Page 10 of Madness Becomes Her
“Well, if they love flesh, the only way to get it is… oh…”
Hatter rounds in front of me with another swathe of fabric, wrapping it around my head tightly before stepping back and looking at me, his head cocked in determination, and I can nearly see the cogs turning behind his eyes.
His long sigh says this isalsonotthefabric.
“There was a man in the forest. Did you know he lurks right beyond your home?”
“He’s no man. That’s a cat.”
My head snaps back as Hatter gets my hair caught on a hat’s bobbles. I screech, grabbing the hat to keep him from snatching me baldheaded. “Be careful! If you rip off my head, you can’t hat it!”
God, now I sound like him.
“I apologize. Sometimes, I get hasty when it comes to work.” His dark chuckle has my own lips curling as I eye him from my new position. My head leaned back, while he untangles me from the buttons of the hat.
Once I’m free, he helps me lift my head again, only to go right back to work.
“You know, a lot of those hats were perfectly fine. We don’t need to keep trying to find one that’s…”
“Perfectly fine?” He scoffs, clearly offended. “With a head like that, you want to wear aperfectly finehat? Why, Eleanor, I am offended.”
I swallow. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just don’t think I need a perfect hat.”
Turning my chair towards him, he steps between my legs. Looking down his nose at me, he catches me in his dominating stare.
I’m so transfixed that I don’t realize his hand is on my chin until he tips it back.
Heat bubbles into my skin and feels like madness curling through my body, like spiders set loose inside my bones.
“You deserve perfection. It’s what you’ll have. Nothing less.”
My earlier wish to be treated like a princess, before I drank the glowing, fizzy liquid in the strange room, flutters through my head.
Is he my wish made flesh?
“Alright,” is all I can manage, and Hatter sets back to work.
I leave him to it for a long while, the movements from his tugging on my head and hair this way and that lull me into a space where I’m weary but also rested.
When I can tell he’s getting flustered with his lack of progress on my hatting situation, I clear my throat to give distraction. “So, your name is Hatter?”
He stops, looking down at me with curious, knitted brows. “No. Of course, my name isn’t Hatter. Don’t be daft.”
The absurdity of his thinking me daft is laughable, but I keep my composure. I’ve already upset him twice, and if I’m ever going to get home, it’s not by constantly pissing him off.
“Well, you know my name. What is yours?”
“You know it.”
This again?!
I bite my lip. I need to tread lightly. “I have to admit something to you. I’ve forgotten it. I know, it makes me a purely awful person, but I need to be reminded sometimes.”
He sighs. “I know. I forget that you’re forgetful sometimes, Elli-roo.”
I swallow my gasp.
How does he know that name?
