Knot My Wonderland (Fairytale Omegaverse #1)

1. Prologue

Prologue

Alice

T hey always told me Wonderland was just a dream. Something my mind had made up—a place stitched together from fairy tales and fevered imagination. A land no sane person should believe in, much less mourn.

I believed them. For a long time, I believed them.

I buried it deep, packed it away like a childhood toy I'd outgrown.

Because if I didn't, I'd start to wonder if I'd lost my mind.

I'd start to remember the colors too bright to exist, the laughter that echoed without a source, the feeling of something watching me from just beyond the trees—something ancient and patient.

It was easier to pretend none of it was real.

Easier to grow up. Easier to forget.

Until today.

Until the ground crumbled under my feet. The cliff's edge had been slick with rain and moss, hidden beneath a blanket of fallen leaves. One second I was walking, humming to myself, the next—My boot slipped.

The world spun. Gravity seized me with cruel, sudden hands.

I didn't even have time to scream before the earth swallowed me whole.

The fall should have killed me. It should have left me broken at the bottom of some ravine, another stupid hiker who wandered too far off-trail.

Instead, I landed with a jarring thud against ground that felt almost…

soft. Like falling into the belly of a living thing.

I lay there for a long moment, stunned, breathing hard.

My fingers dug into the dirt—cool and damp and somehow humming beneath my touch, like a heartbeat.

Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up to my knees.And froze.

The sky above me was wrong. An endless, swirling tapestry of blues so deep they bled into violet, stitched with silver stars that pulsed like breathing things.

The trees around me stretched impossibly high, their bark a luminous white, their leaves shimmering in the half-light like shards of broken mirrors.

The air smelled heavy and wild—wet grass, crushed petals, something darker underneath that made the hair on the back of my neck rise.

"No," I whispered, voice hoarse. "No, no, no." But the forest answered. The ground beneath my palms throbbed once, almost gently. The trees sighed, their branches creaking like old bones.

It was real. It had always been real.

Wonderland.

I staggered to my feet, heart hammering against my ribs hard enough to bruise.Panic clawed at me. I turned in a slow, useless circle, searching for any sign of the trail I'd been hiking—anything familiar, anything safe. There was nothing but forest. Deeper, darker, hungrier than I remembered.

As a child, I'd wandered this place in dreamlike wonder, chasing strange beasts and giggling at riddles whispered from unseen mouths.

But now... now the forest watched me with eyes I couldn't see.

And something deep inside me—something buried for so long it barely had a name—stirred.

The air pressed against my skin like hands, tasting me. Judging. Claiming.

I gasped as heat flared low in my belly, sudden and primal. My senses sharpened painfully—the scent of the forest blooming into layers I couldn't separate, the rasp of my own breathing too loud in my ears. A flicker of shadow at the edge of my vision. Then another, darting between the trees.

Not animals. Not quite. The brush of instincts whispered at the base of my skull: Not alone. Not safe.

I backed up until my spine hit the rough bark of a tree. My breath sawed in and out of my lungs in sharp, shallow bursts. A figure stepped into the clearing. I barely recognized him at first.

The tall man wore a battered top hat slung low over a mess of dark, curling hair that had wisps of grey. His coat was worn at the edges, patched and frayed, a riot of colors that seemed to shift when I looked directly at them. In one gloved hand he leaned heavily on a gnarled walking stick.

But it was his face that made the ground tilt beneath me. Sharp bones. Wild green eyes that glittered like broken glass. A smile just this side of madness.

The Hatter.

He stared at me like he was seeing a ghost. His lips parted in a silent breath. For a long, stretched moment, neither of us moved. Then he whispered, voice breaking on the words, "Little Alice. My Alice."

Tears pricked hot behind my eyes. No one had called me that in so long—not since before I'd convinced myself I’d dreamed it all.

"I..." My throat closed around the words. I shook my head helplessly. "I don’t understand."

"You’re home," he said, stepping closer. His voice was rougher now, raw with something like awe. "Wonderland never forgets its Dreamers."

He paused as he moved closer taking a deep breath, “Though, I never thought you would be an Omega.” The forest around us seemed to shudder in agreement.

I opened my mouth—to ask how, why, anything—but a sharp crack in the distance snapped my head around. The Hatter moved instantly, faster than seemed possible, positioning himself between me and the sound. His hand slid inside his coat and emerged with a glint of steel—a long, wicked-looking knife.

"Not safe here," the Hatter murmured. "Lets get you somewhere safe."

My pulse thundered in my ears. "What's happening?" A chill rippled down my spine. The heavy, humming air. The eyes in the trees. The ache low in my belly as my inner Omega seemed to whine.

"You've presented, " he said grimly. "And they can smell you. Every Alpha, every Beta, every creature here will have felt and now can smell your arrival. Though they don’t know who it is. They know a new Omega is in Wonderland.”

The Hatter didn’t wait for me to catch my breath. The second the strangers’ footsteps faded into the trees, he tugged me from the hollow of the old oak and pressed something rough and scratchy into my hands—a patchwork cloak that smelled faintly of woodsmoke and wild mint.

"Keep it on. Hide your scent," he ordered, voice tight, then he started walking forward eyes glancing at me, his grip still strong around my arm, “And let’s quickly move.”

I stumbled after him, boots sliding on the mossy earth as he went down a narrow, hidden path.

Branches clawed at my hair. Thorny vines tried to snag the cloak, but the Hatter cut them down with sharp, precise sweeps of his cane.

He didn't slow. Didn't look back. The forest behind us stirred and seethed, shadows creeping closer.

I could feel them, a pressure building between my shoulder blades—watching, smelling, wanting.

But every time we rounded a corner, the sensation weakened, like they couldn’t—or wouldn't—follow too far.

Finally, after what felt like an endless, panicked eternity, the trees broke open.

We emerged into a clearing lit by a thousand flickering lamps strung between the branches like captive stars.

In the center of it all stood a house—if you could call it that.

It looked as if someone had stacked a dozen different cottages atop each other, each one tipping at odd angles, held together by thick ropes of ivy and stubborn magic.

The walls leaned in and out, windows of every shape and size blinking in the half-light.

Smoke curled lazily from a chimney that seemed to sway with the breeze.

Wind chimes made from bent forks and shattered teacups sang softly in the night.

It was beautiful. And mad. And somehow heartbreakingly familiar.The Hatter pulled me across the threshold and slammed the heavy wooden door behind us.

Instantly, the oppressive hunger from the forest fell away, like a weight dropping from my shoulders.

The house thrummed around me, a slow, steady pulse under the floorboards.

Safe.

I sagged against the nearest wall, gasping for air.

The Hatter leaned his cane against the door and when he turned to face me, the change in him was startling.

Gone was the wild, grinning man who had dragged me through the woods.

Here, inside these walls, he was steady.

Sharp. Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with madness and everything to do with power.

"You’re safe," he said simply. "They won’t cross into my home. They know better." I shivered, thinking of the way the shadows had prowled at the tree line but never dared to follow.

"You... they’re afraid of you," I said, voice hoarse.

The Hatter’s smile was razor-sharp. "Afraid? Perhaps. Respectful? Certainly. Wonderland might think me eccentric, but they haven't forgotten I’m an Alpha—and not one to cross lightly."

He tapped his cane against the floor for emphasis, and the house seemed to hum in agreement. I sank onto a crooked sofa patched with bright, threadbare fabrics. My hands were still trembling, my mind spinning in useless, dizzy circles.

None of this made sense.

I looked up at him, heart hammering in my chest. "I don't understand," I whispered.

"How am I here again? I thought—" I cut myself off, throat tightening.

I had thought it was a dream. A beautiful, wild, impossible dream.

The Hatter's eyes softened. He crouched in front of me, the candlelight catching on the silver threads in his hair.

"All Dreamers find their way to Wonderland once," he said gently. "When they’re young. When their hearts are still wild and open and full of wonder."

His smile turned sad. "Most grow up. Forget. Trade their dreams for sensible shoes and ledgers and the steady, slow death of curiosity." I swallowed hard. I remembered the ache in my chest the day I’d first convinced myself Wonderland had been a childish fantasy. I’d felt the door close inside me.

"But you came back," he said, his voice a low, fierce thing. "And that changes everything."

I shook my head. "But why? Why is it different just because I came back?" The Hatter’s eyes glittered, and for a moment I glimpsed something ancient lurking behind them.Something tired.

"Dreamers who return," he said softly, "belong to Wonderland.

You can't slip back into your world now, Alice.

The thread is too tight. Wonderland knows you.

You breathe its air. You touch its soil.

And Wonderland does not let its Dreamers go a second time.

" The words settled into my bones with the slow, inevitable weight of a falling stone.

"And presenting?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Why does it matter so much here? Omegas are normal back home. Not... not hunted. " The Hatter let out a rough sound, somewhere between a laugh and a growl. He pushed up from his crouch and began pacing again.

"In your world, Omegas are rare but understood. Protected, even. Here..." He gestured to the house, the forest, the stars burning too brightly overhead. "Here, they’re almost myth. A true Omega hasn’t presented in Wonderland for decades. Maybe longer."

He stopped pacing and turned to face me, his green eyes burning. "You have no idea what you are to them," he said. "You are scent and promise and madness stitched into flesh. You are a prize every Alpha in Wonderland would risk teeth and blood to claim."

I recoiled slightly, curling my fingers into the fabric of the sofa. "I don’t want to be a prize," I whispered. His expression softened. He crouched again, closer this time, until our knees almost touched.

"You are not a prize to me, little Dreamer," he said. "You are a promise. A reminder that Wonderland still breathes. Still dreams."

He hesitated—then, very carefully, reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. It was the lightest touch, barely there. But it anchored me more than anything else had since I fell through the earth.

I closed my eyes against the sudden sting of tears.

I was trapped here. Trapped in a place that wanted me, needed me, in ways I didn’t yet understand.

And yet... a treacherous part of me whispered that maybe I had always belonged here.

Maybe that was why the world outside had never felt quite right.

"Rest now," the Hatter murmured, his voice soft as moth wings. "You’re safe—for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll find a way to keep you safe for longer."

I nodded numbly, letting him guide me deeper into the house, past rooms full of ticking clocks, whispering books, and flowers that turned their heads to watch me pass. And for the first time in what felt like years, despite everything, I slept.