wickedwitchofwestend

Alice sighed and slowly rolled onto her back, exhaling in a gust of curiosity. She kept her eyes closed, her tapering fingers finding the carpet bag a little way away. Slowly, reluctantly, curiously, the swirling blue eyes opened. A canopy of curling trees so spindly it would remind anyone of witches' fingers, coming to grab at young girls' hair and beauty... Double, double toil and trouble... Her lips curled at the reference to one of her favourite writers of all time, even at a time like this. She sat up, groaning softly from the impact of the fall. Looking around, the memories started flooding back as she pulled the tangled masses of h

The pale faced, red headed man breathed mournfully, his eyes still snapped shut. 'There is nothing of interest... for me... out there... at all.' And indeed there wasn't, nothing that this dark room could not supply. Slowly, he lifted his sleepless lids, surveying the montage before him. The parlour of his cottage in Witzend, dimmed by the flower embroidered scrims, so beautiful normally. In the dim half-light, given off by one open window letting Underland sunshine tiptoe in, he could make out the dying embers of fire, discarded matches worshipping his clay pipe in a perfect circle, books heaped in controlled chaos. There really was s

Night time in a foreign country. The city of London, the smog enclosing the buildings, huddling together like children lying close to each other against a terrifying creature that gives off purple electricity-like death from its dead eyes. At King's Cross Station, a train pulled in slowly, breathing smoke like a large, scarlet dragon. The wooden doors banged open, and people streamed out in a stream of dull black ink on the white platform. All were clutching bags, hatboxes and satchels. Only one, in a long blue overcoat, which billowed in the London evening breeze, clutched a carpet bag of indeterminate origin. It was covered in ribbons, ex