Al†ce. (WIP)

[†he suicide dress.]

Al†ce.​

This kingdom, good riddance
Her freedom and innocence -
Has brought this whole thing down

Her Name is Alice, Shinedown

Warnings: Non-consent, teen sex, dark themes.

The story re-working of a recruitment idea, here.​

Mornings in St. Magdalena's were quiet, hushed, the low-lying fog rolling in from the lake, creeping over the grounds, blanketing them.

Alice, dark eyes unblinking, sat curled up on the window seat, waiting, watching as the pale dawn broke out over the dark treetops, touched the earth, the cold stone of the Home. In the darkness of the room behind her, the others began to stir - little Edith, the smallest of the girls, whined like a puppy, curling into herself.

Dark, heavy hair against her, Alice touched her forehead to the cold glass.

Her heart kept a terrible rhythm, pleading for escape.



By breakfast the Home had woken properly, the magic of the dawn world forgotten as dark trees opened up to gentle green woodland, all around them.

Sitting at the end of the girl's table, Alice concentrated on her porridge, aware, too aware, of Lutwidge's eyes on her, his leering face across the heads of the others. Her hand tightened on her spoon; she could feel his eyes raking up and down the formless shifts they all wore, gray and uninspiring but still not enough to save her, not enough to stop him from imagining her body under it.

She parted her lips, bringing her spoon to her mouth - but she couldn't make herself swallow.

Across from her at the boy's boisterous table was a bright laugh, and soft face doleful, she glanced up to see. The laugher was surrounded by his friends, gesturing wildly, his bright red hair shining under the golden morning light.

Charles. How someone so bright and sunny could flourish in St. Magdalena's Home for Forgotten Children was a mystery to Alice. He seemed to laugh so easily, so full of silliness. The boy - a man, nearly - was one of their oldest, seventeen just about, months away from being turned out into the real world, where, they were promised, people would not be so kind.

Alice, just past fifteen and always, always dogged by their caretaker's son, his pointed smile, knew exactly how awful the world could be.

She could believe, though, that things would be different for Charles. His sunniness a charm that would carry him through, save him.

As she thought it, the boy caught her gaze, his green eyes clear like glass in the light. He grinned, brilliant, and she parted her lips in surprise before her cheeks burned, the girl looking back down at her bowl, eyelashes long against her cheeks.

Beyond him, she was sure, Lutwidge was still watching, taking everything in.

Her heart, deep in her chest, hummed out of fear and excitement.