In the heart of the city's near-eternal winter, settled by the Yule Market, sat the ’Hatterdasherie’- a whimsical title of a Hat shop, proclaimed by a whimsy man. After his loss- after her betrayal- the smartly dressed [albeit eccentric] Jervis Tetch had become something else. Something beyond a neurologist and Haberdasher; he had become monstrous, ruthless- more so, utterly and viciously mad; title befitting the man known as the Mad Hatter.
Perched delicate, frail in his chair at the head of his tea table- set in the heart of the building, he lingered. A roaring fire glowed vivid at his back, warm and inviting, fighting valiantly against the uneasiness that filled the little shop. The gentle hum of Vivaldi’s 'Four Seasons- Winter' filled the air, tones of ironic sweetness. Jervis glanced at his empty tea table, begrudging. Tick-tock of a distant clock chimed above classical undertones, followed steadily by the timed thump… thump… shuffling rigid legs, fighting to stay upright.
”—No guests… room, so much room… move down? Move down…” sliding from his seat, moving over one- voice mildly high-pitched, laced with subtle English tones. Distracted slightly by movement to his left, a near-frigid blue-gowned woman progressed towards her room mindlessly. The source of the sounds, Jervis would casually glance at her passing reflection, watching… longingly perhaps, until her figure became too fuzzy to point out. A moment however, and he’d shift back, gaze slipping beneath a shower of rumpled yet sleek black hair, head still facing forward.
She was a wide-eyed yet haunting creature, unhealthy in appearance, circuit board card tied into her pale golden hair. Her name was Stephanie Williams. Hardly his Alice, but she would suffice- at least until new company arrived. Yet she hadn’t minded her manners; she hadn’t been good tea company at all. Rude, and noisy… it hadn’t been long before the Hatter taught her a lesson… now she was quiet and obedient…
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Twilight always had been the Lady's favourite time in a day. Violet-storm gray cloudy skies, plentiful opportunity, fresh victims. Tonight had been strange thus; her favourite set of hair ornaments vanished. In annoyance, she sought to replace it- but for the night, a butterfly pin sufficed. Gliding down the wintry, dark streets, she'd forgotten a scarf. No matter, the coat she wore deemed sufficient- nay, plenty for someone like her.
Gentle footfalls captured Jervis' attention- so soft, one almost swore they did not exist. Then she appeared in the window. Her skin strangely luminous in the violet light, highlighting paleness; searching dark eyes sparkled, finer than the finest jewels. Lightly adorned in a daytime coat, how did she not notice the cold? Gliding along, she held herself upright- quiet elegance telling Jervis she was at least a Lady.
Through thin glass veneer, 'Winter' played, rhythmic tick-tock of the clock, and thump… thump, shuffling rigid legs, perfect harmony. English-laced voice. Curious... She took stock, subtly so; showers of raven hair, quality tailored clothes, whimsy- was he like she? No, she could hear the deep, rhythmic beat- even from outside. Still, he could provide the service she sought out.
Presently the door opened, carrying a small gust of icy wind. Was it him, or did the shadows flicker, dancing in her presence? She brushed her feet clean of snow, closing the door. Her gown swirled as the snow outside, gentle and elegant. Held close to her body draped over a black daytime-coat a bit too light for winter a simple bag, the type artists and students alike carried. Upon closer inspection, the thin coat's materials and stitching implied it made for eternal winter. Interesting, very interesting indeed...
Drawing his eye, however, the fine butterfly in her hair stood out. Vivid blue-based violet, mingled with fine black fishnet. Tiny rose-style flowers cascaded, delicate floral waterfall. By no means was this Lady like his Alice. Alice was prim, proper, feminine; she carried lust, fire, independence. Raven locks far from golden pale as one could find, blood-washed eyes unlike the blue he knew so well. Yet this Lady stood, and something- he couldn't quite place his finger upon it- lured him. When she parted her petal-soft lips to speak, he swore he saw pointed teeth... Curiouser and curiouser still.
"Good evening; I hope I'm not too late, nor interrupting anything." Voice filled with dark, silken overtones; just like she seemed to be. Unlike many, not mysterious and frigid; to the contrary, friendly and open- a delightful contrast, all in all. Certainly worth looking into further...