#mel1rose's book of tales

[mel1rose]

Prologue

As flame reduces even the stars to ash, as ice seals away even time itself, as great trees swallow even the sky...

Fear not the power of darkness.

And so, we start where it all began. Come, let me show you a real happily ever after...

~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~

Word Count: 1.7k

Inspo Music: Toccata & Fugue in d minor - comp. Bach, arr. Stokowski; Thinking Time - TWST Soundtrack (aka post-overblot flashback theme part 1); Beauty and the Beast Prologue Instrumental (1991) - comp. Menken

Warnings: Gender-neutral reader, hello darkness my old friend, existential questions, spooky ambience, and the slightest hint of blood if you squint, but nothing recent.

~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~

Darkness is the only thing you know.

You can’t move, for the shadows envelop you in their embrace. You can’t hear, for the eerie silence snuffs all sound. You can’t see, for the void is all that exists.

Well, the void, and apparently you, are all that exists.

…That can’t be right.

Wasn’t there supposed to be something happening? Something important?

You wrack your brain for something, anything, that could illuminate your reason for being here. You try to remember what happened. Nothing. You try to remember how you got here. Nothing. You try to dig deeper, to the first memory you have, any memory, really, to tell you who you are. All you know is you and the void.

But one thought, strong and clear, crosses your mind.

Find them.

…Find who?

Find them, the thought insists.

Why? You ask. Why do I need to find them?

Find them, the thought insists again.

But somehow it feels right. It feels like what you’re supposed to do. But…how? You’re trapped in a never-ending, cold, dark void…

…Not for much longer.

You feel something start to grow in your heart. You look down and see light for the first time. It’s small, unassuming against the ever-expansive darkness.

But it’s there. It’s shining. It’s…warm. Your warm light.

Little by little, it expands to the rest of your body, chasing away the cold from your chest, your shoulders, your torso, your limbs, your neck, all the way to the top of your head and the tips of your fingers and toes.

This is not where you’ll stay, not if you have anything to say about it.

You stretch out your hand, finally able to move, focusing all your being on finding a way out. Your hand starts to glow, growing brighter and brighter until it bursts and fractures into a million stars. They swirl around you in a beautiful dance of light and color that almost look like…strings. In fact, the longer you look, the more shapes start to take definite form. You swear you can hear a firm, yet gentle melody pierce the silence with its rising and falling tones. The lights finish their dance in a grand flourish, coming together in a flash and a shower of sparkles to reveal a door.

You step forward and open it.

~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~

You find yourself standing in a garden. The sun is shining, the air is clear, and the scent of roses hangs on the breeze. You feel soft grass cushioning your bare feet. You hear the leaves rustling in the swaying trees and birds chirping as they fly overhead. Vine-covered walls line the border on one side while towering hedges line the other.

It’s warm, you notice. So warm.

Find them, you hear the breeze whisper.

There it is again. No time to rest, you suppose.

Guided by the breeze, you walk through the garden, stepping onto a path of mossy stones, passing beds of tulips, daisies, and dandelions. A few rose bushes guard the exit, framing a well-traveled walkway that becomes more overgrown and unkept the farther you travel away from the garden.

You don’t have to walk very far to see where the breeze wants you to go. Past a towering tree, its trunk thick and strong, you notice that the same stone wall from the garden stretches out along the path. It ends at a rounded stone archway that opens into a dark, interior hallway; the closer you are to it, the more you notice the cracks that line the archway’s surface and the increasing lack of sunlight shining down on you.

Find them, you hear the breeze whisper in a chorus of voices.

Against your better judgement, you cross the threshold into the hallway, following where the breeze takes you. Dust clouds hang in the air. Cobwebs decorate any surface or corner they can stick to. What were once grand carpets, drapes, tapestries, and tables now bear the scars of ravenous colonies of moths and termites.

Find them, the whispers on the breeze say. But the breeze doesn’t feel inviting anymore.

It feels cold. So…cold…

As wind whips past you, you rub your arms together, trying to salvage whatever warmth you had left from the garden. You look up to see the raggedy crimson drapes sway one after the other down the hallway until an old wooden door at its end slowly creeeaaaaks open.

Find them, the whispers say. You feel the return of the wind, now buffeting you from behind towards the open door and into the dark room beyond.

It’s too far for the sun’s rays to reach you here. But as you step forward, small square braziers by your feet activate with a puff of smoke one after the other until the entire room is lit by soft, blue flames.

You’ve entered a room lined with cracked columns. Frayed navy blue strips of patchy velvet limply decorate the walls, some parts stained a dull yellow. Eight pedestals stand in the middle of the room, forming a walkway towards an elevated platform accessible by worn marble stairs but covered by those same navy blue drapes like curtains on a stage. Curious, you take a closer look at the pedestals and their display of a…varied assortment of objects.

A broken crown, wilting like a dead flower despite being made of a sturdy metal. Obviously, it wasn’t sturdy enough to handle the pressure.

A curved claw, adorned with a large chasm that threatens to split it in two. Parts of it are discolored with patches of dark yellow and reddish brown. Something bad must’ve happened to the poor creature that this belonged to for the claw of all things to retain damage.

A seashell necklace, worn with holes covering its cracked surface. Its faded golden luster and threadbare black chord testify of numerous uses. Interesting choice for a display that’s nowhere near the sea.

A red gem, dulled from countless scratches. It’s still attached to a torn scrap of black fabric and the frayed remnants of a feather. Maybe with a little bit of polish it’ll look good as new?

A dagger, its blade covered with rust and threatening to fall off. Gem-shaped indents in the hilt are little more than forgotten craters in the metalwork. Pity. That could’ve been useful if things go south.

A skull-shaped brooch, the pin on the back bent at an odd angle and hanging loosely from the spring that once kept it in place. Oh come on! That could’ve been perfect for…something.

A sharp needle about a foot long, miraculously spotless and kept in good condition compared to the other objects. But upon closer inspection, there’s some slight discoloration at the bottom and a single track of a reddish brown substance that spans from the tip to most of the way down its length. This feels…oddly…familiar…maybe from a dream?

An antique gold key, its bow bearing a simple design of a raven’s skull. A strip of black-and-white striped fabric tied around the shaft droops downward as a lifeless little bow. What does it unlock?

You analyze the objects one by one, taking in all of their details and imperfections. Only one catches your eye. You return to it, inexplicably drawn to the artifact like a moth to a flame. You reach out to touch it.

Find them, the whispers say, urging you on.

But before you can make contact, you feel the wind return once again, this time flapping the drapes covering the platform until you hear fabric tearing from the force. By the time you run up to stabilize them, the frayed drapes fully separate from their base and fall to the ground, taking you with them in a puff of dust, debris, and a sneeze or two.

From your vantage point on the ground, you notice two things. One - the aged drapes are not stained. In actuality, they bear a faded yellow pattern of stars and crescent moons. Two - those drapes were covering a rather large, rather clean, rather expensive-looking oval mirror.

Golden snakes twisting around themselves form the frame, accented by a few shining rubies. At the top sits a crown of feathers, molded from the same metal that houses the mirror itself. You expect to see your reflection as you stand up, but you see nothing except an empty void.

Well, you see nothing except an empty void and a shadowy figure walking towards you.

It stops at what would be just in front of the mirror. All you can make out are long, flowing, black robes, making it appear as if it were a being risen from the shadows themselves. It holds out its bare, clawed hand towards you in a silent invitation.

Find them, the whispers in your heart say, stronger than ever.

You hesitate for a moment. You look down at your hand. You look back at the mirror. You reach forward, expecting to hit glass, but your hand passes right through the rippling surface. You take the figure’s steady hand.

As you step through the mirror, you glance all around you and see not one, not two, but seven lights, all coming from their own mirrors, all following the shadow holding your hand. Each light glows a different color at a different brightness, even compared to your own, but all chase away the feeling of dread that briefly settled in your heart at seeing the void again. You realize that you’re not alone anymore. You look back towards the figure again, each step more confident than the last.

The figure stops, turning around to face you and the gathering of lights. The same flowing robes that obscure the shadow’s body shroud its face. You hear a voice speak in your mind, sophisticated yet slightly grating, distorted somewhat by the whispers that echo its words.

To me. To them. To yourself.

The hour grows long, and time is scarce.

Keep steady your grip, no matter what may come…

And as you fall back into the darkness’ cold, soft embrace once more, a revelation crosses your mind.

You…are you, right?

No. You are…you…but…not…at the same time.

You are @$#%*&$%&^.

You are…Yuu.

And you’re about to become the meal of a large gray chimera with blue flames shooting out of its ears.

Welcome to the Villains’ world, Yuu@$#%*&$%&^

~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~*^*~

A/N: It's finally done!!! I'm so happy to share this with everyone and to actually put an idea down on paper that I've had for a long time now. I've got more stories to share, so stay tuned!

I do not own Twisted Wonderland or any of its characters; those rights belong to Yana Toboso, Aniplex, and Disney.

I do own any stories that I write. Please do not modify or repost my work.