Y/N

_

I THINK IT'S SAFE TO SAY that I've died.

Cause of death, unknown, but there's no way I just tumbled down a mile long rabbit hole, got beat up by random furniture, and then found myself in the arms of a dashingly handsome boy who looks around my age.

This can't be real life. There are no dashingly handsome boys around my age.

"Is this the afterlife?" I questioned bluntly, my eyes still locked onto the pair of hazel ones above me, "or whatever comes after death, because I'm utterly confused on where I am."

The boy chuckled, a steady rumbling in his chest pressing up against my side. He was still holding me up, one of his arms under my thighs, and one under my back. He had a nice laugh. And a nice face.

Oh, heavens, stop it [y/n], now is not the time!

"No, darling, you're not dead," he said, gently placing me onto my feet, "you're someplace better."

I cocked a brow, "is there someplace better than death?"

"Where you are now."

"And...where am I, exactly?" I muttered under my breath, beginning to observe the room.

We were in a circular space, with checkered tiles decorating the floor, and cream walls running all the way up to the ceiling. One could say we were inside of a chess board. I glanced back at the boy, observing his body in full—it was hard to get a good look at him considering he was busy saving my life.

He was around 6ft, maybe a little shorter, but definitely taller than most of the boys I've met. A small crown was perched on top of his curls, a tiny note with a 10/6 tucked into it, and he wore it in a titled fashion that complimented his crooked smile. On his feet were black leather boots, with a matching leather jacket, and a silver chain hanging on his neck and over his maroon shirt.

He looked like something out of the Hollywood Scene in the States. Except his British accent told me otherwise.

"Staring is always allowed," the boy said abruptly, pushing aside a stray curl, "but now I'm curious as to why you seem so interested in me."

I snapped out of my thoughts immediately.

I didn't realize I had been staring at him so blatantly. Did he think I was being creepy? I swear I wasn't, I was just completely and utterly confused as to what was happening. Way to go, [y/n].

"I'm not interested," I noted quickly, "I'm just observing."

"See anything you like?"

"No."

"Your loss, then," he smirked, his eyelid twitching into a subtle wink, "but we have more pressing matters at hand, and I think we should get going."

I took a step back in caution, "go where?"

"To the place of all madness and daydreams," he explained, "where else?"

"Are you sure I'm not dead?"

"I can't be sure of anything. You tell me."

I couldn't tell if he was some spirit-genie with ultimate wisdom, or he was off his rocker. Probably the latter. But if I wasn't so freaked out at this whole concept, I may have found it attractive.

But now I found it creepy.

"No, thank you," I said, "I think I'd best be heading back now."

Just think about it! What would you do if you fell down a rabbit hole, landed into a dreamboat's arms, and then were told that you'd have to go to some mystical place that was better than death?

What kind of R. L. Stine novel was this????

I'll tell you what it is. It's the beginning of a horror movie, where the main character decides to 'follow the noise' in the basement and dies. I am not that main character, which is why I shall be making my exit from whatever dream I'm currently unconscious in.

Squeezing my eyes shut forcefully, I held my fingers up to the skin of my forearm, giving myself a quick pinch. This is how I taught myself to wake up from nightmares when I was little, and it always worked.

Expect in this case...apparently.

Opening one eye, I realized the boy was staring at me, trying to hold back a laugh. I was still in the checkerboard room. Nothing had changed, even though I had sworn I had willed for my return to my reality. I couldn't have accidentally shifted to some strange nightmare land, could I have? Nah.

I narrowed my eyes, attempting to wake up again, but I failed again.

"Why are you pinching yourself?" He smirked, "you're not one of those masochists, are you?"

Not only was he a strange dude with a hat, he was incredibly forward. Why would he ask me that so bluntly? I shuddered nervously, letting go of my arm and letting my hand fall back to my side. I clearly wasn't going to get out of here by pinching myself.

"Gosh no, I'm just trying to wake myself up from this very strange dream," I frowned, narrowing my eyes at him.

He laughed, "oh, darling, you're not in a dream."

"I'm not?"

"You're in Wonderland."

"I doubt a small room decorated like a kitchen floor is any bit wonderful," I huffed, my cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance, "and please stop calling me darling, I don't know you."

The boy seemed to take offense to that, "most women like it when I call them darling."

"Yes, well when you say it to a stranger, it can come across as a little condescending."

"Care to tell me how?"

"I'm not sure how it is in this place, but back in my world, time, and society, men only call women darlings because they like to claim ownership over them" I explained, losing my tongue in the rant, "it means 'my beloved', and the woman is supposed to just take the name just because a man decided she was worthy of courting."

I really shouldn't have let loose on him.

Nor did he seem to care, but I was still frizzed over the Finishing School, and I wasn't going to let some strange boy call me terms of endearment just because I was a girl that fell ironically into his arms. If I was a boy, I don't think his go-to phrase would be darling.

"What's your name, then?" He questioned instead, crossing his arms against his chest.

"What's yours?"

"Sir Jose Wimwam Brittle Bunbun the Third."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely not," he grinned widely, sticking out his hand for me to shake, "my real name is Louis Partridge."

I shook his hand, "[y/n]."

I winced under his firm grip, his calloused hand feeling like it was about to crush my fingers into dust, but he let go after a polite amount of seconds. Louis Partridge, hm? A surprisingly common name for such an unusual gentleman.

The boy reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out a small, red box.

"So, [y/n]," he said, snapping it open, "I'm going to need you to eat this."

He pulled out a tiny square of what looked like cake. Vanilla, with a spread of strawberry frosting on the top, and a few words titled ' EAT ME' inscribed on the top. Now, don't get me wrong, I love food—but this was a little creepy.

"No," I said quickly, taking a cautious step back, "I'm not eating that."

Louis looked offended again, "why not?"

Is he not aware of how abysmally alarming that sounded? I guess this 'Wonderland' place wasn't as dangerous and spooky as Earth, but that didn't make me want to trust him so soon.

"I know better than to accept strange, little cakes from strangers," I said reasonably, "so I won't be accepting any from you."

"Hm, your choice," he said, "if you think you can fit through that door like you are now, then go ahead."

I raised an eyebrow, "what door?"

"That one."

He jutted his chin out towards the ground, and I caught sight of a small, yellow door carved into the wall. That certainly hadn't been there before.

"That's not a door, that's the size of a mouse hole," I pointed out, squinting my eyes.

Louis gave me a strange look.

"Which is why you need to eat the cake, obviously," he said, "and to show you it's not poisoned, I'll go ahead and take the first bite."

I watched in complete interest as he took a chunk of the tart into his mouth, and started to slowly compress towards the ground. Does science exist in this place? None of this stuff should be possible: mile-long rabbit holes, rooms that look like upside down chess boards, a handsome boy my age, and a cake that seemed to shrink people into tiny little versions of themselves.

It's official: I've lost my mind.

"I'm going mad," I said abruptly, staring down at the now-small boy.

That earned me a tiny laugh, "we're all mad here."

"I can see that clearly now."

"Yes, well, you'll get used to it. Are you joining me?"

I stifled a laugh, "I could step on you now, you know?"

He shrugged in response, "then you'd be stuck, lost, and completely alone in a place you've never been to. Take your choice."

I furrowed a brow, ticked off that he was completely and utterly right. Giving him a petty glance, I took a small bite of the tart, closing my eyes as I felt myself start to shrink. It was like falling through a pile of silk blankets; your skin tingling against the cold fabric, but somehow feeling ensured you'd come to a stop.

And I did.

Being small was considerably similar to being my usual height, although getting used to the out-of-sorts contortions of everything was a little hard to adjust to. I nearly toppled backwards when I opened my eyes again. Louis managed to grab my hand and pull me upright again.

"Ready?" he said, holding out his hand.

I took it unconsciously, "for what?"

It was a rhetorical question, because the next thing I knew, the boy was pulling me towards the yellow door and pushing it open. I was hit by a bright light and a gust of cold wind.

And he spoke again:

"Welcome to Wonderland, [y/n]."