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As I walked away from the market in Snud, it would have served me well that day if the noon sky was clear, the bright orange colour of the mercurous nitrate in its brownish bottle. Presently, how ever, the clouds were the stormy silver of the mercury drippings I would later dispose of. Needing no further errands, I placed the chemicals I had procured into my pockets securely and found the path that would take me home. How ever, the sky darkened broodinglike as I walked. It was as though the clouds wished to reclaim the sky after storming away, as it were, to say "No, we never meant to throw it away, we'd like that back now"; I recalled that some-one, though I'm not certain who, would call it a downpour-day. It was a nice name for a thing I no longer thought nice. I was able to hear, in the distance, the sullen grumblings of the clouds, but paid it no mind until I had reached the forest near Witzend and their complaints had gotten louder.
Thunder crashed and tensed my shoulders. It seemed much nearer that I had thought. It had begun to rain, and the diminutive drops darkened the earthy road I followed. Trees hung overhead, forming a leafy lattice that both shadowed and shielded the path. I quickened my pace.
The end of the path was made black by shadow, the verdant sieve blocking out what meagre light slunk out of the clouds in a manner akin to a bird with a wounded wing. The vials clinked together in my pocket with each rushed footfall.
The trees round me trapped the echoes of them, not unlike dense flora in a chokesome wood. The clouds overhead seemed singularly grayish and white and red.
The end of the path bristled with branches.
The dragon's mouth bristled with teeth.
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I ran. I ran with such vigour and fright and sharp, suffocating panic that I could nearly block out the sound of the beast's breath as he chased me, could nearly ignore the pain as thorns tore at my clothing and skin. I pushed through the wilder parts of the wood, came upon a dim clearing obscured by smoke and the feeling of my blood pounding about my head. I breathed hard and thought perhaps I had thrown off the terrific monster, but at that moment a hideous roar burst out from between the trees. It so brimmed with contempt and wild intentions that it curdled my blood, petrified my bones, and would have surely turned me to stone on the spot if I had not begun again to run. My legs moving underneath me seemed vainly slow and leaden, as though I were running in a dream, just as we have all run from some-thing in our sleep-- and I did feel as though I were dreaming-- and the trees and overgrown brush hindered me at every sluggardly step. I tripped on a root and struck my nose on a a stone; I reached up for some-thing to help me to my feet and closed my fist round slick and sturdy briars. I kept going. I had hardly taken notice of my frenzied route before I came upon a wooden stair; my shaking legs gave out and I crumpled to my knees, then looked up to find that the stair belonged to the familiar windmill.
I was soaked to my skeleton by this downpour day and hadn't the slightest idea how long I had run for. Even more puzzling, though I could have sworn to hear the monster roar behind me, there was no evidence that anyhting had pursued me. I had been running from nothing. Presently I heard voices muffle from inside the house, one of which I discerned to be Thackery's and the other Mallymkun's, and they bickered as they advanced.
"Who's there? I'm ready for ye, ye frumious--" Thackery paused mid-shout when he caught sight of me, and his grip on the silver ladle he wielded loosened. "Oh, it's only you, lad." Mallymkun had caught up at this point, coming to a halt to look at me curiouslike. I wanted to say yes, it's only me, so there's no point in being frightened; but my voice simply would not present itself. I merely nodded.
"Where've you been, Hatter? You're soppin' wet," said Mallymkun, head tilted to watch the raindrops fall off of the brim of my hat. I had no answer for that. I simply stared at the blood on the stairs, which had dripped from my nose and off of my chin. In the rain-light, it was startlingly red, but started to dissipate presently with the drizzle.
"Why couldn't you have stayed under a tree?" Thackery asked after another moment, himself standing under the shingled eaves of the windmill. "Their arms are plentifull wide." I still possessed no answer, but spoke nonetheless as I stood in one jerky motion.
"What does it matter where I've been?" I snapped, ignoring the flavour of copper on my teeth. "I'm tired and cold and soaking wet, and I would like to come inside, thank you." I hissed this last pleasantry, and the bitter taste of it nearly replaced the sting of blood on my tongue. Thackery and Mallymkun were at a loss for words, so I pushed past them, ashamed but unwilling to show it. Dinner was nearly ready, so I would properly apologise to them then. I had been compelled to apologise often in those past few weeks.
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When I heard the rapping at the door, I was cleaning dried blood off of the stair that led to the second storey of the windmill. It was a singularly impatient, business-like sort of knock. Chessur, who had been invited to stay the night due to the storm, offered to get it (you see, he was the quickest). Standing tall, interrupting the rain, was the Knave of Hearts. Or most of him, at any rate; he was so very tall that the top of the door cut off his head, so to speak. He stooped down to look at us with his one green eye. "May I come in?" he asked in a deceptively calm voice.
"I suppose so..." Chessur purred, grinning at him with interest. It was obvious that the Knave would have entered with or without our permission. At the table, my friends were having dessert, and the Knave approached deliberately; I distinctly noted Thackery's ears droop, Mallymkun put down her teacup, and Chessur vanish into thin air. I hurried to the table, ready to defend my friends should something unfortunate happen. How ever, we did have one defense in place: after the Knave's first visit, it was agreed that during his next visit we should all act as though we'd lost our heads. It would distract him, we hoped, especially with his impatience.
"You've travelled a long way, sir," chirped Mallymkun brightly. "Hey, why do they call it Crims, do you figure?" The Knave smirked sardonically as he took Thackery's proffered cup of tea. He seemed willing to humour her.
"I cannot fathom it."
"Well, what else are you to call a place brimmin' with criminals?" I joined in their laughter, watching the Knave's jaw tighten.
"Very funny, but I am here on business, unfortunately," he sighed, ever the dramatic one. From his pocket he produced a small handfull of ticket stubs. "You have been too, I see. The Looking-Glass Lands, was it?"
"Yes, it was a wonderful holiday," I replied directly, leaning forwards with enthusiasm. "But what a peculiar place! You would need to be mad as a hatter to live there!" Again my friends and I laughed, with Thackery congratulating me on my joke. The Knave rolled his eye in irritation.
"I'm certain you've met some Looking-Glass people, then? Poor dear creatures. I believe their worst fault is their..." The Knave paused, tapping a gloved finger against the handle of his teacup as he thought. "Inability to accept change. They are rather hopeful, you see, and--"
"Have something to eat, lad," Thackery interjected, holding out a biscuit for him. "You're a growing boy after all!" he insisted, which made the Knave glare down at him from his incredible height, but take the biscuit in any case, if only to appease Thackery. He gave it me presently, apparently uninterested in it, and was about to speak again before he was interrupted by Mallymkun.
"You don't need to tell us twice, anyways," she remarked, crossing her arms. "They're so scared of change they need a great bird just to change it from day to night!"
"And Gravity to change it from up to down; it's a very serious thing, you know," I added, settling back in my chair with a grave expression. The Knave's teacup collided with the brick of the fireplace, splintering into shards with a sharp crash. My friends and I stared at the fragile white pieces.
"Enough!" the Knave roared. He spoke through his teeth. "Just know that the Queen is watching." With that, he took his leave, his cape trailing behind him. I pushed my plate away, which only angered Mallymkun.
"Hey, don't waste good food!" I surrendered my biscuit, feeling ill, and Mallymkun plopped down, tore off a piece of it, and ate it as angrily as one possibly can. Meanwhile, I closed the window; the wind escaping from it felt particularly cold.
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P.S.— It is at this point that I am inclined to speak frankly-- very, very frankly. Reader, I must reveal to you now the condition that has for ever vexed me nearish since the start of this narrative, which I have neglected to tell you before, as ignoring it was tempting. Tempting yet impossible; for it permeated my daily life, a sense of vigilance and fright that I would never, could never quit. I regret that I have never written on this subject before, but you see I could not. I had never met a feeling-- for it is only a feeling, after all-- that so ravaged me, a feeling I could scarcelike put into words. Nothing compares to seeing the faces of your friends transfigured into sly predators or despairing phantoms, the strangeness of startling every time the fireplace flares, jumping out of bed when the storm gets stronger... It is difficult to put into words, but as I continue to pen my tale I resolve to try my best and leave nothing out, so as to remember it. And it will be a help, for I do doubt my memory these days...
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