[A/N: I do not know what has gotten into my mind when I wrote this. I do hope it's worth your time, though... It's very short, anyway. Rip it up to bits.]
Alice Who Lives Down the Rabbit Hole; Ch. 1
The Girl with the Amber-coloured Hair
‘...Typical?’ The man snorted, lips partly curling upward against his teeth in a grotesque manner; a smug, bitter grin casting out his usual charm.
‘...Such a word does not exist in this realm.’
Her master’s words taunt her still.
Glassy azure orbs watched the equally vibrant blue shift outside the window; colossal, honey-tinted, puffy white clouds sailing through the opaque firmament. Said eyes wandered around the frame of the glossy glass panes, made of oak and intricately carved with leaves and nuts and woodland wonders, made even more beautiful by subtle shadows lining its edges, cast in the sunlight’s rich golden hues. Creamy, satin strands of that same vivid colour curled up against the lass’ slim waist, dancing along and twirling against the melodious breeze blowing gently through the small door.
The door was left open by the owner today. Oddly, though, the door was too small for anyone to pass through - it was not even big enough for the girl’s tiny shoulders - but it was enough for the wind to blow through. It was also just the right size for slipping in her rations, consisting of stale bread, spiritless wine and some sordid leftovers with which she was fed every night. She was glad the door was left unlocked, though. With it wide open, she could have her fill of the delicious scents that wafted from the huge kitchen downstairs. Her little nose could pick all of them out within a whiff: butterscotch, strawberry fondant, and maple syrup and vanilla cream; chocolate, and beefsteak, and grilled paprika and Indian curry, all of them with their distinct and delightfully heady fragrances and tang, causing her to inhale sharply; her moist lips parting, her breath hissing through her teeth. The faint aroma of Nan baking in the oven tickled her appetite. All of this was bliss and torture at the same time.
She had not taken a proper meal in three days straight.
She laid there, head on her study desk, her soft locks curving along the smoothness of her roseate complexion and spreading along the beige grains of the wooden handcraft, a soft scowl marring her gentle features. It was mid-afternoon, and still the sun was high up the sky, brightening the usually dusky room her petite form resided in. But even the sun’s glorious radiance could do nothing to still the bitter ache in her belly. It made nothing she heard or saw uplifting, nor did anything around her bring her amusement, set aside the taste of sweet nourishment at the tip of her tongue.
Tempted by the thought of stuffing her modest little maw with delight, she rose from her chair and made for the gaping opening with hinges, a wooden lid and brass locks that the eccentric owner of this great house calls a door.
...Well, at the very least, she tried to, but to no avail.
Cold, silvery chains coiled around her wrists and neck like taunting snakes, holding her captive.
Gender:
Points: 6337
Reviews: 39