Chapter 1 #2
And atop his head was a crown made of rubies and black onyx.
She was dressed in something that she could guess was probably supposed to be “Kingly” but dressed considerably down from what Vile was wearing as the Queen of Hearts.
She even had a little dinky crown on her own head.
She had fussed about it at first, but realized that saying no was probably going to get her into a lot of trouble.
“Well?” Vile prompted.
Taking a moment to think, she did her best to recite it.
“Rub-a-dub-dub,
Three men in a tub,
And who do you think they be?
The Butcher, the Baker,
The Candlestick Maker,
Turn them out, knaves all three.”
“That is one version, yes.” He smirked. “Well done. That’s the one that took out its original meaning, however. I’m not surprised that’s the one you know.” He spun his scepter-turned-cane in his fingers, the jewels at the top catching the light.
“What was the original?”
“It involved the three men going to go to a peep show.” He snickered before he recited his own version.
“Rub-a-dub-dub,
Three maids in a tub,
And who do you think were there?
The Butcher, the Baker,
The Candlestick Maker,
And all of them gone down to the faire.”
Sasha paused and then laughed quietly. “When was that written?”
“Oh, somewhere around the fourteenth century was when people started saying it. I think.” He waved his hand dismissively.
“Hard to track these things, really. It evolved, as things do, and was passed around back and forth over the years. Your version I don’t think was penned until the mid-nineteenth century. Making it positively censured.”
“Victorians. Debauchery, but only behind closed doors.” She was relieved she couldn’t hear the man’s screams for mercy anymore.
“But if you think you’re going to win points with me for pointing out that children’s nursery rhymes all come from super messed-up places, you aren’t. I already knew that.”
“I was just making conversation, dear.” He leaned back in his opulent, heart-shaped, extremely over-plush throne, and crossed his ankle over his knee. “You look as though you are abjectly miserable.”
“That’s because I am.” The whole throne room looked like it came out of someone’s fever dream. Like they had eaten too much chocolate velvet cake, done a line of cocaine, popped a fever, and then passed out into said cake.
Everything was black and crimson and hearts and jagged and pointed.
The windows along the walls were all curved at strange, nonsensical curves, the panes all made in the shape of sharply-angled hearts.
The painted stripes on the columns felt somehow raw and angry to her, as though they were painted by someone with a vengeance against the brush they were holding.
“Is this all still because of the Regency issue?” He sighed. “Are we just giving up on being in character in this story entirely?”
“You chopped me up into pieces. Sorry if it’s not something I can just snap my fingers and get over.
” She shut her eyes. “And I hate this story, and I hate Wonderland and I don’t—” Taking in a wavering breath, she held back the edge of panic she felt bubbling beneath the surface.
She let out long sigh. “I’ll play along, my Queen. But you can’t expect me to enjoy it.”
“I suppose I was setting my bar too high, yes. Every now and then, I’ve managed to find one who grows into it.” He went back to idly spinning his scepter in his hand. “But, mostly, you lot just go numb.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I’ve played this game before.” He shrugged.
“Now and then I’ll get lucky with an individual who takes to the idea of slaughter—or their own potential deaths—with a sort of excitement.
There was one gentleman who I could not dissuade from mowing whole stories of characters down with weaponry at the first possible opportunity.
” Chuckling, he studied the jewel atop the scepter.
“Interestingly, however, I have found those with a penchant for dolling out suffering are the ones who are the first to crumple when they receive it.”
“Does that include you?”
“I have received more suffering than any single human has endured in their entire lives, my sweet. I have lived through eternities of being the punchline and stepping stone to everyone else’s stories.
” His expression fell into something hollow and unreadable.
The emptiness was echoed in his voice. “I am to serve as an example at all times, after all. So, yes. I suppose so. Your lot desperately wishes for evil to be, above all else, cowardly. And your wish is my existence.”
Turning in her much-dinkier-throne, she watched him for a moment. “You resent humanity, don’t you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He laughed, empty of mirth, his gaze still fixed on the scepter in front of him.
“I suffer, endlessly, so you all can feel like there is some semblance of justice in the world. You hurt me, over and over again, because you cannot harm that which you truly wish would feel your wrath.”
“It’s not personal, you realize that, right? Storytelling is…like, it’s what people do. They didn’t sit around and go—hey, you know what would be fun? Let’s create a demigod of fiction and ruin his life.” She shook her head. “This isn’t about you.”
“It is never about me!” Suddenly the emptiness in his voice crashed into rage.
He stood from the throne, his long coat swirling around him dramatically as he turned to face her.
“That is entirely the point I am making, Sasha darling! I exist simply so that your world makes sense in your little monkey brains. Because if the bad people in the world did not suffer for their cruelty and greed and evil, then what would be the point of going on with the pretense of society? With morality? Hm? There would be none!”
“I…” She stared up at him, wide eyed.
“I exist to prove a point. That if one does not behave, terrible things might befall you. That a hero might come and stop you. That you might suffer the consequences of your actions. But when has the world ever worked that way?” His laugh that time was cruel.
But Sasha wasn’t sure who it was pointed at. Her, or him. “I’m not arguing the point that villains in stories exist to teach us lessons. That the good guys win because otherwise the story wouldn’t be fulfilling, even if it doesn’t make sense when they do win.”
“Thank you.”
“What I’m saying is that it still isn’t personal, Vile.
Nobody set out to hurt you as you are. As Vile.
Whatever this”—she gestured her hand at him, taking in the whole of him—“is. Not as the individual villain, but you as the sum of your parts. The part that understands this concept and is pissed about it. Because I’m betting the Queen of Hearts on her own sure as shit doesn’t sit around debating how she got the shaft in the casting department for the morality play. ”
That seemed to have caught him off guard. His expression twitched, and he swiveled on his heel to storm away from her a few paces, keeping his back to her for a long moment.
“I am what I am, Sasha dear. I cannot change myself. I am defined by what is created for me. I am, as you said, merely a sum of my parts. And…only that. Sometimes I forget and need to be reminded.”
It took her a few seconds. “Is that you…apologizing?” She would have laughed if it wasn’t so sad. “For the Regency incident?”
“No. I don’t apologize.” He ran his hand over his face, his back still to her. “It is merely an explanation.”
Letting out a rush of air, she hung her head and shut her eyes. She was stuck in a cage with a bear. The bear chewed off her arm. Was it the bear’s fault? It was a bear. “Explanation heard and understood.”
“But not accepted.”
“Because you’ll probably do it again. Or something worse. I can understand your explanation, but I don’t have to like it.” She lifted her head and found that he had turned to watch her once more. “Or sympathize with it.”
“I don’t want your pity. I never asked for it.”
“Good.” She leaned back in her pitiful-sized chair and stared straight ahead.
He slumped down in his throne. “Good.”
Silence.
“Enough of this.” Finally, he banged his hand on the arm of his chair. “Someone! Get me someone to behead!”
Yeah.
She really hated Wonderland.