the girl liked to refer to him as a "slave driver."
Sitting in an uncomfortable chair, the man's imposing and weary figure loomed before her. His long hair was slicked back, tied in a loose but perfectly aligned ponytail. His features were delicate, if not slightly skeletal. And his complexion was sickly pale. Among Alice's favorite nicknames, "Depressed Vampire" and "Lemon Sniffer" stood out.
As if he sensed her amusement, Simon averted his gaze from the pile of papers on the desk in front of him to look at the younger girl. Not a drop of emotion could be seen in his dark blue eyes, nor a hint of a smile in his stony expression.
He leaned back in his chair, checking the time on a silver pocket watch, which allowed Alice a brief glimpse of the Roman numerals: it was around 12:35 AM. Which meant she had already been sitting and waiting for at least half an hour. Incredible. Truly.
He sighed, disheartened, leaning back into the velvet armchair with his usual bored expression. That was the second most common face to be seen on the count.
"It's time for them to arrive now. You know what comes next, don't you?"
"I would know, if I stayed awake long enough. Which, you know, I am not allowed to do."
"Hmm, you have a point." He said simply, taking a silver key from inside his robes and opening one of the desk drawers, from which he took a small black velvet box. He brought it close to himself, and took out a silver necklace. The small red pendant glowed crimson, even in the dim light of the room.
"Don't try to run this time."
She refused.
Deep down, Alice knew there was no escape. That dance had been repeated so many times that she knew the steps by heart. She knew that the hooded doctors who inhabited the mansion were waiting for her, waiting for the moment she tried to flee to grab her and strap her back into the chair, with their restraints and masks suffocating her. But the reaction that overcame the girl was too visceral, too desperate to let rationality fade away.
Even while that tangle of unknowns was strapping her into a chair, she still thrashed like a caged animal. In the corner of her vision, she could see Simon's disappointed expression as he approached, the pendant in his hands only deepening the girl's state of desperate frenzy.
"I warned you." He said, before the pendant touched her face. She felt herself scream, but heard nothing, and the world quickly darkened as she fainted.
. . . ✦ . . .
"I must thank you again for your cooperation, Lord Breaunt." The masked woman smiled, organizing the 10 vials of fresh blood taken from the girl, who had been taken to her quarters by Danielle Davis a few minutes earlier. What remained of the small team had already tidied the room and were slowly emptying the premises, all absorbed in their own tasks.
"I am merely fulfilling my part of the agreement, Doctor." The man said, taking a sip of the lukewarm tea while examining a budget request, the greater details escaping his notice as the woman stood before him. "Anything else to discuss?"
"Well, this is supposed to be a secret for now, but it's always good to prepare the ground," She smiled sweetly, contrasting with the way she toyed with one of the test tubes between her fingers, the vivid crimson shining under the moonlight. "These samples are kind of a final phase, you see? We think the conditions for the harvest will soon be concluded!"
Simon merely continued to examine the sheet, his gaze fixed on the details of paragraph 4, as if he could deconstruct the ink of the paper if he paid close enough attention. "Interesting, how 'soon' would that be? If you don't mind me asking."
"Oh, very soon! We believe the preparations will be ready before the girl's birthday." She tossed the test tube up, and it fell perfectly into her hand. "And as you well know... we will need to do a little cleaning when the time comes."
He shifted his gaze to her, and despite the mask covering her eyes, the satisfied smile was enough for him to imagine the gleam in those eyes. "...Very well, thank you for the information." And subtly, he took a small folded piece of paper from the drawer, which he placed in front of the woman who graciously took it, read it, and with a savage smile tucked it inside her left glove. She then deliberately threw the tube aside, which fell to the floor and shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. The girl's blood spilled onto the carpet. "OH MY GOD! RICK! COME HERE!"
Simon merely watched with a sigh as the woman scolded her subordinate for having, supposedly, "put a faulty tube among the others." She then turned to him with an apologetic expression. "I am sorry, Lord Breaunt, but I believe I will need to collect one more sample from the girl, taking advantage of the fact that she is still under the effect of the crystal. Is that alright?"
"Do as you may," He gestured toward the door, where Danielle Davis stood at attention. "Accompany the Doctor, Danielle. Just do as she says."
"As you wish, My Lord," The woman bowed, waiting for the Doctor who was gathering her things. The subordinate offered to do the job instead of the woman, but she merely snapped, 'If you want something done right, you must do it yourself! As if I would leave an irresponsible person like you with the Matrix!' She collected her materials and asked Danielle to lead her, but not before passing by the fireplace and discreetly burning the note.
When left alone, Simon sighed and ran his hands through his hair. In the corner of his vision, the pendant shone in the same crimson as the girl's blood on the glass. On his carpet, the stain was slowly turning a rancid brown. "What a mess." He murmured in exasperation.