He stared out the window of the carriage, felling sick. Had he really said all that? How could he? But then he remembered the other possibility, which was much, much worse. The letter… He shut his eyes, remembering how he felt reading it in the dim light of the foyer. And the bumps on the cobblestone road were not helping his stomach. He looked away from the window, studying the inside of the carriage, trying to distract himself. It was small, with a hard wooden bench and ugly burlap curtains. The floor had cracks in it, and he could see the Wonderland rushing by underneath his feet. He glanced out the window again, and the glass was covered in frost. He wiped it away with his sleeve, which was stained with blood and grime from the days prior. And then, he could see it. The city hadn’t changed from when he’d seen it last. Snow was falling lightly like powdered sugar out of a sifter. It was beutiful, and he might of loved it if he hadn’t hated it so much. Lights twined around the streetlamps, which were somehow elegant and stuck out at the same time. The sun was just slightly touching the tallest buildings, the late afternoon light cast over the city. Some houses were decorated for the holidays. Everything had an air of mystique and elegence, which somehow made him despise it even more. He’d been eleven the last time he’d came, and he hardly remebered it. It was… overwelming. It was a lot louder than at the teahouse and- he closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories. He couldn’t think about that place, because he didn’t want to cry. Still, a couple of tears leaked out, but he wiped them away. He didn’t deserve to feel sorry for himself. The carriage skidded to a stop, and he glanced at the gigantic owl the had been pulling the carriage he was in. He handed it a coin to pay it then looked up at the massive house that stood before him. Standing in it’s shadow, he felt small. Insignificant. He walked up to the house. The door was slightly ajar, so he stuck his head in, and called, “Hello?” The house was cleaner than he remembered, but when he glanced around the front hallway, he noticed a porcelin vase was shattered on the floor. Backing up, he reached for the door. Before he could leave though, a blur of yellow flew down the stairs toward him. He felt a pair of soft arms wrap around him. “You’re here! You’re here!” She said, her He awkwardly pushed her away. She towered over him, and he realized in suprise she was a leapord. Large diamonds hung from her ears, and her pointy teeth were grinning widly. But the smile slid off her face as she asked, “Don’t you remember me?” He frowned. She did look farmiliar, but he didn’t know any people who were rich. And she clearly was, based off her sleeveless satin dress, which matched her cerulean eyes, and large amount of jewlrey. Her spotted face merged back into a smile though, as she said, “You were so little the last time we met- I didn’t really expect you to remember me. But look- you’re so much older! And taller!” He frowned. She was about nine feet tall, much taller than him. She clearly knew him- but could he trust her? “I’m Sierra!” She said brightly, her eyes shining, her face friendly. “The Countess is my Grandmere.” Her voice had a slight accent, and he was starting to place her from a far back, tucked away place in his mind. When he’d come to Spades City the last time, which was because of the same person as before, he’d stayed with the Countess, and he’d spent hours playing with a leapord girl who was four years older than him. He nodded. “Hi.” He didn’t know what to say- he didn’t want to talk; he had a pounding headache. “Hi. It’s good to see you again, though I’m so, so sorry about the circumstances. How’s your life been? What’s it like living without-” He looked away, and she must’ve read his expression, because she shut her mouth. Her bright eyes saddened, and he wanted to scream, just leave me alone! She leaned closer to him, brushing her claws over the left side of his face, coming a bit closer to his empty eye socket than he liked. When he flinched, she drew back, only to lean forward again to study his shirt. “You need to get new clothing. This is so… four years ago. Ick. And also, you should really do something about your eye.” “I’m fine,” He interjected. “Where’s your grandmother? And what are you doing here?” His eyes where hollow, like there was nothing left behind him, like he was just an empty shell. “Oh. My girlfriend kicked me out, so I’ll probably camp out here for a while- I think that Grandmere’s at a meeting.” She looked down so she would have to meet his eyes. “ About your whole… trial thing. She feels really bad, you know.” He rolled his eyes. “Yeah right. Sorry that she ruined my life.” “She didn’t mean to- debt’s must be repaid! That’s how the world works!” “Yes. Completly fair. K1ll someone.”
“Well… you did k1ll someone.” Sierra said, scratching at her ear nervously. He closed his eyes. Sierra’s constant chatter was making his headache worse. “…I’m going to get some air.” “Ooh! Good idea, I’ll come to. There’s a cafe that has some really yummy pastries near hear.” She replied brightly, clearly not understanding that he just wanted to be alone, or maybe go find a kinve so he could end this all. Instead of doing that, he nodded slowly. He didn’t have it in himself to fight anymore. She grinned brightly, thinking that she was finally breaking through his shell. “Hang on, I’ll just write Grandmere a note so she knows where we are!” She ran off to look for stationary, her tail wapping into the wall and knocking a picture askew, presumably why the broken vase had been there. While he was waiting for her to return, March glanced around the room. There were no lights, and it was cleaner than the chaotic mess that the Countess’s country home had been the last time he’d visited. However, it was still dusty, and almost seemed frozen in time. He wondered if she’d been there after Henroy died at all, or just let all the grief collect and hang between these maude walls. He wondered if when he got back to the teahouse, it would look like this. But then he remembered- he wasn’t going back. Couldn’t. Even under different circumstances, Laurie would still hate him, and he wouldn’t be able to face that. This is what you wanted, He reminded himself. You deserve this. “Why are you so mopey? Let’s get you caffine. That’ll wake you up.” Sierra said, coming back cheerfully. He wanted to hate her, but it was impossible with how happy she was all the time. He didn’t like it, but he trusted her. “Okay.” He said, nodding, following her out the front door and down the cobblestoned street. It wasn’t as cold as he’d expected, and he had to admit, the combination of snow and frost that lined the windows and lights on the lampposts was kind of beautiful. “Isn’t it wonderful?” Sierra said, reading his thoughts. He wanted to deny it, but he had to admit. The view was magnificent. He only wished Laurie was there to see it with him. “Yes.” He replied to her. He might as well talk to her. “So. Trial. How long till it?” “Oh!” Sierra said, looking kind of suprised that he wanted to speak finally. “Five days. I’ll be rooting for you, by the way.” He smiled slightly. “Well. That’s good at least. I’m not completly alone.” He laughed a hollow laugh, one with no humour. “How good of a chance is it that I won’t get my head cut off?” She laughed slightly, than quieted, looking away. He looked away too. “That bad, huh?” She nodded slightly, her eyes dark. “I’m sure that a lot of people won’t like you. Henroy was… popular.” March nodded. He knew that very well. “He could be charming somethimes.” Sierra nodded too. “I know.” Her cheeks turned pink. “I mean- he was so handsome.” That made March laugh slightly. He was unsure why this was so funny to him, but Sierra looked at him like he was crazy, but then she started cracking up too. “I sound ridiculous- I mean, you litterally st@bb3d him!” “You do.” He agreed. “But I’m relativly crazy too, so I guess we might be good friends.” She glanced at him, kind of amazed. “Friends? Really? Wow. I don’t have many friends. Wow.” She beamed reaching over and hugging him. He flinched. Relax, March, He told himself. Make some friends. It might keep you alive. And anyway- it’s not like your old friends still care. He reached over, hugging her back. A tear traced down as his cheek, but he wiped it away. I wish it was the same for me… He thought sadly. _______________________ https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1106859134/