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Allie stood in the middle of her room, head cocked, blue (white – black) eyes scanning it.

Something was….

Not wrong.

Something was off.

The room around her would remind no one of a ten year old girl child.

There were no toys strewn about the floor, half-fallen in an ecstasy, and no clothing dropped in the rush of bed or play, nor did it droop from drawers half closed. The closet nor the bathroom door were closed to hide a quaintly messy exuberant display.

The bed, perfectly made as though by staff, was a bedding of white-green plaid, matching in comforter, sheeting and blankets. The dresser and the desk were meticulously clean, with all the drawers pushed in close, the having a flower jewelry box upon it and the other a concise stack of text books. The closet, open to a line of hanging shirts and pants, and the bathroom to a sterile bathroom, softened by a fuzzy blue rug on the floor and a pink tooth brush on the sink.

It did not lack in the hints of a life.

There was a beautiful collector’s doll, with golden hair like a fountain, who sat on a singular small black wall shelf. There in the corner of the closet, was a Louisville Slugger, on which hung a baseball cap. Lastly a violin case, with music books lain against it, was on the floor near the desk.

But this (this) was not the thing that was off.

It was else.

The impetus to the ripple in a placid pond.

The fingertips of her mind brushed the edges of the solid and impertinent, pale blonde brows lending quizzically upward.

It had taken the better part of an hour, which lead near the hint of a mess one might expect in a child’s' room, to figure out what had taken her almost a year to remember.

Then another half of an hour, the first part of it spent tidying the prior mess, before there was a little girl wandering the corridors of Milliways living quarters.

Looking for a needle in a haystack was problematic to a normal person, but looking for a persons presence in Milliways was like looking for a singularly colored molecule in a universe that spiraled endless, not in existence but with possibility which formed forth at any touch.

It was not impossible. Or even improbable.

But it did take a powerful precision.

(And patience.)

At the end of that half hour, there was a very small girl, staring up at a (study room) door.

Then there was a very soft knocking sound echoing down the hall.
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Allie came up to the adjoining bedrooms looking for Alex or Rhapsody once she finished talking to Johnny and Antibus. It made the most sense. She needed to tell them she was back from her other home and that it looked like she was bound.

And about The Old Kingdom.

What she could make sense of it.

Her hand rubbed her throat absently. The bruise was gone, thankfully. There were a few perks to being a pintsized alien powerhouse. One of them today was not entirely freaking out her second set of parents.

Opening the adjoining door, Allie called out, "Anyone in here?"
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It starts with tumbling through the sky. Upward and downward through endless expanse. Feet following head, following golden strands of hair which float forward from her face. Always just fast enough that she can't move to steady herself or look about. Her motion only keeps her tumbling further and further through the sky.

We would play a game sometimes, a game called, what's beyond the sky.

We would imagine darkness, or a blinding light, or
something else that we didn't know how to name.

But of course, that was just a game. There’s nothing beyond the sky.

Then the air would thicken until it was malleable and she was tumbling anymore, she was sliding. Occasionally end over end, but not worrisome. It went endlessly onward, which to Allie was cause for worry. Her creators, her family, they had no capacity for time and the closer she was to them, the longer, the more time seemed thinner and less finite. More like play do and the slide she slipped along.

Until she came suddenly to a rolling stop on the hard ground.

"Ow," she mumbled reaching up to rub her head.

The wasn't supposed to happen.

Did you hurt yourself?

Allie's heart jumped and she swallowed painfully as she looked up. Before her stood a very tall woman with long brown hair and small dark eyes, staring at her. The look could have been called curious, perhaps even concerned to an absent observer, but Allie felt it. The predatory gaze.

We wouldn't want to you hurting yourself.

You'll come with me. We'll keep you safe as...pie.

The woman's hand reached out and grasp hers. Jerked Allie upright even as she called out at the pain on her wrist, coursing up through her arm. She struggled to keep up as her wrist hurt more and more. She could barely keep track of the change of everything around her. It wasn't the sky anymore. It had looked like a dark cloud. Then it had shaped and formed into a long dark hallway. It looked like a hospital, something old and rickety.

"Stop," She cried out, confused why her powers weren't working. She was shoved into a chair.

Don't cry, sweetie. You'll be safe here. They won't get you in here.

At the last word, Allie's blue eyes widened because, the helmet was being pulled out and put over her head. She tried to scream but found her voice was gone. And just at the last moment, as the doors to the helmet were closing, as darkness was taking her sight, even one of Mary Crawford, her body flickered. Flickered like a light switch. Completely there one moment, then not, and then back.

But in that flicker, there was another girl with dark hair and dark eyes --

another Mary

-- too young to be Miss Crawford, and then the darkness claimed her sight.

Allie called out a confused whisper; "Mary?"

It should have ended there.

Mistress Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?

She should have woken trembling or crying out. But it didn't end and the helmet wasn't done being closed. It was getting closer and closer. It was tightening around her neck as the pieces were pressing closer and closer on the back of her head, her cheeks, her forehead. Her wind pipe was constricting.

Not so well, she said, see the lily's dead,

Allie's hands went for her throat, clawing but the helmet wouldn't stop. Darkness beyond darkness was stealing her thoughts, her ability to breathe. Her terror was mounting, but it didn't mean she missed the whisper at her side as she felt herself passing out. The deep voice that sounded like gnashing teeth and clicking claws and amusement and death.

Pull it up and out you go.
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