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Alice didn’t regret it.
She didn’t regret her split second decision of pushing past Jen and Lilia, throwing her hands up and watching as the magic forced its way out of her palms towards Agatha. She didn’t regret how her hands started shrivelling and turning grey, the ashy paleness crawling up her skin as the familiar, comforting orange turned dark, eerie purple.
She especially didn’t regret watching Evanora shriek and flicker, disappearing as her vision blurred and the world tilted on its axis.
Alice would have done it a million times over if it meant protecting her friends.
She came to a few moments later, pushing herself upright and staring at her shrivelled, cold corpse. Her trial outfit was gone, her spirit back in her chains and dyed hair and red shrug. She stood up, stumbling as the world around her spun.
“Wakey wakey, Sleeping Beauty.”
Alice whirled around, finally taking notice of Rio standing there, still in her sleepover attire and twirling a orange flower between her fingers. “Why are you still…” “I gotta take you away,” Rio sighed, tucking it away and snapping her fingers. Alice suddenly felt lighter, as if whatever was holding her down had been cast away. “Which sucks because you were fun to play with.” “What are you…“
It dawned on her. “You’re…”
Rio- Death- mock-curtsied, grinning wildly the entire time. “At your service, Your Highness.”
“You’re-“ Alice’s voice broke. “You’re taking me away now?”
“Well, that’s what I said.” Death snorted, rolling her eyes. “Do you need your ears checked, I can do it for you-“ “No no no, I heard you. It’s just-“ She shook her head. “I never expected you would be Death, of all people, you’re so…” “Sexy? Intriguing? Mysterious?” “…Crazy.” “Why thank you.” She bowed as Alice tried to process the thoughts rushing through her head, faster than raging rapids.
Death wasn’t kind. Alice had learned young. Through her first and only pet, a black cat named Oreo, who was hit by a car when she was 7. Through when her mother braided her hair for school, in front of the wall of their ancestors portraits, coldly staring down at her young, naive self. When the police ruled her mother as a depressed, washed up rock star who took her own life in a hotel fire at 16.
Whenever she caught a rare glimpse of those claw shaped burn scars on her shoulders.
Now, Death wore the face of Rio Vidal, standing in front of her with a off putting smile and a outstretched hand. “Shall we go, M’lady?”
Death had finally caught her.
And yet…
Alice reached for her outstretched hand, pausing just before their fingers met. “Is… my mother…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
A unnaturally kind serious expression flashed across Rio’s face. “She’s waiting for you. You better hurry, before she gets impatient.”
Alice laughed, wiping away her tears, before taking Death’s hand.