Issue of the Country of Hearts

The evening sun dipped low over the inherited family home in the outskirts of early 19th-century London, casting long shadows through the lace-curtained windows of the drawing room. The house, a creaky Victorian relic passed down from your grandmother, stood nestled amid whispering woods that seemed to hold secrets of their own. With your parents—Mr. Liddell, the wandering journalist, and Mrs. Liddell, the dedicated traveling nurse—away on their respective journeys, the air felt heavier, charged with the unspoken tensions that always simmered between you and your sisters. You, the youngest at 18, fresh into the overwhelming world of college preparations, sat at the polished oak table, fiddling with the bunny pin attached to the collar of your modest dress. It was a small comfort, a whimsical accessory that reminded you of simpler times, though today it felt like a fragile anchor in a storm.

Lizzie, your eldest sister at 25, paced the room with her usual poise, her brown skin glowing under the gaslight lamps, her beautiful maiden dress swishing with each step. She was the epitome of propriety—expert in her studies, a virtuoso on the violin, and forever reminding you of the “etiquettes of being a proper young woman.” Her dark hair was braid in the front while the back was out in a beautiful afro and her sharp eyes fixed on you with a mix of exasperation and what she claimed was sisterly concern.

“You must understand, dear sister,” Lizzie began, her voice laced with that condescending tone that made your stomach twist. “Marriage is not a fairy tale; it’s a duty. And Mr. Harrington—oh, he’s such a fine match! Educated, from a respectable family, and quite the charmer. You’ll be set for life, and it will elevate our family’s standing. But you must stop these childish daydreams and focus on becoming a lady worthy of him. Find a husband with proper education, as I always say. You’re not like Liora, running wild; you need to emulate me more.”

You felt a flush of heat rise to your cheeks, your hands clenching the fabric of your skirt. Why does she always do this? As if I'm some broken doll she needs to fix. And Mr. Harrington... he's never even looked at me properly.

The truth had come out earlier that day, in a cruel whisper from a mutual acquaintance at a tea gathering: Mr. Harrington, your supposed betrothed, only tolerated your company to get closer to Lizzie and Liora. He’d been seen fawning over them, his cocky smiles and sly compliments directed at their beauty and spirit, while discarding you like yesterday’s news. The revelation burned like acid in your chest.

“I… I don’t want to marry him, Lizzie,” you stammered, your voice smaller than you intended. “He’s not interested in me at all. He only hangs around because of you and Liora. Any chance he gets, he’d choose you over me in a heartbeat. It’s humiliating!”

Lizzie stopped pacing, her expression hardening into one of feigned shock.

“Nonsense! That’s just your imagination running wild again. You’re too sensitive, too dreamy. If you were more like me—proper, accomplished—he’d see your worth. But no, you insist on wandering off into those woods, pinning silly bunny trinkets to your clothes like a child. Grow up! This marriage is arranged for your own good. Father and Mother approve; it’s settled.”

The words hit like a slap, tears pricking at your eyes. She's right, isn't she? You felt that you’ve always been overlooked, the pressure to be like her, Lizzie crushing you.

But this... this farce of a marriage? You can't, right?!. Before you could react, the door to the drawing room swung open with a creak, and in strode Liora, your middle sister at 23. Her short hair framed her light-skinned face in a tomboyish bob, and she wore a practical suit that hugged her athletic frame—no dresses for her, ever.

She was fiery, beautiful in her own rugged way, with a presence that commanded attention. She’d just returned from her training for the police force, her cheeks flushed from the exertion.

“What’s all this noise?” Liora demanded, her sharp eyes darting between you and Lizzie. She’d caught the tail end of Lizzie’s lecture, and her expression darkened like a storm cloud.

“Lizzie, are you berating her again? About that slimy Mr. Harrington? I’ve seen the way he leers at us—it’s disgusting. And you’re pushing her into marriage with him? For ‘proper education’ and etiquette? Spare me!”

Lizzie whirled on her, hands on her hips. “Liora, this doesn’t concern you. You’re always defending her laziness, her whims. She needs structure, not your tomboyish rebellion. Police work? Hah! That’s no place for a lady.”

“Laziness? You’re the one who’s blind!” Liora shot back, stepping closer, her voice rising. “She’s overwhelmed, Lizzie—college starting, parents gone, and now this forced betrothal to a player who couldn’t care less about her. You’re just jealous she doesn’t worship your ‘proper’ ways. Back off!”

The argument escalated into a full-blown shouting match, their voices echoing off the walls. You couldn’t take it anymore, the pressure, the betrayal, the constant comparisons.

Tears blurring your vision, you bolted from the room, the bunny pin jostling against your chest as you ran.

“I can’t… I just can’t,” you whispered to yourself, pushing through the front door and into the encroaching twilight of the surrounding woods. The trees loomed like silent sentinels, their branches clawing at the sky, but you didn’t care. You just needed to escape.

Your feet carried you deeper into the forest, the path familiar yet treacherous in the fading light. Thorns snagged at your dress, but you pressed on, sobs hitching in your throat.

“Why me? Why can't I just be free?”

Suddenly, your foot caught on a gnarled root, and you tumbled forward, your head slamming against a jagged rock. Pain exploded like fireworks behind your eyes, and the world spun into darkness

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When you awoke, the evening had surrendered to night, stars peeking through the canopy like distant eyes. Your head throbbed with a vicious ache, and when you touched your temple, your fingers came away sticky with blood.

Ow... what happened? Everything hurts.

‘Am I dreaming?’

The forest was eerily quiet, save for a soft rustling nearby. Blinking through the haze, you saw it: something white, small, and fluffy, hovering over your wound with what looked like a tiny cloth, dabbing gently.

“Oh dear, oh dear! You’re late, you’re late! And bleeding all over the place, what a mess!” The voice was high-pitched, frantic, and unmistakably coming from the… rabbit? It was a white rabbit, standing on its hind legs, dressed in a tiny waistcoat with a pocket watch chain dangling from it.

Its paws worked deftly, wrapping a makeshift bandage around your head.

You sat up slowly, wincing. “You… you’re talking? A rabbit? This must be a hallucination from the fall.”

The rabbit huffed, checking its watch. “Hallucination? Nonsense! I’m late for a very important date, but I couldn’t just leave you here bleeding. Now, up you get! Follow me—quickly now, down the rabbit hole. Time waits for no one, especially not outsiders like you.”

A talking rabbit? This is mad... but it attended to your wound. And that glow, as you followed the rabbit, a large hole, that could let a human through appeared in your vision. way too big for a mere little white rabbit-

It’s like a light in the dark; it shimmered with hues of blue, purple, and pink, swirling like a living portal, mesmerizing and otherworldly. The rabbit paused at the edge, glancing back.

“Hurry! Jump in—it’s the only way!”

You knelt before it, peering in, the colors dancing across your face. So beautiful... like a dream. But jumping in? That's insane. Still, something pulls me... Before you could decide, a white-gloved hand shot out from the hole, grabbing your wrist with surprising strength and yanking you inside.

You yelped as you plummeted, the world twisting around you in a vortex of colors. The fall felt eternal, wind rushing past, your dress billowing like a parachute, objects floating by: chairs, books, teacups, all defying gravity.

“I'm falling forever! What's happening?” Your vision blurred to white, and then… nothing.

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You awoke with a gasp, sprawled on a checkered floor in a vast hallway lined with doors of every shape and size; towering oak ones with brass knobs, tiny arched ones barely big enough for a mouse, ornate ones carved with hearts and clocks.

Above you loomed a single glass table, and atop it sat a shimmering vial labeled “HEARTS,” empty but glowing faintly. You were tiny, no taller than a doll, the table a mountain before you.

“What is this place? I'm so small...”

The door beneath the table was just your size, a petite wooden thing with a heart-shaped lock. You tried the handle—locked.

“A key… I need a key.”

As if summoned by your words, a white piece of cake materialized on the floor nearby, a tag fluttering from it: “EAT ME.”

Curiouser and curiouser. “Well, if this is a dream, might as well play along.” You approached cautiously, taking a huge chunk and biting down before taking another and one more bite.

The taste was sweet, like vanilla and berries, but suddenly your body stretched and grew, limbs elongating until you towered over the table, your head bumping the ceiling with a thud. “Oof! Too big now!” From this height, you spotted a golden key on the table beside the vial of hearts, now labeled “DRINK ME.” You snatched both, the vial cool in your palm.

“Drink me? After eating made me grow...” You uncorked it and sipped—the liquid was sweet at first, then a bitter hiccup escaped you, and you shrank instantly, key in hand, back to your tiny size. Fitting the key into the lock, the door swung open with a click. You stepped through into a forest unlike any you’d known—twisted trees with leaves like whispering shadows, the air thick with an eerie mist that made your skin prickle. Creepy... nothing like home. But there's that white rabbit again! A flash of white fur darted ahead, and you gave chase, branches snagging at your dress. “Wait! Come back!”

You lost sight of it amid the undergrowth, panting as you emerged into a clearing dominated by a colossal clock tower, its face glowing with an otherworldly light, gears ticking audibly like a heartbeat. That tower... it feels safe, somehow. Maybe answers inside. Pushing open the heavy door, traveling through the tower, you end up entering a dimly lit office, besides books it filled with clocks in various states of repair—ticking, tocking, some broken and silent.

At a cluttered desk sat a man with long dark bluish hair tied in a low ponytail, he looked up, his expression one of mild surprise turning to apathy.

“You- An outsider?” he stated standing up, setting down a delicate clockwork piece.

“How did you get here?”. He questions you. You hesitated, the vial of hearts clutched in your hand. He seems trustworthy... “I… I followed a rabbit here. I’m lost. What is this world?”

His arms crossed looking at you, up and down.

“Wonderland. Or the Country of Hearts, to be precise. You’re here to fulfill a game since your face isn’t hidden like the rest. He approached you and grabs your chin to examine it which makes your eyes widen. My name is Julius Monrey.”