▼alice breckenridge △₁₀

According to my older brother, I seemed to be born with an imagination as wild as any others. I would always gaze around my parents heads as they held me and cry or laugh at things that were never there. I was always crawling around our shack of a home touching objects or reaching for things I was yet able to grab. One such case occurred when I had been sitting at the table with my busy mother, who was lost cutting slices of aged tenderloin for that night’s dinner. My microscopic hand had reached for the glowing light emitted by the candle and I ended grasping the head of the burning entity. This moment left me with a curious, keyhole shaped burn wound on the palm of my left hand to this day, though it had faded slightly with age. My curiosity and nature at such a young age outshone my curious behavior in my parents eyes, I suppose. Once I became a toddler, I had apparently began to create situations and stories that were unlikely and impossible to happen. My mother tells me my favorite story is about a rabbit that was dressed very humanistic and very Capitolesque. Until this point in my life, it had appeared that my family took my illusionistic creativity as a half-hearted glance at a child who has yet to be changed by the cruel world that surrounded her. A child that had yet to face the harsh reality that the world wasn’t a wonderland or save haven that could be removed by creative thinking.

I think my family began to worry the moment I would speak of such well detailed events and characters and stories. One moment I was talking about my journey through a made up world I had called “Wonderland” and then I quickly traversed into another tale about a Looking Glass world completely altered from our own. After telling my mother and my father both the great details of my adventures, they had been suggested by a family friend to take me to the local physician. After a few meetings with my newly prescribed doctor, I was diagnosed with Depersonalization disorder, a disorder that assumed my perspective on the world had been altered by chemicals in my brain and that I was watching a world I didn’t understand from within myself or something like this. After a few behavior altering prescriptions and drugs, my family had assumed that I was perfectly sane again and their perfect little girl. However, I began to talk to these royals that weren’t there. A king and a queen, both from opposing lands that wanted to conquer the kingdom in between their own for full dominance of the world. My mother, in frustration, grabbed my arm and yelled something along the lines of, “This isn’t real, Alice! You’re lying to us! He [the physician] gave you the medicine and you’re better now! Stop lying!” She had said one glance into my eyes showed a transition from green emeralds transform into black obsidian right before her eyes. With a smile, I had apparently said some snide remarks with a few choice curse words that were extremely out of character for me.

After a few more trips to the physician, I was diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder. It was similar to multiple personality disorder where various stress-induced personas would take over my personality for a short moment to cope with the situation I was currently in. According to the studies that my doctor had performed, I only had two – the king and the queen. A few more drugs were prescribed, but throughout my childhood none of them had seemed useful against this raging war within my head. I began to meet with my doctor and psychiatrist weekly to discuss my feelings and my personas’ feelings, as well. This seemed to help for a while, until I began my education and began to interact with children my age.

I was never the popular girl – the girl that everyone wanted to surround themselves with. I was always a party of three that no one else wanted to be invited to. My public diagnosis and a few choice outbursts had given me a reputation that would generally create lifelong solitude from my peers. I was even distant from my family for a while, my parents not able to understand what was biologically occurring in my head. It was just me, the king, and the queen for the longest time. Until I met cows.

This may not be a true love story where the prince saves me from the evil witch[es], but this was close enough. I began to work with my father in raising cows and caring for them and their needs. I felt at ease when I was brushing their short hides or milking their capacious utters. These moments in my life were the breakthrough of ignoring the voices in my head. The cows and the horses and the animal in general distracted my brain from the war that was raging within. With my father understanding how the animals had helped me begin to overcome my behavioral and psychological disorder, he had rescued an injured duck that was half-priced during a market at the Town Square and gave him to me as a pet. I don’t know why, but the animals I interacted with (especially this injured duck) had helped me become a normal teenager for once in my life, and I enjoyed it.

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My thin, pale frame seems to suit my body well. My glowing skin was never meant to be a few shades darker than what it was currently. The sun irritated its sensitivity and color balance. With this being said, I burn easily after an numerous amount of days working with the cattle here. My body looks malnourished compared to a healthy individuals. My frame is rather narrow and tall compared to the other girls that I live near. I figuratively and literally grew up to become a pale, walking stick. My legs were equally as thin as my arms were, both just as lanky and extended as the other. I usually covered my thin frame with my mother’s sundresses in the summer time that she had made herself in her youth. They were covered in beautiful patterns and colors and fabrics that they felt as if they were better than anything the Capitol could have ever made {in my own opinion, that is}. Her handmade sandals from the leather and twine received from the animals in the District were more comfortable than anything else I had ever received in my life. During the winter, she knitted us sweaters from the sheep’s wool that was sheered away every few months with various patterns and colors that she found adorable. My mother’s hand-me-downs and her ingenuities concerning clothing were few things that were passed on to me in features. My mother and my father both had dark, auburn hair and darker skin. My fair skinned traits seemed to come from neither of my parents.

My lily green eyes were much larger than my face, floating on large crystal pools of pearl. They give the appearance that I am much younger than what I am, exhibiting a lifetime youth no matter how much I age. My lips are small and thin, pursing at the slightest sign of disapproval about something. This disapproval can also be seen with a sneer of my lip or a scrunching of my small nose. My eyebrows match my hair color nearly perfectly. My dirty blonde hair is long and quite curly, bounds of frizzy curls cascading down my posterior. I usually attempt to keep it pulled up with a hair tie or with a headband that rests on the very top of my head. Another feature of my facial area would be the few dark freckles that scatter across the bridge of my nose. They are rarely noticeable unless an examiner glances closely to my face. My ears, though rather small compared to other peoples, but are lightly pointed towards the top that makes me look elfish, in my own opinion. My face is heart-shaped, exactly like my mothers. On the palm of my hand, there is a small burn mark from my childhood that is seems to be oddly shaped like a keyhole.

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As a little girl, I was told to be very strong in my determination on what was real and fiction. I was also said to be quite adventurous and willing to try new things with no regard to consequences. Before my diagnosis, I was dreamy and often drifted off into and out of other thoughts. I used to believe in having my own, specified personality. Something that trademarked me and my signature as an individual in the world we live in. Something that differentiated me from my peers as an individualistic character. However, as I’ve aged, I’ve begun to lose touch with my inner “Alice”. As I’ve learned to understand Themis and Epimetheus, I’ve learned how to deal with their presence more. With doctoral assistance, I’ve been able to reduce my stress in a daily life and reduce my anger and gain a better grasp on my daily life. With these abilities, I have begun to experience less of their personal personalities taking control of my personality. However, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully escape their influence. I still hear them, sometimes, even though it’s rare. There’s still a beat in my heart, a neuron in my brain that transports what they think and feel about something. Their presences have become a part of my life that I will never be able to understand and never be able to escape – it’s something I must get used to. I’ve become aware that these two entities living within my brain, my heart, my head will never depart from their kingdoms.

Whenever I begin to hear less of their thoughts and voice, however, I begin to hear the alien voice of my own in my head. I still feel like I’m that kind girl that I was in my youth. With age, my adventurous nature has soon faded away into the dusk, however. My doctor’s treatments to reduce my extreme emotions and feelings of my grasp on my life have left me rather bland, in my own opinion. While other’s are crying and frustrated with the world, I stare blankly with the fear of Themis’ sharp witty quotes to fill my diction rather than my own thoughts. If this process has led me to believe anything, I believe that I’m determined. I’m also very active in my life, needing to focus on cows and other farm animals to relieve my mind of any stress. I need to constantly be doing soothing and relaxing work in order to maintain a homeostasis of inner being. One thing my diagnosis has instilled in me is the sense of understanding in others. I feel like I am more compassionate now, as a near adult, than I ever was before. The few things that seem to illuminate beyond my personas personalities is my kind and understanding heart. In any social setting, I am extremely introverted and shy, due to my isolation from society for so many years. I rarely am able to communicate with anyone if they attempt to begin one (the situation usually ends with me blankly staring at them with wide eyes until they feel the awkwardness begin to rise up and they just leave).





I am a man of kind words and understanding. My royal wardrobe is simplistically white and welcoming to all of the citizens of our kingdom. My eyes are a brilliant blue that shines brightly against my fair complexion, while curls of white hair fall from the top of my head. Upon my head, also, is a white crown with golden ingots that line the rims of the sides. Another feature I possess is the white mustache that matches the hue of my hair. I have been characterized as a little dim-witted and unorganized, but I feel that my compassion for the world and my kingdom more than make up for that. I have also been told I take things, such as sayings and other metaphorical statements extremely seriously when they are not meant to be such. I appear most in dear Alice whenever she feels extremely stressed and out of control with her life. The disorganization in her life, intermixed with my presence, causes her to immediately begin to act just as I supposedly do – dimwitted and unorganized. The Red Queen and I have been in a war over the domesticated land for fifteen years now, and it would seem that our conquest at this moment in time are extremely similar. I am rather talented in coercing individuals into believing and doing exactly what I want them to do or think. I do believe she would be better off in general with a kind, wise ruler like myself in control of her kingdom forever more.




I am a woman of true distinction. My red, velvet dress is the most expensive thing to ever be crafted by the gods through any space or dimension. My skin is the fairest of them all, with painted on cheek blushes to showcase my external beauty. My real hair is hidden underneath a powdered, pearly wig that rests ever so safely on the tip of my head. On top of that crowning piece is the true crown: a crimson head ornament with rubies that line the border of the rim. My eyes are dark and blackened, emanating my powerful influence over others in the land. I run my kingdom exactly how it should be ran; it is orderly and everything has its place. Every soldier and civilian knows their place in my world. No one dares to defy my rulings – ever. The White King and I have been in a war over the domesticated land for fifteen years now, and it would seem that our conquest at this moment in time are extremely similar. I appear most commonly whenever Alice is feeling stressed out and angry. Such cases would be when the poor, innocent, baby Alice is being bullied or feels an exceptionally strong, negative feelings towards someone. Whenever I do switch personas with the small girl, I feel that I give her a little bit more edge than what she currently has. I’m sassy and witty and have a quick-tongue (all things poor Alice just doesn’t even have the capability to understand, I’m afraid.) I am very talented at public speaking and putting on a show for a public display. I do believe she would be better off in general with a strong, harsh ruler like myself in control of her kingdom forever more.

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