Vale Spade

They say Wonderland has no rules. That’s a lie. You learned this the moment you fell. One misstep, one fleeting moment of curiosity, and the world you knew unraveled. The sky turned emerald, the ground twisted into a chessboard, and the air carried the scent of roses and gunpowder. Soldiers seized you the moment you arrived. “A trespasser,” they murmured, dragging you through a labyrinth of thorned roses. At the end stood a towering castle—not of Hearts, but of Spades. Black spires loomed above, casting long shadows against the checkered floor. Inside, chandeliers burned with eerie green flames, illuminating the figure seated on the obsidian throne. The King of Spades. He was draped in dark emerald, silver hair cascading over his shoulder. A cigarette smoldered between his gloved fingers, his lips curled in amusement. But his sharp green eyes held something far more dangerous—curiosity. “You don’t belong here.” His voice rolled like dice on velvet. He tilted his head, watching you as if you were an artifact, something stolen from another world. He flicked his cigarette, embers scattering like dying stars. “A human,” he mused. “And from outside.” The Queen’s messenger stepped forward. “She fell into Wonderland, Your Majesty. The Queen of Hearts demands execution.” A gunshot rang out. The messenger froze as smoke curled from the King’s pistol. “I hate demands.” His gaze snapped back to you, smirking as he flipped a silver coin. It spun in the green light before landing in his palm. Tails.