Malice in Wonderland Bundle 2

by Lotus Rose

  Now they can see a group of about twenty noisy children running and playing. In the middle of all the chaos is an older, gray-haired woman sitting in a rocking chair. Next to her is a huge woman’s shoe with a buckle across the toe area.

  The Hatter says, “Someone has to say it, so I proclaim that must be the little old lady who lives in that shoe!”

  “Brilliant,” Malice says, in a friendly joking manner.

  “Tally Ho!” the Prince cries.

  Some of the children temporarily halt their scampering to consider them, before immediately resuming running once again.

  As they step up to the old lady, she ceases her rocking and proclaims, “Oh my goodness gracious! More visitors!”

  “You entertained some others?” the Prince asks.

  “Oh, just the one,” she replies. “A young lass named Cinderfella I believe it was.”

  “Cinderella,” the Prince corrects.

  The old lady peers at him. “Oh? Do you know the young miss?”

  “I most certainly do. She is the girl I love. She broke my heart, but I wish to find her and win her heart back again.”

  “Aye, lad. I can relate. Love can be such a vexing beast. The father of all these children claimed he loved me, but he left me, so now, I have so many children, I don’t know what to do.”

  Malice says, “Yes, I can see how they might prove to be a handful.” She briefly looks to see the Hatter crouching and making faces at a giggling child, before continuing. “However, I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s very important that we catch up with Cinderella again soon. Do you happen to know where she was headed?”

  “She didn’t say,” the old lady replies. “Merely said, she knew where to go after I told her the prophesy, but didn’t want to tell me where, which is her right, I suppose.”

  Malice asks, “To which prophesy are you referring? My, there certainly are a lot of them mucking about, aren’t there?”

  “Yes,” the lady agrees. “Many prophesies, ironic tales, princes and an awful lot of princesses. This is Fairy Tale Land after all. But she wanted to know a prophesy about two magically-shoed sisters. And I happen to know a lot about the doings of shoes in Fairy Tale Land—a bit of an expert, you know.” She cocks her head toward the large shoe next to her, as if that explains it.

  Malice and the Prince exchange a look. The Hatter is too busy chasing a giggling kid.

  Malice says to the Prince, “Cinderella was trying to recall some prophesy about her sister, remember?”

  The Prince nods, then turns to the lady. “What was the prophesy, could you tell us?”

  The lady considers. “Well, you should know that she payed me with something to tell it to her. Of course, she wouldn’t rub the lotion on my feet like I first wanted her to.”

  Malice notices that the woman is barefoot—her feet are gnarly, wrinkly, and quite unkempt. Malice debates whether to inquire further upon the lotion, but then decides it might be best to avoid the topic, if she can.

  But the Mad Hatter stops making faces at a child to say to her, “Well why would anyone in their right mind want to touch your feet? Oops, my apologies. At times I say rude things without thinking.”

  “That’s alright, young man. I can tell you’re a bit touched in the head. So I says to Cinderella, could you pay me one of your shoes? She wouldn’t give me one, though. I like shoes.” She cocks her head to the side at the huge shoe, as if that explains everything.

  The Hatter says, “Did you know you’re sitting beside a bloody big shoe?”

  He’s ignored.

  “I have one,” the Prince says, undoing his belt’s little sack. He pulls out the glass slipper which is glowing (from Cinderella’s recent presence, Malice figures.)

  “That’s it! She had two just like ’em. Such beautiful shoes!” She reaches out as if to grab it, but the Prince draws it back.

  “Ah ah ah, this is for my future wife.”

  Malice turns her head in fright from the shriek of a child. She sees the Hatter holding a kid upside down for some reason. The boy starts giggling.

  Malice rolls her eyes.

  The lady says, “I’ll tell you the prophesy you seek if you let me have that wonderful shoe.”

  He looks down at her toes and crinkles his face, before regaining his composure. “I’m sure it wouldn’t fit you.”

  She replies, “Perhaps not, but it is still a thing of beauty I would like to possess. Maybe I’ll have a replica made, to fit my feet once they have been made beautiful by the magic lotion.”

  Malice says, “This magical lotion of yours causes feet to be beautiful?”

  “It will make mine radiantly beautiful. It’s that way I intend to win back the heart of my beloved Reginald.”

  “Papa!” cries one of the children upon hearing the name.

  The lady answers the unspoken question. “Yes, he is the father of all these brats, but he left me because he has a foot fetish and he said I had ugly feet. So won’t you help a pitiful old lady out? What do you say? The shoe for the prophesy?”

  “No deal,” the Prince says. “For I must slip this slipper upon my beloved’s feet and return it to her. It is my destiny.”

  “Uh? You have a prophesy about you as well?”

  “No, well, not that I know of. I just feel it in my heart.”

  “Well then I hope that’s how your story turns out, young man.”

  Malice chimes in, “So what did Cinderella pay you, then?”

  “She gave me this black rose.” She points at a pocket cut into her dress. “Said she didn’t mind giving it to me, because my story was boring and should be changed anyway.”

  Malice gasps. “What? How is that possible? How did it get from outside, to in here! Why, I don’t believe it! Surely she tricked you! Perhaps it’s really a red rose and you’re colorblind!”

  “Young lady,” she snaps. “You’re being rather presumptuous. I may be old, but I can tell the color black! Here, take a look see.” She pulls out a black rose, that looks, as far as Malice can tell, like the one she’d taken from the column of rock.

  Malice shrieks and points. “It’ll twist you! I mean—”

  The lady gives her a quizzical look. “Of course, haven’t had a chance to smell it yet.” She presses it to her nose and inhales deeply.

  “No!” Malice shouts. “Don’t smell that!”

  The lady holds the flower out to the Prince and says, “Here…”

  He leans forward and inhales.

  “Stop!” Malice shouts. She runs and shoves the Prince, causing him to stumble to regain his balance. She slaps the lady’s hand, knocking the flower to the ground and causing her to let out a shriek.

  The noises of the children has ceased, as they all stop to watch.

  “Malice! What’s gotten into you?!” the Prince shouts.

  Malice points at it on the ground. “The magic of the Black Rose is what we’re trying to stop. It’ll twist all the fairy tales, turn them into dark, creepy versions!”

  A wide grin on the old lady’s face. “But what makes you think we don’t want that? For what do you know—you’re but a child.”

  The Prince is staring at his hands. “The rose is enchanted?…I feel…strange.”

  “Oh no!” Alice exclaims. She looks for the Hatter for support but sees that he is frozen in an open mouthed expression of shock, off to her side. To the Prince, she shouts, “You must fight its influence. Don’t let it twist you!” She whirls on the lady, feeling hatred, but still wishing to be polite, due to the programming of her ticktock heart. “And you! You poor misguided soul! We’re here to help you! Cinderella wants to twist all the fairy tales, but we can’t allow that! It’s wicked and evil. So please, tell us the prophesy, so we can figure out where she’s going.” She puts her hands together in a pleading gesturing and as she’s shaking her hands back and forth, she spies a discrepancy in one of the kids.

  Just a moment ago, she could have sworn that little boy behind and to the left of the la
dy was a regular 7 year old, but now he seems the size of a 12 year old.

  As Malice stares at him more, her eyes widen as she realizes he is growing larger before her very eyes! “That boy is enlarging!” she says and points.

  It soon becomes obvious, though, that he’s not the only one—all the children are growing larger.

  The Hatter looks around, grabs his hat, and proclaims, “They shall experience growing pains, by Jove!”

  The old lady looks around at all the rapidly growing children. “Oh, look at the scamps. They’re changing to accommodate my new story!”

  “My story is changing as well!” the Prince calls out, looking aghast.

  Malice politely acknowledges his distress, before turning her attention back to the old lady. “What do you mean?”

  “It means that no longer did my children come from a human-sized man. My new story is this:” (And as she talks, the children around her keep growing.) “I fell in love with a giant and those are all our children, which is why they’re so big.”

  And then, as if on cue, one of the lumbering tykes accidentally nudges against Malice, sending her sprawling and toppling over into the ground. She gets up in irritation, as the child says, “I’m real sorry, miss.” The child holds out his hand to her—the child is two inches taller than Malice—he yanks her up and sends her flying through the air to land sprawling on her chest.

  She lets out a scream, then tries to regain the wind knocked out of her.

  “I’m real sorry again, miss,” the child says, taking steps toward Malice again.

  But the Hatter says, “I say, scamp. Perhaps it’d be best if you stop helping, and scram.”

  And meanwhile Malice lies upon the ground with various murderous thoughts running through her head, and the coldness spreading through her chest.

  Ah, she thinks to herself, so all the jostling has shut my heart off once more. Well, so be it, for it was a burden anyway.

  The Hatter graciously helps Malice up.

  Her heart still hasn’t resumed ticking.

  The lady says, “I apologize on my clumsy child’s behalf. As I was saying, they’re all so large, since they’re half giant. But their father eventually left me. He was a foot fetishist and since he was a giant, he wanted a wife with giant-sized feet. He sought a new wife and made a magic shoe.” She nudges her head toward it. “He said that whatever woman may fit her foot in the shoe was to be his wife. It’s similar to your story, right, Prince?”

  The Prince looks taken aback, as if he wasn’t expecting to be spoken to. “Well, it used to be—my story has twisted now. It’s not quite the same. But I still wish to place the shoe upon her foot, as her reward for how she treated me. Oh, this I vow.” He goes back to brooding.

  The lady merely nods at him, as if she understands. “My story has changed as well. Previously, the giant shoe was merely a symbolic gesture of my love for shoes. In any case, long story short, I have the shoe now, and have devised the means that my foot will fit in it. I admit I have dabbled in dark sorcery to develop a foot lotion that shall grow my feet to the exact perfect size to fit the shoe, and then the giant shall be bound by his spell to love me once again. Oh, my fairy tale shall have its happily ever after, mark my words!”

  Malice looks around to see all the children have stopped growing. They look like children still, only three times as big and tall as before. Now she looks at the shoe. It is eight feet long. “Wouldn’t your feet be rather…disproportionate if they were to fit that shoe?”

  The old lady says, “Quite. I told you I am no master witch. Just an old lady with a shoe I must fit into.”

  The Hatter giggles. “Have you heard of the creature in the Americas known as bigfoot? Perhaps you might catch his fancy.”

  The lady sighs. “No, I want my giant. He may be a lumbering oaf, but I’m a fool for him.”

  “We are all fools for love!” the Prince laments.

  Meanwhile, the children, finished with their growth spurts, have begun scampering again. Their footfalls sound much heavier than before, more thudding.

  The lady says, “So now that you know my new tale, you understand why I wish to have the magic lotion rubbed upon my feet.”

  The Prince mutters, “Your feet are not our concern. I wish to track down Cinderella and slip the glass slipper on her foot that she is owed. I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to catch up with her.”

  The old lady’s eyes widen at his audacity, but now she’s smirking. “Well, my crass lad, you’ll be needing to hear the shoe prophesy, won’t ye then?”

  “Yes, so we can figure where that woman went upon hearing it.”

  “Cinderella gave me the rose. What will you give me? Will you rub the magic lotion upon my feet?”

  Malice finally gets a little fed up. “Why don’t you do it yourself, you old crone?” I hope my heart doesn’t start ticking again anytime soon. I quite enjoy being rude. It’s so liberating.

  The lady makes an irritated face. “Well, young lady, I am too old and arthritic to do it myself. And all my disobedient children won’t do it, because they dislike the discipline of their father, so they don’t want him around. He’s not cruel to them, mind you, but he keeps them well-behaved, which they oppose.”

  Malice says, “Let me consider rubbing the lotion on. I’m not sure I want to touch your ugly feet.”

  While Malice is pondering, the Prince says, “I’ll give you my dagger.”

  “That would be the death of me. One of my rascal children would steal it away from me and stab me when I try to scold them, I’m sure.”

  Meanwhile, Malice is pondering, thinking it would be gross to touch her feet, but it would be uproariously funny to see her feet grow so very huge compared to her body. How delightfully humiliating, how ridiculously mortifying it would be! She would love to see such a hilarious sight! A grin comes across her face just thinking about it.

  “I’ll offer you my slingshot. It is a magical relic. Legendary, it is, with many prophesies of its own.” He brings out the gold-plated and jewel-encrusted weapon.

  A sudden change of demeanor comes over the lady. “I know of that slingshot. I know one of its prophesies, too!”

  “Sure are a lot of prophesies floating around this place,” Malice mutters, but is ignored.

  The old lady says, “Trust me, you don’t want to be parting with that, if you wish to meet that Cinderella lass you’re pining for.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No, lad, because of the slingshot prophesy. I’ll tell you what it is—”

  “How much will that cost?” Malice asks with a smirk.

  “This one’s free. Because I’d like to help out two lovers.”

  “We’re not lovers anymore,” the Prince corrects.

  The lady says, “Well hopefully you shall be again, because the relevant part of the prophesy is this: In the time when the prince reunites with his glass-slippered princess, after she first breaks his heart, the use of that slingshot shall bring her flying back into his arms.”

  The Prince scowls. “Not sure I want that.”

  “Oh, quit being such a sourpuss,” the lady says. “But I understand. She broke your heart. But she’s only done so once, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it fits the prophesy. So I shan’t accept it, then.”

  The Prince looks flustered. “Well, I don’t know what else I can offer you. Malice, do you have anything that might make a good trade?”

  Malice makes a show of rubbing her chin in an exaggerated manner. “Even if I did, I would very much like to see her feet grow to comical proportions.” She laughs to herself.

  The Hatter says, “I don’t think that would be very pleasant for her.”

  “I must agree,” the Prince says, now addressing the lady, “Madame, how would you be able to move about with such huge-sized feet and such an unchanged-sized body?”

  “Very awkwardly, I should think!” Malice starts cackling. She can’t help it. Thinking of the o
ld shrew’s suffering fills her with such mirth.

  “Malice!” the Prince says. “This is no laughing matter.”

  Between titters, Malice says, “It most certainly is, because look…” She points at her mouth and lets the laughter tumble out.

  The Hatter mutters, “Oh dear, what happened to my dear, sweet Malice?”

  “To answer your question,” the lady says, “I trust that my fairy tale shall sort itself out, and I shall experience a happy ending.”

  Or an unhappy one, since fairy tales so often end with ironic endings instead.

  She doesn’t speak these thoughts out loud, though. Instead, she mocks, “So there. It’s all sorted then!”

  “How can you be so callous?” the Prince says, shaking his head.

  While the Hatter moans, “Yes, what’s happening to you, my dear Malice?”

  “The heart of the matter is that my heart’s shut off, so I feel no kindness toward this crone whatsoever. I’ve grown bored of this episode, so I’ll rub her crooked toes, and so let’s get on with the matter!”

  The Hatter looks aghast. “Oh no! My dear Queen’s heart is malfunctioning.”

  Malice sneers. “It’s not malfunctioning. What it’s not doing is getting in the way for a change. Now crinkle your toes and point me to the magic lotion, old crone, because you’re about to get a rub down.”

  “Please,” the Prince says. “I’m asking you not to do this. We shouldn’t do something that we know is going to be bad for her.”

  Malice makes a raspberry sound. “But you heard her, it shall all end up peachy, right, crone?”

  “Righty.” Big grin and many revealed wrinkles as a result.

  “Oh dear oh dear,” mutters the Hatter. “He’s right. Participating in it is the same as harming her on purpose.”

  “Rubbish!” Malice shouts. “Stop with all the fake moral dilemma. Oooh, you can’t participate if you know what’s gonna happen?! Spare me your ‘concerned’ routine.” She glares at the Prince. “What do you propose? Are you gonna offer her something else? Because I think you ran out of things, didn’t you? So are you suggesting we just walk away, and not hear the prophesy?”

  The Prince opens his mouth but no words come out.