The Fairytale of Blood and Steel

"Tragedy begins the moment the reflection moves first."

The hallway stretched like a wound that forgot how to close.

I walked it alone—at least, that’s how it felt. Each step tapped against a chessboard floor—black and white squares alternating beneath my feet like it all meant something.

 Like I was part of a game I hadn’t agreed to play.

The silence didn’t just surround me. 

It watched.

Every breath I took felt like it gave something up—like the walls got a little closer, hungrier, more certain I didn’t belong here. Because I didn’t.

My pulse echoed through the hall like a borrowed rhythm.

 Measured. Shallow.

 The corridor responded to it—absorbing it. Reflecting it back at me, slightly offbeat.

 It felt alive.

 More than me.

 Or maybe just better at pretending.

Ahead, the so-called Mad Hatter walked like he owned the place. Said his name was Kyoshin.

 I didn’t believe him.

His coat flickered between black and ember orange as he moved—threaded with fire and lined with violet silk, like a stage costume stitched by smoke. A cracked pocket watch clung to the side of his tilted hat, ticking in reverse.

 His cane was lacquered black, thin and gleaming. The tip was shaped like a matchstick—etched with flame grooves that shimmered as he spun it.

He hummed a lullaby as he walked—a tune that should’ve been familiar. But every note felt… wrong.

 Like he was mocking it on purpose.

 Like he knew I was clinging to rhythm just to stay sane.

His shadow kept flickering.

 Sometimes it vanished entirely—like even light refused to commit to his existence.

We passed mirror after mirror, each one different. Gold. Iron. Bone-white. Cracked. Pristine. Empty.

 His reflection showed a different lie in each one.

One smiled too wide.

 One burned.

 One glitched like the world couldn’t decide what he was.

 Maybe it couldn’t.

I checked for my own reflection.

Nothing.

 Not a blur.

 Not a smear.

 Just absence.

Like the story had already erased me.

 Like I was a memory someone deleted but forgot to bury.

 A ghost that kept walking out of habit.

 Or maybe just the ash of someone who already burned.

“Normal, isn’t it?” he said without turning—like he could hear my thoughts before I thought them.

 “You’re not supposed to be here, memory boy. Wonderland doesn’t know what to make of you. So it just… doesn’t.”

He turned his head—only his head—and grinned like a wolf in a nursery rhyme.

“You call this place Wonderland?” I said, trying to sound amused, not angry. “You ever read a dictionary?”

“Mm. Maybe I wrote it.”

He reached up and pulled a tiny red book from his hat like it had always been there. Opened it mid-step, dipped a bone-like quill into something crimson.

 The ink smelled like rust.

 “Let’s rewrite a few definitions while we’re at it.”

“Maybe you should try reading it sometime,” I muttered. “You might figure out what ‘human’ means. Or realize you never were one.”

He laughed. Loud. Honest. Terrible.

“You say that like you aren’t the one with a self-help manual in your pocket. 'How to Be Human in Ten Steps or Less' what a riot!”

He clapped his cane against the ground. Sparks flew—tiny fireworks that fizzled like nervous laughter.

 The hallway dimmed, just slightly. The air thinned, as if afraid to carry his voice.

“Kids like you love accusing people,” he said, still smiling. “Like if you’re not the detective in the story, then you must be the killer.

 Sound familiar, suspect number one?”

I didn’t answer.

 I didn’t need to.

His voice dropped a note.

 Still playful.

 But closer. 

“Look at you,” he crooned. “The world won’t even reflect you.

 That’s not metaphor, kid.

 That’s rejection.”

My eyes drifted to another mirror.

A mistake.

A blurred figure stared back.

 Frozen. Painted in red.

 Only one eye visible—and it was looking straight at me.

Judging.

Kyoshin raised his hand. A glint of metal caught the light.

He was holding a pocket watch—small, silver, and cracked.

No hands. No ticking.

 Just a face of locked glass.

 Time, frozen.

“Pretty thing, isn’t it?” he mused, like he hadn’t just pulled it from the void.

 “It doesn’t move. It doesn’t tick. It just remembers.”

 He spun it by the chain, let it dangle like a question with no answer.

It reminded me of her.

 Of Emiha.

 Of the moment they said her fate was written and sealed.

 Of time that was never hers to begin with.

 Of promises made in bleeding silence.

He didn’t say her name.

But I knew who he meant.

 The girl I chased into the rabbit hole.

 The light I couldn’t let go.

 The only one who made the darkness pause.

I promised that if life tried to steal her away,

 I’d burn the whole damn world.

That promise is the only reason I’m still walking.

 Even though each step feels shackled with ghosts.

 Like I’m dragging my past behind me, link by link.

 But I keep walking anyway.

Somewhere along the way, we stopped.

Not because we reached something.

 But because something reached us.

A gate stood ahead.

 Ornate. Heavy.

 Red glow bleeding from its edges like an infected wound.

The hallway had never been a destination.

 It was an intermission.

 A breath between acts.

And now—

 The curtains were parting.

Kyoshin twirled like a marionette mid-performance, then bowed—deep and deliberate.

“We don’t want to be late for the tea party,” he chimed, like a bell only he could hear.

 “It’s not your time that’s running out, after all. It’s hers.”

He winked and spun like a clock hand flung off-axis.

 The hallway dimmed behind me.

“Welcome to Wonderland,” he whispered, like a curse disguised as a prayer.

 “The fairytale of blood and steel.

 One ticket to hell.

 No take-backs.”

Then he was gone—slipped behind the gate like a magician vanishing behind a curtain.

I stood there.

 Breathing in ash.

 Staring at the wall above the gate—where once a clock might’ve been.

 Now there was only a sealed mirror.

 Blank.

 Unmoving.

Just silence.

 My silence.

 My heartbeat—too loud.

 Too alone.

A voice in my head told me to run.

 Another told me it wouldn’t matter.

My footsteps echoed too loud—like even the floor was questioning me.

 Like my body was lagging behind my resolve, trying to hold me back with every step.

 Telling me: You’re not ready.

But I kept moving.

Not because I believed in anything.

 Not because I had faith.

 But because that’s what tragedy protagonists do.

They follow the light—

 Even when it was only ever meant

 to make the fall look beautiful.

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Kagame Jin’s Host commentary:

A corpse stitched together by memory stumbles into the wrong version of Wonderland, dragged by the strings of forgotten fate. A typical start for tragedy…

But what if a mirror stood there too? A tale where reflections lie, and every shard of truth deepens the cracks in the glass. This is how the fairytale of blood and steel begins.

I will be your host , your narrator, your guide through the cracks of this story.

 Stay tuned—unless, of course, your reflection is already moving before you do.

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Author notes on Names :

Hiiro (緋色) — can mean scarlet or deep crimson. His name carries the color of blood, fire, and lingering wounds—both beautiful and tragic.

Kyoshin (狂心 ) — means mad heart or deranged spirit.