Harrietta “The white Rabbit”'s Arc

Chapter 1 of 7

Harrietta White, once the White Rabbit of Wonderland, stood at the edge of a tea party that did not belong to her. The fountain at the center tilted three teacups skyward and spilled a purple stream that smelled like ink, not tea. Her ears twitched at every drip. She had been pulled from her own book by a lie about being late, and now she could not get back. Every clock in her head ticked louder when she stayed near that fountain. If she could not quiet the ticking, she would freeze when she finally got the chance to shut this party down. Chester Cheshire Grinwild stood a few steps off, painting a bush. He dragged purple across the leaves, then dotted them with white until the bush looked like a fat mushroom. There were no guests yet. Only him, her, and the chairs he kept dragging into a longer and longer line. He hummed while he worked. Harrietta hated how easy he made it look. She crossed the cobblestones with her paws clenched. "I need somewhere quiet," she said. "Away from that fountain. Now." Chester did not turn. He flicked his brush once. "Easy." His mismatched eyes lifted, one yellow, one green, and fixed on a patch of empty air past the painted bush. The air bent. A porcelain cottage shaped like a teapot pushed up out of nothing, with a dark blue door, small clockwork gears turning along its belly, and a round window glowing soft above the spout. "Yours," he said. "Don't thank me." He went back to painting. Harrietta climbed the step and pushed the door open. Inside, the ticking in her skull dropped by half. A small table waited under the window. A kettle sat on a low flame, already steaming. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it. From the pocket of her waistcoat she pulled the tea bag she had carried out of her own book, a cream sachet tied with gold string, Earl Grey, the only thing she trusted in this place. She dropped it into a cup and poured. The smell was tea. Just tea. Not ink. She took one sip. The ticking slowed. She took the second. The pressure behind her eyes went flat. Her shoulders dropped for the first time since Chester had grinned her out of her pages. She set the cup down and breathed. She could think again. She could plan. The fountain was still out there. Chester was still out there, lining up chairs for guests he had no right to steal. But now she had a door she could close, two sips that worked, and a quiet room shaped like a kettle. She looked at the blue door and made herself a promise. The next time she stepped through it, she would be going out to end his party, not hide from it.