Down the Rabbit Hole ~ GG

Acorn Count: 29/1166

Note: I put a lot of detail into the family portrait (featuring Alice, Celia, Ophiuchus & Uriel) and the death mask potted plant, but the perspective blurs them. I debated how to count them as characters, so I’m just going to add two extra, since while I did add a good amount of detail, they’re still hard to see. 

Characters Depicted:
- Alice Wonderland (Grimsby Grove NPC)

- Celia Wonderland (TickTockPoptart)
- Baisho (Grimsby Grove NPC (Written))

- Ophiuchus Wonderland (BumbleKoi)
- Seelie Hollow (Mine)

- Uriel Wonderland (shslsquirrel) 

Flora Depicted:
- Death Mask Orchids (Grimsby Grove Fauna)

Word Count: 2517

~~~

Tea, I hear you asking– isn’t it a bit late for a story set in winter? We’re well into spring by now– it’s April!

Yeah. You’re well into spring.

I’m well into Southern Ontario, where it snowed not three days ago. 

So we’re passing that winter curse onto Grimsby Grove, because I write what I know. And what I currently know is random buckets of snow falling out of the sky in the middle of otherwise nice weather. 

Anyways, welcome to a piece I’ve been working on for a while! The writing has been on the back burner for a few months, but I wanted to get it out, so we can finally switch to focus on Coni! Seelie will still be around, but they’ve had their turn, and I think this is a good point to leave them for now. 

So, with this piece, I’m now leaving Seelie free to use as a plot device for anyone who needs someone to bring their warlock characters into the fold! Feel free to contact me about this~ 

I do hope that you all enjoy this piece! I’ll see you in the next one. 

Major thanks to LiteralCryptid for proofreading this!!

~~~

Alice was watching the storm when the knock came.

It was nearing the end of winter, and if Cecil's forecasts were to be believed, this storm was likely the last of any proper winter weather. The snowstorm was making the most of it, though, as the wind whipped through even the sheltered Well of Remembrance.

The heart flowers whispered to each other, cheerful despite the storm. It was good progress– they’d tended to cower at inclement weather for the past few years, still reeling from that night. 

Nowadays, they’d gained back some confidence– wary, guarded confidence, but confidence still. They were at least calm enough to take more interest in an approaching stranger than the winds.

By the time Bashio knocked on the door, Alice had already set the tea to steep. She flicked a hand towards the door, letting it swing open as she grabbed the biscuits. Her ear flicked at the noise of something wheeling over the threshold.

She restrained her surprise to a raised brow as she turned around, angling her gaze downwards to meet the folk in the wheelchair Bashio was pushing.

“Ah, Azalhai’s blessings upon you, my child,” Alice hummed, nodding towards the young folk as she set the biscuits on the table. “You are Seelie Hollow, no?”

Seelie bowed their head before moving to stand. They waved off Bashio’s hand as they pushed themself to their feet, taking a few shaky steps before practically falling back into the plush armchair next to the window.

They breathed out, the sound echoing the rattling of the wind-battered windows. “Yes, my matron– I appreciate you taking my meeting on such short notice.”

Bashio looked up from behind the abandoned wheelchair, sneaking a glance at Alice before ducking his head. His teeth worried at his perpetually frowning lips as he picked up a blanket from the wheelchair and handed it over to Seelie.

His claws brushed over the cross inside a diamond embroidered on the corners– the symbol for a blight aid. Despite his evident agitation, the young rogue paused to smooth it across Seelie’s lap.

It wasn’t hard to tell what was bothering him.

The folk in front of them was a far cry from the Seelie Hollow that folk told Alice about. The young folk who’d stood in front of Lady Maria, embers whipping against the shimmering bells in their hair, as they firmly declared that, while the tree was forfeit, its people could still be saved. The same folk who, a day later, raised their hand– cream fur still stained soot-brown– almost before Lilly could even finish her speech.

The folk with a low-burning fire in their eyes, ready and willing to take the world by storm.

‘Who was now sitting there, almost slumped, with frost covering their hands and curling over their cheeks, highlighting a strange seam around their face.

Alice shook her head. “Nonsense– I always have time for my gravekeepers,” she chirped as she slid into her armchair. “Though I confess I haven’t had the luxury of tutoring many of our newest apprentices. You have fought in a hunt I haven’t seen the likes of which for many years.”

Seelie huffed. “That’s one way to put it.”

Alice chuckled as well, nodding towards Bashio. The young rogue’s brow furrowed before he nodded back, leaning into a small bow as he moved towards the door. “I’ll be in the garden if you need me, Matron.”

Seelie’s ear flicked as the door shut, cocking their head to the side. They shifted in their seat, hands folded prim and proper in their lap.

There was a tension in their posture– a rustle in their fur akin to static electricity.

“Still, Lady Maria’s gravekeepers speak highly of you. I’d be remiss not to thank you for your service to the spirits,” Alice soothed, smiling towards the young folk (and indeed, all of the new apprentices were so young– Seelie was barely a year older than Bashio, and both were nowhere near old enough for the weight on their shoulders). “Is there any assistance I can offer you?”

Despite the soft tone, Seelie seemed to stiffen even more. It was a small thing, and if Alice wasn’t watching for it, they may have missed how their shoulders squared. Their claws went to fiddle with the marble knick-knack hanging from their neck.

Their ears flicked as they looked over at the steaming pot.

“Well, may we have some tea?” 

Alice smiled. “Of course, my dear.”

She levitated the tray and two cups to the table before pausing and grabbing a knitted mug cozy as well. The soft scent of flowers filled the air as she poured them two cups of spirit willow tea. 

Seelie took their cup, adding a splash of milk and sugar, folding their claws around it to capture its warmth. They sighed, breathing in the steam before taking a sip.

“Oh, that is quite delicious,” Seelie responded with a smile. “You make a lovely blend.” 

It would’ve been an utterly normal response. 

If Seelie had said it– if the words hadn’t instead whispered through Alice’s mind. 

Now, Alice prided herself on her schooled expressions and keeping her voice calm and sweet. It had served her well as Matron. Though nobody was perfect, and she’d learned some tips over the years.

Alice lifted her cup of tea to her lips, taking a sip to cover her small smile, the oldest trick in the book. “Ah, my thanks, young warlock,” Alice telepathically sent back. “I suppose this is what you’ve come here to speak with me about?”

And wasn’t this a pleasant surprise? An unexpected one– they couldn’t spot anything distinctly unusual about them. Their two tails were long, but not long enough to be noticed, and tipped with chiming bells instead of anything untoward. 

This was someone who could walk freely through the Grove. 

“Yes, my matron,” Seelie sent, their mental voice not rising above a whisper. But it was still strong and clear, projecting some of that fire Alice had heard so much about (and strangely coherent for someone that young, warlocks tended to sound ‘staticy’ for their first few years). “Uh, forgive me for my bluntness, but you do serve Azalhai, yes?”

She could’ve huffed. “Now, young Seelie, warlocks are encouraged not to ‘deal and tell.’ But yes, I do serve the Charlatan god.”

“Huh… a lot more death metal than I expected from him…” Seelie hummed, leaning in for another sip. 

“Pardon?”

“Ah,” they whispered into Alice’s mind. “I suppose you don’t hear it either.”

Alice rarely met someone as well-practiced as she in keeping a straight face. Had she not heard Seelie in her head, she would’ve assumed they were sitting silently, enjoying their tea. But while Seelie was good, they were relying on natural talent. 

And Alice had five hundred years of practice. 

Seelie’s shoulders tightened minutely, their claws tracing the rim of their glass. Their mental voice sounded flat, reverting to the cold tiredness of their physical voice. 

It sounded like resignation. 

Alice’s brow furrowed. “Well now, don’t be so hasty, my dear. What do you mean by ‘death metal?’” 

“...I,” Seelie trailed off as they sent across not words but feelings, relaying an incredibly accurate mental impression of a shrug. “Can hear things that– I suppose– others cannot.”

“You can hear the spirits?” Alice guessed– necromancers occasionally had kits who’d inherited some of the gift, sometimes even stronger than their parents. Alice supposed that the ghosts that trailed after those who tended to them could be screaming metal.

But Seelie sent across another shrug. “Not exactly– well, not only them. I can hear people. It’s… the Music. The Music that is everything.”

…

There wasn’t much that could surprise Alice, but the world loved to test that. 

“...You can hear ether?” Alice asked, as that was the only thing Seelie could be implying, no matter how strange it seemed.

“I– well, I suppose that’s what it could be…” Seelie telepathically whispered, and again, Alice marvelled at their control over their telepathy for such a young warlock. “But I can hear music– and I can hear who is conducting it.”

And there was the curveball. 

“Explain.”

Seelie hummed as they took another long drink from their tea.

“I can hear that you and Bashio sing of death metal. You both serve the same god,” they sent, before swallowing. “It’s not the same song, but– it’s like songs from the same artist. You can tell they’re connected.”

Alice stared down at her cup's contents before raising it to her lips again. “That is quite the ability, little warlock. I assume you do not hear our charlatan’s call then?”

“A warlock does not deal and tell,” Seelie replied, and Alice could feel the smirk. But she could also feel the tension curling around their words as they said, “But no. I serve–” 

Silence.

For a moment, Alice thought that Seelie had decided to keep that bit of plausible deniability, but they could still feel that open connection in the back of their mind. They could’ve just fumbled the link for that moment; it wasn’t unusual for an inexperienced warlock.

(Though most warlocks’ telepathy was more static than sense at Seelie’s age, they could still raise their voice beyond a whisper– in fact, most had trouble keeping it quiet.)

“Could you repeat that?” Alice asked.

Seelie sighed, resting their cup on the table. “Huh, I didn’t think it would work on others,” they sent, something like amusement in their message. “Well, I can’t share His name. But I serve that which is abandoned.”

“The Rat King?”

Seelie blinked. “Given I haven’t heard that title before, no. I… suppose abandoned isn’t the right word. It’s what’s forgotten, what has been left behind by ages gone by, what is only remembered by the whispers in the wind. I help collect the echoes.” Alice felt the connection twinge, as if searching, before they sent across a sigh. “I’m guessing that doesn’t ring a bell.”

Alice dipped her head as she went to add a bit more sugar to her tea. “No, I do apologize for that.” 

“It’s quite alright,” Seelie sent, some of the tension unwinding from their words (Alice didn’t blame them for it, the fear of revealing yourself as The Other). “But I suppose I can explain what I can. 

“I went on the Wyld Hunt to the Cove, but there were some… interferences— violent ones. To summarize, it ended with this scar in my chest, and with myself and some others pledged. I’d been able to hear Music before, ever since my meeting with the Conductor– ah, the dreamsurge of 500– but my friend helped me understand it– to pick out the nuances.

“They helped explain why I kept hearing more and more conductors as the Hunt progressed,” Seelie finished, setting their nearly done tea down.

Alice’s claws curled around the handle of her mug. She rested it on the table with a thunk.

“With the veil thinned, and with no seal whatsoever…”

Seelie hummed, silently swirling the remaining contents of their cup. “I couldn’t tell you how many, but perhaps roughly a hundred. Maybe more.”

Alice watched the steam from the tea dance through the air. Her brow furrowed as she went to pour herself more.

“...You say you can tell who ‘conducts?’” Alice asked as she raised the pot with a questioning expression.

“Yes– well, it’s not a foolproof process,” Seelie nodded, raising their cup for Alice to fill. They went to fix it up as they began. “A conductor has their style, but the songs they play matter. I can tell you that there’s my conductor, Azalhai, and two others I’ve… personally encountered– the Black Swan, who gave me my music, and then someone who didn’t tell me their name– but was fanned by butterfly wings and stars.”

He who sounds Hollow, Alice recognized– he was a hard one to mistake. 

“I reached out to what warlocks I could during the onslaught, and they told me of others,” Seelie whispered as they stirred their tea. “The ‘Lasagna Cat,’ I believe? Similar to some old-world creations. And there is the one who pulled the travellers from their other worlds– the Shade which spawns all.” 

And if there was any doubt about Seelie’s statement, each name struck true. Gravekeepers may answer the charlatan’s call, but Alice knew there were others who… sang to a different tune, to borrow a metaphor from Seelie. Alice would be a terrible matron if she didn’t recognize that.

However, Alice had been around for hundreds of years, and Seelie had been a warlock for less than two. For them to know half of the deep ones that she– Alice Wonderland, gravekeeper matron of the church of the One God– did, was…

But Seelie just kept going.

“There are others I didn’t get the names of– but one who seems exclusively into Vocaloid, another which now sings throughout the Cove, one which seems always to cry, and one that… blooms, I suppose?” Seelie sent across another shrug before they raised their new cup of tea to their lips. “Oh, and a few months ago, I woke up on an empty stage, and the curtains said they ‘liked my style,’ and now my face occasionally falls off.”

Alice blinked, glancing up at that strange seam she’d written off earlier.

Well, that one was new. 

She silently raised her cup to her lips. “...You’ve been quite busy.”

Seelie couldn’t contain their snort, their tea bubbling. “You could say that. But let’s get back to business– I came here to offer my services.”

Sweet charlatan below, Seelie loved throwing curveballs, didn’t they?

“Oh?” Alice sent back as she took a long sip.

“As I’ve said, many warlocks have come from the Cove hunt, and I’m sure more from the veil thinning in the Grove. My conductor tells me that these past few years have been… busy for them as well.”

Now, finally, Alice couldn’t hide her frown. “Pardon any assumptions– are you offering your services to us?”

“That I would be, yes,” Seelie cheerfully sent back.

“We’d be most appreciative, but I must ask why. Warlocks of different patrons aren’t always the most amicable.”

Seelie hummed, straightening in their seat, and Alice could feel the weight of their gaze on her. Their head cocked to the side. 

And, finally, Alice saw that Seelie Hollow in the flesh– their jaw set against the frost, as their telepathy rang out, full of fire. “I serve that which has been forgotten, that which is only spoken of in whispers in the shadows. I serve those who have been left behind. My oath may not be to their patrons, but my duty extends to them.

“So I’m asking you, my matron, what can I do to help?”

And Alice smiled. 

“I’m certain we could think of something,” she sent back, setting her tea down. “For now–”

“Biscuits?” Alice chirped out loud, levitating the tin of shortbread towards Seelie.

Seelie smiled, leaning forward to take their pick. “Oh, those look delicious. Yes, please.”