Wake Me From the Dead
Too Many Years Have Died
Alice was naïve and idealistic when it came to romantic love - she had never known the wild flourish of hot emotion blooming in her gut, the hollow beat of her heart in response to the smile of a lover; had never experienced the knot in her chest inspired by the slightest whisper of breath across bare plains of flesh. There was no room for love in her world - a world riding proud of the back of Ballet, a world erected for her alone. There had never been room for anyone else in that world, private and sacred, a world she had desperately tried to preserve when the rebellion came knocking on their door. Perhaps this was the reason for her frenzied hysteria - her world, perfect and intricately constructed, had been brutally ripped apart and her heart was bleeding in the hollow of her chest.
The way her body responded to him surprised and intrigued her, the delicate way each of her nerves buzzed in response to him. She could not discern the difference between the heat of the oppressive world pressing down around them and the heat of his body. In the moments that passed, she learned the slope of his waist and the jut of his hip, the swell of his ribcage as it pressed earnestly up against his flesh. She was acutely aware of the comfortable weight of his arm and could feel each rise and dip of the muscles that snaked through it. He was all that was keeping her from floating away and, before she could stop herself, she dipped her head to rest her cheek gingerly against his chest. It was then that she was made aware of the staccato rhythm of his heartbeat and this troubled and pleased her, and the sordid mixture of emotion worried her beyond anything she had previously experienced. But she made no move to remove herself from him due to heated, selfish greed. She desperately wanted to breathe him in, to keep him this way. The way he was constructed suggested that he was not built for such tenderness and she allowed herself to feel special, if only for this one instant in time.
She knew that he would soon be gone from her, she knew as well as he did that this could not last beyond their walk back to her house. It was a truth that terrified her, though she was not surprised because, in the last few moments, she had experienced sensations she never could have guessed existed. She didn’t even know his name, she only knew that she wanted to keep tucked safely away in her corner of Wonderland, to protect him from the fight she knew he would eventually have to return to. However, Alice could not possibly know the complexity of the situation that Hatter had inextricably woven himself into; a situation that he sat precariously atop, waiting for the moment when he would fall into the wrong hands.
Suddenly, he stopped and stayed her in her tracks and she raised those sea-blue eyes to his and mirrored his gesture of catching her bottom lip between her teeth. Everything in her screamed to look away but she couldn’t find the strength, so she went on staring up at him, even as he reached out to collect her singular tear with the pad of his thumb. The gesture, simple and beautiful as it was, made her knees weak and knit her brow in a neat frown. A wave of weakness overtook her and she reached out to catch his shirt in her fist to steady herself, allowed herself to be swept up in his embrace. She wanted to remain this way forever, right here pressed desperately close to him so that her heart fluttered weakly in her chest and she was suddenly dizzy. It was impossible, she thought, for her to react this way to a stranger - under normal circumstances she never would have allowed him to walk her home, but the world had changed, and somehow it had changed everyone along with it.
“Hatter,” she echoed in a weak whisper, though a simpering grin came shortly afterward and she tilted her head back to look up at him, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she told him, a distant and fading light returning to her eyes as she did. And then she shrugged, a far-away sort of gesture and returned her eyes to the path they treaded. “My name is Alice Hamilton,” she told him, adding her surname only to entertain the girlish fantasy that maybe, when all was said and done, he might come back and look for her. She knew the harshness of oppression made people act foolishly, inspired people to do things they normally wouldn’t, and she didn’t doubt that was what was happening now. She had a sneaking suspicion that <i>Hatter</i>, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have even offered to walk her home. She had a sneaking suspicion that he would not have been so tender because, faintly, she could sense the smell of a woman in the folds of his jacket and tucked discreetly into the fabric of his shirt. But she did not dwell on this because, in this moment, such things are trivial and unimportant.
“It’s dangerous here for you,” she says suddenly as if this had only just dawned on her and maybe it had. She stopped abruptly then and caught his arm in her fragile, forgiving grip. The feel of his taut flesh against her palm spread heat through her entire arm and she knew she should release him but she couldn’t find the strength. Instead, she focused on leveling those eyes with his, her gaze suddenly intense. “You should go,” she told him, though it was physically painful to have to do so, “I could never forgive myself if something happened to you only because of me.” And she was trying so hard to be the brave woman this world wanted her to be, instead of the reckless little girl that had walked through a looking glass one day and never left. The very same girl that had fallen into a storybook land only to realize that fairytales don’t last forever.
The way her body responded to him surprised and intrigued her, the delicate way each of her nerves buzzed in response to him. She could not discern the difference between the heat of the oppressive world pressing down around them and the heat of his body. In the moments that passed, she learned the slope of his waist and the jut of his hip, the swell of his ribcage as it pressed earnestly up against his flesh. She was acutely aware of the comfortable weight of his arm and could feel each rise and dip of the muscles that snaked through it. He was all that was keeping her from floating away and, before she could stop herself, she dipped her head to rest her cheek gingerly against his chest. It was then that she was made aware of the staccato rhythm of his heartbeat and this troubled and pleased her, and the sordid mixture of emotion worried her beyond anything she had previously experienced. But she made no move to remove herself from him due to heated, selfish greed. She desperately wanted to breathe him in, to keep him this way. The way he was constructed suggested that he was not built for such tenderness and she allowed herself to feel special, if only for this one instant in time.
She knew that he would soon be gone from her, she knew as well as he did that this could not last beyond their walk back to her house. It was a truth that terrified her, though she was not surprised because, in the last few moments, she had experienced sensations she never could have guessed existed. She didn’t even know his name, she only knew that she wanted to keep tucked safely away in her corner of Wonderland, to protect him from the fight she knew he would eventually have to return to. However, Alice could not possibly know the complexity of the situation that Hatter had inextricably woven himself into; a situation that he sat precariously atop, waiting for the moment when he would fall into the wrong hands.
Suddenly, he stopped and stayed her in her tracks and she raised those sea-blue eyes to his and mirrored his gesture of catching her bottom lip between her teeth. Everything in her screamed to look away but she couldn’t find the strength, so she went on staring up at him, even as he reached out to collect her singular tear with the pad of his thumb. The gesture, simple and beautiful as it was, made her knees weak and knit her brow in a neat frown. A wave of weakness overtook her and she reached out to catch his shirt in her fist to steady herself, allowed herself to be swept up in his embrace. She wanted to remain this way forever, right here pressed desperately close to him so that her heart fluttered weakly in her chest and she was suddenly dizzy. It was impossible, she thought, for her to react this way to a stranger - under normal circumstances she never would have allowed him to walk her home, but the world had changed, and somehow it had changed everyone along with it.
“Hatter,” she echoed in a weak whisper, though a simpering grin came shortly afterward and she tilted her head back to look up at him, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she told him, a distant and fading light returning to her eyes as she did. And then she shrugged, a far-away sort of gesture and returned her eyes to the path they treaded. “My name is Alice Hamilton,” she told him, adding her surname only to entertain the girlish fantasy that maybe, when all was said and done, he might come back and look for her. She knew the harshness of oppression made people act foolishly, inspired people to do things they normally wouldn’t, and she didn’t doubt that was what was happening now. She had a sneaking suspicion that <i>Hatter</i>, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have even offered to walk her home. She had a sneaking suspicion that he would not have been so tender because, faintly, she could sense the smell of a woman in the folds of his jacket and tucked discreetly into the fabric of his shirt. But she did not dwell on this because, in this moment, such things are trivial and unimportant.
“It’s dangerous here for you,” she says suddenly as if this had only just dawned on her and maybe it had. She stopped abruptly then and caught his arm in her fragile, forgiving grip. The feel of his taut flesh against her palm spread heat through her entire arm and she knew she should release him but she couldn’t find the strength. Instead, she focused on leveling those eyes with his, her gaze suddenly intense. “You should go,” she told him, though it was physically painful to have to do so, “I could never forgive myself if something happened to you only because of me.” And she was trying so hard to be the brave woman this world wanted her to be, instead of the reckless little girl that had walked through a looking glass one day and never left. The very same girl that had fallen into a storybook land only to realize that fairytales don’t last forever.