8 Chapter 8 {Alice}

As the wired front door closes behind us, I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh air. Well, it's not that fresh, considering we're in the factory and slums district, but it's far better than the scent of smoke, machinery, welding and chemicals from inside.

"Now I have the privilege of giving you the grand tour of this beauteous, prestigious neighborhood!" Scarlet says.

I laugh; I'm getting better at registering sarcasm now! I follow closely behind her as she expertly weaves through the narrow alleyways and crowded streets, her chunky boots serving as an excellent footwear option for the messily paved streets with stray stones everywhere underfoot. My attire is less satisfactory. In my puffy dress and dainty lace up shoes, I'm constantly tripping and receiving many peculiar looks and double-takes. Me! Imagine that! In my world, all of the people around me now would be the ones considered odd, but here they're the masses and I'm the different one. After about twenty minutes of dutifully following Scarlet, I'm starting to grow tired. Breathing in the bizarre odors wafting from an open pot nearby, I feel the need to aggressively cough into my elbow, something I would have never dared to do in front of my grandmother. When I resurface, the red scarf that's been the flag I've so carefully marched behind has vanished into the pulsating crowd. I stop in my tracks, directly into a man pushing a wooden cart filled with the same sort of contraptions that were abundant in the Professor's workshop.

"Watch yourself, missy!" he retorts, showing me his rotting teeth and allowing me to get a whiff of his abismal breath.

I look up at him, terrified. How could Scarlett do this to me? How will I find my way out of this place? Even worse, what I am I to do with my life now that she's deserted me? I certainly can't return to my old life, trapped forever and stuck, screaming, in a cycle of tea parties and ball gowns.

"Scarlet!" I scream, starting to hyperventilate.

I feel like a lost duckling searching desperately for their mother. Where could she have gone? Is it possible that she lost me deliberately, deciding that I'm not worth the trouble of trying to reform me? What was I thinking, attaching myself to her and following her around? What could someone possibly give to someone like her? I'm pathetic. Tears are flowing freely from my eyes now, and I cover my face with my grimy hands and try to contain my sobs. I can't let people know how I feel; not here, not anywhere.

"Poppy!"

I slowly remove my hands from my wretched face and look around, catching my breath. There's only one person in this world who's ever called me that before.

"Poppy, up here!"

I look in the direction of that distinct voice, finding my mother duck at last. She's perched on top of another wooden cart on the side of the street, waving frantically in her pushy, inelegant way that I'm growing to recognize. She's standing atop a pile of apples, and the vendor is yelling at her in a strange dialect and shaking his fist. As I make eye contact with her she jumps down and runs over to me. Seeing my tears, she wraps her arms around me, whispering,

"Aw, there's nothing to worry about, Poppington. You know I'll never lose you. I gotta get you home safe remember? A Sparrow promise."

Right. Home. Not once in my life has my grandmother has given me a hug. The only physical interactions in our relationship were concerned with her tightening my corsets, or arranging my hair in plaits with her cold fingers, or donning a hairband on my head ever so perfectly. I feel closer to Scarlet than I ever felt to her. While reflecting on this I sob into Scarlet's red scarf, getting tears and, I'm not proud to say, flem all over it.

"Now, enough of that," Scarlet says, patting my shoulder and handing me a patched piece of cloth that I assume is meant to be a handkerchief.

"Everything is alright. Better than alright, actually. It's brilliant!" She holds up a leather bag full to the brim with metal parts, gears, bottles full of liquids, and more.

"When I lost you there — sorry about that, by the way! — I was getting parts from old man Wizzles over there," she tells me, pointing behind her to a jolly old man with his big feet perched on a wooden step stool.

"I managed to find almost all of what Professor put on his list for us to retrieve!" And for an absolutely marvelous discounted price, mind you."

I think that Scarlet can sense I was deeply shaken by how lost and alone I felt, and I appreciated her trying to cheer me up and interest me with other things. I decide to play along and go back to normal.

"So, what else do we need to get?" I ask, slowly and shakily, my heartrate returning to its normal state.

"Well, the Professor's put some things on the list for a weapon he's concocting for you," she says, frowning while interpreting the sloppy, quickly jotted down notes on the paper in her hands.

"Personally, I thought your umbrella and ghastly cookies would do just fine in a battle, but I guess it never hurts to upgrade a little."

"Hey!" I say, smiling broadly and giggling. "My baking isn't that bad. At least it's better than the Professor's!"

We laugh together, walking down the street side by side, basking in the vibrant colors of the sunrise as the lovely people, lovely but grimey people around us go about their days.

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