As a younger kitten and barely the length of half a ruler, he wandered the forest without a reason to why he ended up there in the first place, mewling pitifully at bigger and scarier shadows as feverish days and lonely nights passed him.

And then... there was Alice. She had found him when he was too thin and too hungry, panting nearest some prickly brushes by the Nightray estate— scooping him up in her warm and dry hands, and pressing her human lips sweetly to his neck.

His savior fed him milk from a saucer upstairs in her tower-room, as he messily lapped it up, the girl with flowing dark hair moved in to tie a large, red ribbon with a gold bell around his neck. At first, he struggled pathetically against the confinement, trying his hardest to worm his way from her lap, and accidentally in his rushing fear— sank his baby fangs into the pad of her thumb.

He had not expected Alice to ignore the bite, setting him on the floor, gently tapping his nose with the nail of her finger, "You are such a naughty boy, Cheshire," and smiling kindly at him as she cleaned his mess on her bed.

Under her constant care, Cheshire strengthened over two years. On winter nights, she sat with him near the fireplace in her chambers, stroking his glossy black fur, and talking to him. He liked listening to her, how her voice fell softly like leaves would on the surface of pond's water.

Sometimes, Alice was not his Alice.

Sometimes, she was another Alice— a brooding and fierce Alice, a Alice who did not talk to him and stepped on his tail with her white shoes when she was pacing. And when she wanted to hold him, Cheshire would bat her with his paws, hissing angrily. Eventually she would give up, looking more brooding then ever and nursing the scratches on her forearms she concealed with longer, lacer sleeves.

And when his Alice came back, he would rub his back against her dainty, ribbon-bound ankles, touching his cheek lovingly to her satin dress.

There were times when the other Alice had a guest. A tall, handsome man with a yellow braid who grinned at her cross-legged from the windowsill. Her face brightened instantly when that man appeared. He would kiss the back of her hand before departing; she reddened modestly.

Cheshire didn't think much of that man. At least he didn't make Alice cry and laugh at her tears, didn't thrust silver-plated scissors at Cheshire and laugh when he showed fear like the boy named Vincent Nightray did.

It was that boy with the bad red eye that separated him and Alice. And Cheshire didn't think (wading in the haphazard environment of the Abyss, uncomfortable with his new bulkier form) that he would see her again (it was not very likely he would see again anyway as his eyes had been gorged out of their sockets by said bad boy). But one day, roaming restlessly in a corridor with mirrors— someone who smelled heavily like blood emerged from one of the mirrors.

He stiffened at the sounds of a girlish sobbing and as warm, human arms hugging him. Cheshire could still remember the moment he acquired someone else's auburn eye— shocked that her flowing hair had lightened to a pure white, that her kind, violet-colored eyes had changed to a radically different hue (a pale, sickly green), that she still wore her old blood splattered white dress with the gold trim.

But it was his Alice. And he still loved her.

Slowly, Cheshire brought his oversized arms around her, licking her tear-stained cheek timidly. She giggled at the feel, scratching his ears affectionately.


Listening to "Lurid Enchantment" by the Silent Hill OST-Room Of Angel and "Flowers for a Ghost" by Thriving Ivory helps immensely to get into the mood. ;) Kind of had it on repeat while working…has a very angst Cheshire feel to it… Anywoo… Repsechaeus… your request is done. Now throw a party! Sort of psychological but a lot to do with how he saw the events of 100 years past. Comments nourish the writer. Yes indeed. Like orange soda does.