Page 82 of Madness Becomes Her

“He would come for me, Beau. Something’s wrong. I can’t just sit here and have tea and cakes with you when something’s wrong.” Tears stream down my face as I level him with my gaze.

He sits, his chest heaving with a sigh. “Fine. But I’m going with you.”

“Fine.”

Like I would’ve left without him. I don’t know where I’m going.

I hadn’t paid enough attention to my surroundings while traveling with Winston, Lewis, and Finlo.

I didn’t have to.

“I can’t find my blue blouse,” I cry, dropping onto the end of the bed in defeat. My hands cover my face as I sob, my body shaking. “I know it sounds stupid, but Hatter got it for me.”

“Eleanor,” Beau says.

“Don’t make fun of me; I can’t take it.”

“Eleanor!”

“What?!”

“You’re wearing your blue blouse.”

Looking down, I break into laughter. With the tears sinking into my flesh, the laugh sounds ridiculously absurd and contrasts with how I look.

“Oh God, I’m going mad.”

“About time, too.” Beau grins.

Beauand I made it through the Sarlun and Dawnkep, traveled through the caves, and out the other side of the Hepmeda Mountains. Now, we’re standing before the Cheshire Wood, somewhere I’ve gotten lost more than once.

“I’ve heard about this place before,” Beau says, intrigue coloring his tone.

“Well,” I swallow, “don’t get too excited. And stay away from the trees. They like flesh.”

“They eat flesh?! Is there any other way to the Bog?”

I smirk, knowing he’s older than me, but also not wanting to correct him. After all, dog years are different, right?

“There’s no other way.”

“What if we get lost?”

“We… Well, I know someone in there, but I don’t know if he’ll help. He’s quite the menace.”

Beau scoffs. “That’s reassuring.”

I shift my bag on my shoulder, feeling the weight of the Vorpal Blade cling to my side like heavy iron.

“Come on. We need to get to them as soon as we can.” Leading us through the treeline, I’m shocked when the canopy impedes all outside light.

The same confusing trees tell us to go this way and that, signs contradicting themselves more than once.

“Oh, we’re screwed.” Beau’s words go unanswered because part of me agrees with them.

“We’re going to be fine.”

I try to recall the direction we traveled through the wood when Winston led us through, hoping I’m not leading us to certain doom or in circles.