The cold bit into my skin, each breath a struggle against the bitter wind. My legs dragged through the snow, my body battered from the soldiers' treatment. I could barely feel my face, numb from the frozen air, but the ache in my ribs was sharp enough to remind me I was still alive. And, at least for now, still a prisoner.
They were dragging me to the execution grounds. Funny, isn't it? The prince, the charming one, the supposed hero, being led like a common criminal to the guillotine. Life has a way of throwing irony in your face when you least expect it.
"You think he's learned his lesson?" One of the soldiers grunted, his boot striking my back with more force than necessary.
"Doubt it," the other one muttered, "but it'll be over soon."
I could hear them,my own executioners,speaking so casually. As if I wasn't the same guy they used to guard, who once danced in balls and saved kingdoms with a smile. But that was before. Before I knew what this world truly was.
Before I learned the truth.
I had been born into the royal family, a life of privilege, a life of expectation. They said I was a hero, the charming prince meant for greatness. But that was before I woke up from Father Winter's curse,thanks to a blow to the head during the ambush on Aya's execution. Aya... she escaped that day. Lucky her. I was left to wake up in a nightmare.
Everything was wrong. I used to look up to the royal family, admire them. I thought they stood for something good, something pure. But now? I saw them for what they really were: greedy, corrupt, and driven by the darkest desires. They didn't care about their people. They didn't care about anything but themselves. And I? I was nothing more than a pawn in their twisted game.
I had to know more.
It wasn't like I planned on finding anything. I wasn't looking for some magical, world-shattering secret. But one day, curiosity got the better of me, and I wandered into Father Winter's lair. Stupid, I know. I wasn't prepared for what I found.
I stood in the dark, staring at a device,twisted, mechanical, and humming with dark magic. It was the heart of everything. The device that kept everyone in Wonderland under control. Father Winter had built it, using it to whisper into the minds of every single soul in this realm. He made them believe his thoughts were their own.
I couldn't understand it at first. Why would anyone want to control everything, everyone? What kind of person does that?
Then it clicked.
Father Winter wasn't just some magical figure who spread joy and gave presents. No, he was cursed,a punishment for his misconduct. He had been banished, not to make toys for the good children of the world, but because of his own dark history. And while I had spent my life making coal ornaments for the "bad kids," Father Winter had crafted a far darker plan: to control them all.
I let out a bitter laugh. "So, that's it, huh?" I muttered to no one in particular. "That's what it all comes down to. He's been whispering in their ears all this time, making them think they're doing the right thing. All these people, playing their part in his sick little game."
The device sat on the stone altar like an innocent book, its worn leather cover gleaming faintly in the dim light of Father Winter's lair. At first glance, it seemed like nothing more than a simple, old tome, its pages yellowed with age, its spine creased from years of use. But there was a power in it, something palpable, something far darker than anything I had ever encountered.
I stepped closer, my hand trembling just a little. Something about it felt... alive. I could almost hear a low hum, a whispering voice that seemed to rise from the very book itself.
It was when I touched it that I realized the truth.
At first, I thought it was just the weight of it,heavier than it looked, as if it were filled with the stories of a thousand lost souls. But the moment my fingers brushed the cover, the book shifted.
It wasn't just a book. It was a tool. A weapon.
The pages didn't turn like a normal book. No, they opened at the slightest touch, but they weren't filled with words. Instead, there was something else,a glowing ink that shimmered on the page, like liquid shadows. The pages were blank, but I could see the faint outlines of strange symbols, runes that I couldn't understand. And then it hit me.
This wasn't just ink.
It was the source of everything. The magic. The moment the pen,or any writing instrument,touched the page, a signal was sent out, rippling through the very fabric of Wonderland. It wasn't just a simple whisper in someone's ear. It was a direct line to their mind, a surge of thoughts and emotions that flooded their consciousness, altering their very reality. The person would believe it was their own idea, their own desire. But it wasn't. It was the will of whoever held the book.
At the stroke of a pen, the world bent to the writer's will.
I couldn't even fathom the kind of control this gave Father Winter. He didn't have to force anyone to obey. No, he simply planted the seed, made them believe it was their choice, their destiny. He controlled everything from the shadows, writing the fates of Wonderland with a single line.
And all this time, I thought I was the one stuck in a story that wasn't mine.
"Hell of a way to run a kingdom," I muttered, my voice low, bitter. But deep down, I knew it wasn't just the kingdom that was the problem. It was the people. The ones who couldn't even recognize that they were nothing more than marionettes dancing on the strings of this cursed book.
I hadn't been banished to a life of making toys and coal ornaments by accident. No. I'd been kept in the cold, far away from the warmth of true power, because I was never meant to be more than a puppet.
It made sense now, all of it. My entire life had been a distraction. I was never meant to be the hero. Hell, I wasn't even meant to be anything more than a cog in their machine. And now, all of Wonderland was stuck in the same mess, trapped under Father Winter's spell.
The soldiers were still pulling me forward, oblivious to the fire burning inside me. I was done. Done being their pawn. I was going to break free from this nightmare.
"Hey," I muttered as we approached the execution block, "You guys ever stop to think maybe you're on the wrong side of this story?"
One of the soldiers smirked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're not in a position to ask questions, Prince Charming."
They shoved me to my knees at the block. I could hear the blade waiting above, and yet, for some reason, it didn't scare me anymore.
That's when I remembered it, like a knife across my chest.
Crypt Hallows.
Written in black fire across the page of that accursed book. Not "Prince Charming." Not the name they will paint on my tombstone.
My real name.
Etched into the core of the spell like a curse. Or maybe... like a warning. It came with a nice picture too. One of my headless body. Hmph, Prince Charming, I didn't choose that name. But it was mine. Always had been. But Crypt Hallows, was this, who I really was?
I remember the sound of the crowd.
Cheering. Screaming. Laughing.
All of them watching, like vultures around a corpse, as the blade was raised over my neck. And I? I didn't flinch. Not out of courage. I was just done. The lies, the betrayal, the story that was never mine. Let it end.
Then came the fall of the blade.
Everything went black.
...Except, it didn't end.
I woke up choking,gasping for air that never came. My lungs didn't work like they used to. My heart didn't beat. My skin had gone cold and pale, and my voice,hell, even my voice sounded like death wrapped in chains.
They had killed me. But I wasn't dead.
"Welcome back, Charming," someone had hissed, her voice slick with venom. "Seems even the executioner couldn't rid the world of your existence."
The Wicked Stepmother.
Not my stepmother, of course. No, this version of her was something worse,a twisted queen of rags and ruin, ruling over the outer slums of the kingdom: the city of Freefall. A place where broken fairy tales go to rot.
They didn't bury me. Didn't burn me. No, they banished me.
Stripped of title, stripped of soul, stripped of everything. And now? I was a zombie. Half-dead, half-alive, rotting slowly in a city that smelled like sewage and regret. My mind was still my own,mostly,but my body? It obeyed. Sluggish, aching, cursed to feel pain without the release of death.
"Put him to work," she'd sneered. "Let's see how charming the prince is when he's scrubbing floors with broken fingers and dragging bricks with bones that snap but don't heal."
And so they did.
I was thrown into the labor pits with the other dead-things. We were the forgotten, the discarded. Not worthy of rest, not even worthy of fear. Just tools. Machines with faces.
And the worst part? They branded me. Not with fire,but with magic. A mark across my chest that burned when I disobeyed. I tried to fight once. Just once. The pain brought me to my knees, and I don't kneel easy.
Days blurred. Weeks, maybe. Time doesn't work the same when you're undead. But my mind? It never stopped turning. Every lash, every insult, every cruel command only sharpened the one thing they couldn't kill:
My hate.
I'd find a way out of this. And when I did, I wouldn't just escape.
I'd burn this whole cursed kingdom to the ground.
The chain yanked my wrist hard as I dragged another load of rusted metal across the yard. Same sludge. Same stench. Different kinds of pain.
"Oi, pretty boy," one of the guards spat. "Smile for us. Ain't you supposed to be charming?"
I raised my head just enough to glare. If I still had spit in my mouth, I'd have used it.
"Let him be," a voice called out, cool and sharp like a blade wrapped in silk. The guards gave her a look, but they didn't try her.
That's when I saw her.
Leaning against the busted fountain like she owned it. Skin smooth and rich like molasses, but don't let it fool you, she had steel in her spine and a don't-play-with-me glint in her eye. Her patchwork skin was stitched with bright thread, blue, gold, deep rose, all swirling like little flowers across her arms and shoulders. Like art. Like rebellion.
And even though she was stitched up like a ragdoll, her whole vibe screamed, "I survived hell, and I made it pretty."
"You just gon' let them talk to you like that?" she asked me, one eyebrow raised.
"If this were a different situation they would be dead, Unfortunately I have no weapon." I muttered.
She scoffed. "Please. Swords don't scare me. I been cut worse by people who said they loved me."
I blinked. Okay, damn.
She sauntered over with a limp,one leg clearly stitched different from the rest. Didn't make her any less powerful. If anything, it made her more.
"I'm Cindy," she said, looking me up and down.
" Like Cinder-"
"Don't call me that."
What could I say? After knowing where these names come from, they disgust me.
"It's Crypt. Crypt Hallows" I replied.
Her eyes lit up. "I like that. Crypt. It's different."
I had to smirk a little.
"I have had it with this place, how about you?"
" Me too." She leaned in close and whispered, "In fact I'm bout two insults away from choking Stepmother with her own wig."
I actually laughed, first time since I came back from the dead. It felt foreign. But good.
"I ain't never seen you before," she said, arms crossing. "You new or just been hidin'?"
"I used to work at the grand castle in Wonderland. They executed me."
She blinked. "Oh. You one of them stubborn ones, huh? The kind with the everlasting rose curse?"
"Everlasting r...."
"Well, you alive. And now you stuck with us. Welcome to Freefall. Ain't no castles here. Just us slaves."
"You always this welcoming to dead guys?"
She smirked. "Only the cute ones. And the crazy ones. You might be both."
I stared at her, trying to figure her out. She wasn't soft, but she wasn't hard either. She was... just real. Something I have never experienced until now. Everyone in the castle always pretended to be happy when truly, underneath, we were all in pure misery. We barely cared about anyone else, let alone each other. But this one, I could tell she'd bleed with you. Bite for you. Burn the world down if it hurts someone she loves. A lot like myself, if I ever had the chance to love someone.
"You got anyone watching your back?" she asked.
"No."
"You do now."
"...Just like that?"
"Yeah. Just like that." She touched her chest, right over a little heart-shaped patch sewn into her and winked just before walking away.
By late afternoon I could feel my bones literally praying for a miracle. Just as I was about to say "Forget just kill me," the bell rang loud and bitter, like a scream frozen in iron.
That was the signal.
Work's done.
Not because they cared.
Just 'cause they liked to watch us crawl back into our cages.
Chains clanked, and bodies shuffled through the yard, bone-tired and filthy. The cold air crept in like fingers down your spine, one of those nights that made even the dead wish for fire.
I dragged my limbs toward the pit.
They didn't give us beds.
Just holes in the ground. Padded with straw, if you were lucky. Rotting cloth, if you weren't.
I dropped into mine without grace. Who the hell needs grace in a damn hole anyway?
Bones groaned.
Muscles stiff.
Mind racing.
Then I heard her.
"You good?"
Cindy's voice.
She was in the pit next to mine, laying on her back, arms crossed behind her head like she didn't have a care in the world.
"I'm undead," I muttered. "Define 'good.'"
She chuckled low. "You get used to the dead part. What's harder is not lettin' your spirit rot with your body."
I glanced over through the barred hole into her pit as the bars slammed shut above us. Even in the dark, her embroidery shimmered like little stars stitched into flesh.
"How are you still soooo...?" I started, honestly confused. "I mean, they did all this to you... and you still laugh?"
"I ain't soft if that's where yo gettin' at," she said, eyes half-lidded. "I just ain't bitter. That's how they win. If we stop smilin'? If we stop dreamin'? Then we just another slave. Another body. I won't let them have that victory Crypt."
I didn't answer. Just watched her.
"You ever miss it?" she asked after a beat. "Who you used to be in the castle?"
"...No."
She turned to me, brow raised.
"I miss who I was supposed to be," I said, voice low. "But that guy? He was a lie. A puppet in a pretty suit. This? This is real. Even if it's ugly."
She nodded slow. "Then I guess we both broken real ones."
"...You always this calm?"
"Nah," she smirked. "But I'm always ready. If they call us outta bed tonight to throw hands, I'm swingin' in my sleep."
That made me smile.
She turned on her side, facing me. "Get some rest, Crypt. Tomorrow's gonna be worse."
"Why?"
"'Cause I got a feelin'," she said, her voice softer now, "that we're gonna start makin' moves. And that scares people."
I see, she could read my rebellious spirit even though I was trying my damndest to hide it. And obviously, she had one too.
"...You scared Cindy, of what I might do?"
"Hell no," she whispered. "I'm excited."
She smiled at me one last time, eyes glowing in the dark like coals in a storm.
Then she closed them.
And for the first time since I'd died...
I didn't feel alone.