The chipped paint of my grandmother's antique wardrobe feels oddly smooth under my fingertips. I've run my hand over these carvings a hundred times before—just a habit at this point. But today? Today, something feels… off.
There's this faint tremor under my feet, barely noticeable, like a whisper against my senses. A low hum, deep in the floorboards. I can't explain it, but it's enough to make me pause. Enough to make me curious.
Grandmother always had stories about this old thing—talked about hidden passages and secret worlds, always with this knowing little smile. "There's more to it than meets the eye," she'd say. I chalked it up to an overactive imagination, the kind that comes with age. But now? Now I'm not so sure.
My fingers catch on something—a loose panel tucked behind a tapestry of faded roses. My heart kicks up a notch as I push it aside. The wood groans in protest, releasing a sharp musty scent that makes me wrinkle my nose. But underneath that… there's something else. A scent I can't quite place. Old. Ancient. And honestly? A little unnerving.
Then the panel swings open, and—well, I expected dust. Maybe some forgotten trinkets. What I did not expect was a swirling vortex of light.
It's alive—pulsing and shifting like liquid gemstones, emerald and sapphire and ruby bleeding into each other. The air crackles around it, electric, like the moment right before a thunderstorm. I stare, heart hammering, because let's be real—this is not normal. This is not just some old wardrobe. This is a door.
For a second, I hesitate. Just a second. But curiosity is a demanding little beast, and I've never been good at ignoring it. So I take a breath, square my shoulders, and step forward.
The moment I cross the threshold, the world tilts. Light swallows me whole, and then—
I land.
The first thing I notice is the sky—deep purple, bruised and heavy. The trees stretch impossibly high, their bark black as polished glass. The ground beneath me is uneven, scattered with glowing fungi and moss-covered stones. Everything is… wrong. Twisted.
The air is thick, heavy, carrying the scent of damp earth and something sharp. Metallic. Like blood.
So this is Wonderland.
Not the one from bedtime stories, though. No singing flowers or grinning cats. This place feels alive in a way that makes my skin prickle, like the trees are watching. Like the ground is listening.
And then I hear it.
A growl. Low. Close.
My breath catches.
Yeah… I don't think I'm alone here.