Page 18 of Knot My Wonderland: Part Two
"You're becoming what you were always meant to be," the Queen said, rising from her seat to circle behind me. Her fingers brushed my shoulders, sending shivers of revulsion through me despite the unnatural heat coursing through my veins. "My daughter in more than just title."
"No," I whispered, the word barely audible even to my own ears.
The Queen's laughter was soft, almost maternal. "Your protests grow weaker with each passing hour. Soon they'll fade entirely, like echoes in an empty room." Her fingers traced the collar at my throat, sending waves of numbing cold through my consciousness. "The crimson lines spreading beneath your skin—those are the beginnings of blood magic integration. Your body is learning to channel my power instead of that crude pattern you've been clinging to."
I tried to focus on Heart's presence through our bond, but it felt increasingly distant, muffled by layers of magical interference. The golden thread that had once burned bright in my chest now flickered like a dying star, overwhelmed by the crimson corruption spreading through my system.
Through the crimson haze, I fought to remember Aldric's words about memory being my anchor. I closed my eyes and reached for the moment I'd first felt the pattern respond—not the power, but the choice. The instant I'd decided to trust Heart despite every instinct screaming danger. The way Chi had looked at me with genuine concern, not calculation. These memories felt solid even as everything else dissolved into red-tinged fog.
"Fighting again?" The Queen's voice carried amusement as she resumed her seat. "How exhausting it must be, clinging to connections that grow weaker by the hour."
I opened my eyes, forcing myself to meet her gaze despite the way the room swayed around me. "They're not... connections. They're choices. I choose them."
Something flickered across her perfect features—surprise, perhaps, or irritation. "Choice," she repeated, as if the word itself were offensive. "Such a limited perspective. What is choice but the illusion of control? In the end, we all submit to something greater—power, necessity, fate."
She lifted her goblet again, watching me over the rim with calculating eyes. The ruby liquid caught the firelight, pulsing with a rhythm that matched the collar around my throat.
"Your Heart and your Cheshire will arrive soon," she continued, her voice deceptively gentle. "And they will find a trap centuries in the making. Guards positioned at everyentrance. Blood magic wards keyed specifically to their magical signatures.”
She leaned forward, her ruby eyes capturing mine with hypnotic intensity. "The pattern you carry was never truly yours. It was merely... waiting. Seeking its rightful vessel." Her perfect lips curved into a smile that made my blood run cold. "Me."
The second dose of tonic burned through my system, each pulse sending waves of disorientation deeper into my consciousness. The dining hall seemed to stretch and contract around us, reality itself bending to the Queen's will. Through the crimson fog, I felt Heart's presence grow stronger—not just closer, but more focused, as if he'd somehow found a way to strengthen our bond despite the Queen's interference.
The realization that he was fighting back against whatever was weakening our connection gave me a spark of defiance. I straightened in my chair, drawing on that distant warmth even as the crimson corruption spread beneath my skin.
"You're wrong," I said, my voice gaining strength despite the tonic's effects. "The pattern didn't choose me as a placeholder. It chose me because I understand what you never will."
The Queen's perfect composure cracked slightly, irritation flashing in her ruby eyes. "And what is that, dear child?"
"That love isn't possession." The words came easier now, fueled by the growing pulse of Heart's determination through our bond. "You lost your daughter, and instead of honoring her memory, you're trying to replace her. But love doesn't work that way."
The Queen's goblet shattered in her grip, ruby liquid and crystal fragments scattering across the table like splattered blood. The temperature in the room plummeted, chandeliers of living flame dimming as her rage manifested in waves of frigid power.
"You know nothing of love," she hissed, her perfect façade cracking to reveal something ancient and terrible beneath. "Nothing of sacrifice. I watched my daughter waste away day by day, helpless to save her while Wonderland itself turned its back on us."
She rose from her chair in a single fluid motion, her gown billowing around her like a storm cloud. The crimson threading in my dress responded to her fury, tightening against my skin until breathing became difficult.
"You speak of choice?" she continued, circling the table with predatory grace. "I chose to save Wonderland even after it betrayed me. I chose to reshape reality rather than surrender to grief. And now—" her hand shot out, gripping my chin making me look her in the eyes to see the look of bloodthirsty and a spark of haywire emotions.
“Your daughter wouldn't want this," I interrupted her, knowing this could be a bad decision, “Rosalind wouldn’t…”
"DO NOT SPEAK HER NAME!" The Queen's voice cracked through the chamber like a whip, the chandeliers flaring crimson as her rage manifested in waves of magical energy. The collar at my throat tightened painfully, responding to her fury. "You have no right to her memory. No right!"
Her fingers dug into my jaw with bruising force. Through the crimson haze clouding my vision, I saw something I hadn't expected—tears. Actual tears glistening in those ruby eyes, though they evaporated before falling, turned to steam by the heat of her rage.
"My Rosalind was everything you are not," she continued, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Obedient. Dutiful. She understood the responsibilities of royalty."
"Is that why you're trying to replace her?" I managed, despite the collar's constriction. "With someone who'll never question your choices? Never challenge your methods?"
The Queen's grip tightened, her nails drawing thin lines of blood along my jawline. The crimson threading in my dress pulsed brighter, feeding on the spilled blood like a living thing.
"Rosalind questioned nothing because she trusted me," the Queen snarled. "As a daughter should. As you will learn to do once the cleansing is complete." Through our weakening bond, I felt Heart's presence surge with protective fury—he could sense my pain, my fear, even through the magical interference. The golden thread connecting us flickered but held, strengthened by his determination to reach me.
"She trusted you," I gasped, "but would she love what you became after she died?"
The Queen's hand flew back as if to strike me, then froze midair. For a moment, something human flickered across her perfect features—grief so profound it seemed to age her centuries in an instant. Her hand trembled in the air between us, caught between violence and something that might have been recognition.
"She would understand," the Queen whispered, but her voice lacked conviction. "She would see that everything I've done was to honor her memory."
