by Lotus Rose
A shrug from the Storyteller. “You’ll have to ask the Snark.”
“Were there many snarks in the past, in Woeland?”
“Indeed. Before the Queen of Hearts’ forces decimated them. There were many other monsters as well. Now, their numbers are much less.”
“Is the Snark the last of his kind?”
“He may very well be.”
“How can I stop him from trying to destroy Wonderland?”
The Storyteller shrugs. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”
Malice groans. “Fine. You don’t want to get involved in the unfolding of my future story. So can you tell me about the past? How did ‘Woeland’ come about?”
The Storyteller perks up and grins. “Now that is a fascinating story! For you see, once upon a time, in the Outside World (before it was even called that), there was a little girl, and it was her powerful imagination that created Woeland.”
Malice says, “Why would anyone willingly create a ‘Woeland’ filled with monsters?”
“Woeland started as a way to hide away her nightmares, a world inhabited by the monsters she imagined lurked in her closet and under her bed. She sent them away, into a world that would exist separate from herself, so she would no longer need to be afraid.”
“Whoa,” Malice mutters under her breath.
The Storyteller continues, “But she eventually succumbed to her fears—she was a very fearful little girl—and she ended up getting sucked into the very world she wanted to separate herself from, surrounded by the very monsters she sent away!”
Malice says, “And that’s what you call a ‘bad day’.”
“Quite,” the Storyteller says.
Malice says, “So this little girl...did she end up getting banished to Jabberwock Valley with all the other little girls?”
The Storyteller says, “Let me finish my story.”
They hear the voice of Hatter calling out, “I’ve got it! I’m coming!”
The Storyteller says, “The little girl was lonely, so she used her abilities to bring over other little girls to be her friends. But she was difficult to get along with.”
Malice sees Hatter approaching, carrying the black rose plant inside its pot covered with a glass dome. He waves and Malice throws a quick wave back.
The Storyteller glances at Hatter briefly before continuing. “The little girl grew angry at the other little girls for rejecting her, and also she hated the monsters. She used her forces to defeat the monsters, and banished them along with the little girls from Wonderland. A new realm was created, called Wonderland.”
Hatter stands next to Malice. He says, “I got the—”
Malice shushes him.
The Storyteller says, “As the little girl grew, she became lonely. She sought someone to love, but it didn’t end well. Her heart was broken, and so she vowed to destroy and collect as many hearts as possible. That woman, who had been that little girl, became known as the Queen of Hearts.”
“Blimey,” Humpty says.
“Crikey,” Malice says.
Malice says, “You held off revealing her identity till the end, for dramatic effect, didn’t you?”
“Of course. For I am the Storyteller!” He gestures toward the table. “Set it down here, won’t you lad?”
Hatter pouts as he does so. “I missed the story. Could you possibly—”
“I shan’t repeat it. I assure you, you would only forget it by tomorrow. Now, the time has come for the Queen to partake of the black rose...”
CHAPTER SIX
MALICE GAZES AT THE black rose—unlike red roses, the black roses don’t spring from a bush. The black rose sits atop a single thorned stem planted in the dirt.
Black roses are quite rare and difficult to attain. Malice herself had fetched this particular specimen, and it had been quite an ordeal.
The Storyteller says, “I must keep it covered, because inhaling too much of its scent can be quite harmful.”
Malice says, “Of that I am quite aware. I accidentally smelled it when I acquired it and went quite mental.”
“More so than me?” Hatter says.
“Yes, even more than you, love. I would have died if Cinderella hadn’t saved me.”
The Storyteller says, “So you can imagine it’s quite the little bugger to attend to. You may have it. I have no further use for it, and I shall be glad to be rid of it.”
“Thank you,” Malice says. “Do you have any recommendations as to how I should...partake of it to treat my condition?”
The Storyteller frowns in thought. “Well, first of all, never smell it... But as for the dosage. Well that is a bit uncertain, isn’t it? There is no precedent for this sort of thing. But I think if you take just a nibble of a petal once a week, then increase the dosage slightly as necessary... Yes, that’s my recommendation.”
Malice says, “And what if I accidentally take too much?”
“Hmmm,” the Storyteller says. “It may cause a kind of dangerous intoxication.”
“Oh, dear,” Humpty says. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Malice says, “I have to try it. I don’t want to go mental again, and end up snapping your neck or gouging your eyeballs out and juggling them or pulling out your entrails—”
“I get the message,” Humpty says, looking pale. “I just worry about you. I care about you.”
Malice says, “And I care about you too, hon. Which is why I never want to hurt you.”
The Storyteller says, “I must warn you, there will no doubt be side effects to this form of treatment you’ve devised.”
“Oh no,” Humpty mutters under his breath.
Malice says, “What are they, and how can I prevent them?”
“Ah hah! The intriguing factor of this whole ordeal, is that the very qualities of the black rose that shall soothe your malfunctioning heart are the same qualities that shall prove your undoing if you take too much! Oh, how delightfully suspenseful it is to await what shall occur!” He claps his hands like a delighted child.
“Fine,” Malice says, “so the very treatment may be its own sort of poison. But what shall be the effects? You never said...”
The Storyteller chuckles. “Ah, how delightfully poetic you are already, my dear. And you haven’t even been ‘wrapped in its trickley sweet embrace’ yet.”
Morley mutters something under his breath, but when the group looks at him, he merely says, “Sorry.”
So Malice returns her attention to the Storyteller, as she says, “What are you going on about? You sound as if you’re reciting something, yeah?”
“Yes, it’s a poem. ‘The Grim Seduction of the Flower’ or some such. It’s the best source I can recall to reference what happens when, begging your pardon, someone is brave—or foolish—enough to ingest the petals of the black rose.” And he looks at her and leers a grin.
Malice feels the urge to growl at him, but forces herself to smile back. She certainly has a nagging desire for her ticktock heart to fail right now so she’ll have the freedom to pounce upon the Storyteller and beat his face into a bloody pulp. But of course that would be wrong, because that’s why I’m here, after all—to prevent any more murderous outbursts.
Morley, again, mutters something under his breath that Malice can’t quite make out.
“My apologies,” Morley mumbles, while lifting a wing.
The Storyteller tuts at him. “As far as I know, according to that so-called poet—”
Morley makes a grunty, yippy noise. “Apologies.”
The Storyteller turns away from him, before continuing. “As I was saying, according to the so-called poet, when he chewed the petals, he became ‘seduced by the black rose’s silken mouth’ or somesuch nonsense.”
Morley mutters, “Velvety lips—it’s a metaphor where he likened the petals of the flower to soft pillowy lips.”
The Storyteller, ignoring him, says, “He described it as like a deadening of his heart and a filling of his soul with darkness.
The chap quite seemed to enjoy it, and wrote on and on about it in his little word doodles. He said it filled him with the inspiration to write great poems, but his so-called poems were all sappy, overwritten nonsense filled with that dark romanticism my daughter seems so fond of. So, as far as I know, a major side effect of the rose is being mightily pleased with yourself, and feeling utterly confident in writing grand poetry that actually is utter rubbish.” He chuckles.
Morley shouts, “You blaspheme! His name is Algernon Swinburne, and he wasn’t delusional! He is one of the greatest masters of poetry of all time! When he partook of the black rose, it elevated his talent to the greatest heights ever attained!”
The Storyteller rolls his eyes. “Oh?”
“Without question!” Morley shouts, flapping his wings angrily. “And your ignorance of the dark master’s dark verse merely reveals your own incompetency! The poem is ‘The Dark Seduction of the Flower’, not Grim Seduction. And the line is ‘wrapped in its sickly sweet embrace,’ not trickley, as you misquoted.”
The Storyteller says, “I think you must be mistaken. But what does it matter? It’s all twaddle anyway.”
Morley stomps his foot and shouts, “I am not mistaken, and it’s not twaddle!” causing Hatter to let out a little chuckle and say, “Blimey, he really ruffled your feathers, lad.”
The Storyteller waves his hand dismissively. “You don’t know of what you speak. You may have learned one or two lines, but I have studied the entirety of his scrawlings. You merely repeat the man’s prattling words without understanding. Why, you’re like a parrot. I am capable of understanding his words. It’s inane babbling, and delusional. For according to his poems, he not only thought the petals lent him talent, but he thought that he could transfer it to another person by touching their mouth.” He arches his brow.
Morley leans his head back and lets out a screech of outrage. “See? That’s how I know you don’t understand his verse. It’s a kiss. He wrote he could transfer the dark poetry by kissing them on the mouth.”
The Storyteller looks taken aback, but in a mocking way. “Nonetheless, it only proves he was a misguided fool, because only an idiot would believe that’d actually work.”
“I’m not an idiot!” Morley shouts.
Hatter chuckles, says, “Oh, you walked right into that one,” which causes Morley to shoot him a glare.
Malice looks on, feeling hopelessly confused. “Am I meant to kiss someone, then?” she says.
The Storyteller throws her a reassuring look before turning back to Morley. With a crooked little smile, the Storyteller says, “My dear flamingo, I have been leading you on a bit. I wondered, when I saw you here, why you would tag along. But it was quite easy to figure. You aspire to write great poetry, so you seek to leech as much of the borrowed poetical talent as you can. And if you can’t chew its petals directly, well there’s the second-best option isn’t there?”
“Preposterous!” Morley exclaims.
The Storyteller says, “I do admit, partaking of the Black Rose Kiss is much safer than eating the petals directly. I recommend that only Malice should do that, since she needs it as a kind of medicine.”
But Malice finally catches on. “What what?! Was your plan to somehow get me to kiss you after I chewed the petal, to allow you to write better poetry? You told me you wished to support me in my difficult time!”
Morley says, “Well, yes...of course I do... but if you wished to kiss me, what would be the harm? You might enjoy the poems I wrote afterward. The art is the most important consideration...”
Malice shouts, “Why, you little rascal! I should wring your long pink neck! I mean, I’m sorry.” She feels the thoughts from her ticktock heart struggling to regain control. She smiles. “I understand where you’re coming from...” She scowls. “You creep! I never kissed you before. Why would I start now! Why, you’re not even my type!” And she looks at the Mad Hatter’s lips before she catches herself and cringes.
Hatter’s eyebrows rise up, and he touches his lips as if expecting to find a piece of food there.
Malice shifts her gaze away as Morley stomps his foot and exclaims, “But I deserve to be imbued with the dark poetry. More so than you, for it is I who has so valiantly toiled to create divine poetic verse. The rose’s powers are wasted on you—you won’t even appreciate it, and your verse is irredeemably atrocious, besides.”
Malice frowns, now smiles. “I understand your concerns. Poetry is very important to you, though, you could express yourself more politely...” She scowls fiercely, “You prat.” She raises her fist and shakes it.
Hatter says, “My dear, are you okay?”
Humpty says, “It must be her heart. It’s struggling to maintain control.” His brow knits in worry.
“It’s overheating, like.” Hatter says. “She might blow.”
She glares at him, so he lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender and says, “I meant your heart, not your body, love.”
Malice says, “I should like to bludgeon you and the duck right now.”
“I’m not a duck!” Morley squawks.
Malice, still talking to Hatter, says, “You’re just so—” She was about to say “punchable” but a sudden wave of affection comes over her, and she smiles huge at him, and shouts, “Huggable!”
Hatter says, “I say, she’s gone quite mental, she has.” He turns to the Storyteller. “She could crack at any moment. That would be a bother, wouldn’t it? After all, it’s a bit early in the morning to be murdered, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” the Storyteller says, “And I should not like to clean up any blood...or feathers. You must eat from one of the petals immediately...here.” He briefly lifts the glass dome, plucks a petal, hands it to Malice. “Just a nibble...” he says.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“AH, I’LL JUST HAVE a nibble. I’m not very hungry,” Malice jokes. She takes a little bite, sets the rest of the petal beneath the glass dome.
And she chews. It tastes bitter, but since the portion is so small, it’s no problem to handle.
Everyone is staring at her, and she feels herself starting to blush. “Hey, quit staring at me like that! You’re creeping me out!”
They look away and fidget.
Malice now definitely feels something happening inside of her. It’s a slight chilling in her chest combined with a kind of numbness. The cold sensation is much less severe than when her heart stops functioning altogether.
Malice closes her eyes and pays attention to what’s happening within. Her anger subsides, replaced by an eery sort of calm. She feels her emotions settle somewhere in between the cruel fury of heartlessness and the sappy kindness the ticktock heart causes when it’s operating at full force. She is somewhere in the middle.
And yet...
She tilts her head to the side as she ponders.
And yet there is an extra sort of mental feeling—a quality unique to the black rose itself, almost like a comforting cocoon of melancholy.
Humpty says, “What are you feeling?”
Without opening her eyes, Malice replies, “If I had to describe it, I would call it...the sweet embrace of darkness.” She opens her eyes, just in time to see the Storyteller roll his. Morley, meanwhile, is gazing at her as if she is an enchanting painting. Hatter’s brows are furrowed as he watches her, and Humpty’s mouth is hanging open in shock.
Morley says, “My, what darkly poetic phrases you’re using, My Queen.”
Malice quirks her brow saucily at him. “Ah, bird most pink, I know now, I think, the darkness’s sweet embrace, that fills me with poetic grace.”
“Brilliant!” Morley exclaims. He tentatively circles the table, edging closer to her.
Humpty says, “So I take it you no longer want to kill us all?”
The Storyteller mutters, “Though you just may kill us with your horrendous verse.”
Malice crinkles her nose playfully at him. “No, the treatment seems to be working, for now at least.”
�
��Hip hip hooray!” Hatter shouts, startling everyone. He pumps his fist and whoops.
Malice smiles slightly and gives him a slow nod—normally she might have laughed at him, but the rose is altering her behavior, making her more relaxed.
Humpty, however, does laugh, and claps.
Morley stands in front of Malice now, peering at her. He says, “Ha ha, yes. I am so relieved for you, that I should like to just hug and kiss you!”
Malice makes a clucking sound with her mouth. “Ah, you’re so transparent! Now I see why you were so eager to tag along once you learned I was going to munch upon the black rose.”
Morley squirms, and Malice chuckles at him. He says, “I, uh, well. I meant no offense.”
Malice gives him a crooked little grin. “You’re lucky. The fact that the medicine seems to be working pleases me. And so I shall give you your kiss, but make no mistake—you shall chew none of my petals. They’re too precious to give away.”
Morley nods. “As you wish, My Queen.”
“Lean closer, love.” She chuckles at Morley’s timidness, as he shuffles forward. She says, “Ah, why so shy, my dear? After all, we’re not even the same species, so don’t get any funny ideas.”
The Storyteller contributes, “People are known to kiss their pets—dogs and such, you know.”
Hatter says, “I wonder if the Cheshire Cat has ever been kissed. Where is he, anyway?”
Ignoring him, Malice looks into Morley’s eyes and says, “So you shall be my pet for the moment. We shall see if you gain the inspiration of dark poetry. Perhaps you too shall feel this seductive, dark mood. It is rather thrilling in its own strange way.” She leans her head forward. “Oh, I am inspired with the dark poetry right now.
“What I feel is not shallow bliss.
Instead, I feel the soothing abyss,
And share it with you, with this kiss...”
Malice makes almost a purring sound as she closes her eyes, presses her lips to his beak.
They kiss for several seconds.
