A/N: Well, I cannot believe we are finally at the end. There were honestly times I never thought this fic would get finished... actually ANY AIW fic of mine would get finished. This started as a bit of fun to practice writing and because I always wondered, "Well, what exactly is Mirana thinking during...?" Somehow, in amongst all the light-hearted fun, it took on a life of its own and became this really massive thing that was suddenly incredibly important to get right.

I am sure in three months time I'll revisit this and change my mind and mentally moan about the twenty things that I wish I could change because it would have been better if... but then again, there's always a 'what if' so this'll just have to stay exactly what it is.

I have to thank everyone again for the plethora of wonderful comments. I won't deny that they made this fic what it is... and in many ways inspired me to be far more 'serious' about it than I ever wanted to be... but it's good to be pushed and inspired, so to everyone who's read and commented - thank you very much. On that note, I made a list of those I couldn't reply to as they weren't signed in, so all the following stand up and pat yourselves on the back from me: Chachacheese, roflroflrofl (FAR too kind!), Marlissa, rachel, Hoppy, Tauphe, tokyo_chic, .7, Ashley, dinsdale, butterfly wings and Mirgonus. Everyone else who commented - hopefully you got a direct reply.

Onyxworrystone - thanks for always shooting the breeze...and exchanging story ideas and Mirana love!

For all the readers - I hope it's been fun!

For anyone who doesn't know... the sequel to this - Alice Kingsleigh - is almost finished... I have 1 chapter to post. We will then move onto the last story in the 'trilogy' - Iracebeth of Crims. Because, above all, the bad mad girls deserve love too... well, bad mad girls not called Mirana, that is. So the conclusion to this 'Malice' story will arrive sometime during that... *evil grin*

I tell myself that I must stay just like Iracebeth. I cannot leave, I cannot look away. It takes the slashing cut of a forked ted tongue to remind me why I cannot - must not remain on the field – as Alice deliberately hacks off the creature's tongue. Bile rises within me, darkness too – the din, the clamour – 'tis why no violence must ever stride my castle's halls.

Yet at the same time I am stricken with concern: I try to leave, I try to turn away, but I am helpless to stop watching, my eyes drawn to the battle time and time again. It's not that I do not believe the prophecy, do not believe in her – I do – but it's as if I need the visual reassurance that she'll triumph, that in the process she won't come to any harm.

"Mirana, you must go, this will nae be pretty. And you must no' risk staying here, not in this melee."

"Worried for me, Tarrant?" I smile softly.

"More for the rest of us… imagine our embarrassment were we to triumph, only to find we have lost oor' queen."

"Well then," I find the time to execute a playful curtsy, "I'd hate to have you feel embarrassment, kind sir."

The smile vanishes as quickly as it comes, his grip tightening around the sword, "If I should…"

"Don't." My own slides easily in place… as do my words. "Alice will slay the Jabberwocky, good will triumph over evil, and everything will go back to normal."

"Are you certain?"

The veil of madness clouding the green lifts temporarily and I'm confronted by a sharp and probing gaze. His words echo his own earlier but they are not the same, instead a focused question, one that reveals to me the truth – he sees the doubt within.

I move to reassure him, "Of course, my dear Tarrant."

The lie sits easily, the guilt does not.

"The Oraculum is just a scroll, do not forget." His words reflect the wisdom of his years, "It, just as everything, is crafted by a human hand."

"You do not believe in fate and magic?"

"I believe in action… and I believe that when the time comes, we all… choose."

"Some choices are more… difficult than others."

He grins and nods, "If all were easy, there would be no wrong."

A second later this is painfully confirmed – Alice goes flying again, she'll certainly have bruises in the morning, but this time… I can feel my heart stutter a beat as we both watch the clatter of the sword. It lands some distance away, I swallow and he glances to me, a silent question in his eyes. I do not say a thing; I make no movement, nary even a flutter of an eyelash – in this, as ever, I must remain Mirana – the just, benevolent, impartial queen.

He acts without my permission, though he has it, perhaps much later when it's done I shall go walking in the garden, find him beneath the willow tree and ask whether the choice was of his own accord or whether what I must conceal betrayed me. Not that it really matters, I suppose, for the choice is made regardless… be it by my own will or his.

"The Hatter's interfering! Off with his head!"

I see him brace, stride forward as the tide of red begins its swell upon Iracebeth's barked orders. He raises his sword, I turn and glance away; my knight draws up beside me. I mean to nod my acquiescence, move to safety, I mean to be what I must be… and yet I do not move.

"Off with your head!"

Another moment that imbeds itself within my mind, this one the opposite of pleasant, as Alice, mid-flight, brings down the Vorpal sword and slices off the Jabberwocky's head.

The rush, the power, the vortex of feeling rises up within me; I am certain I almost gasp, so strong is the maelstrom of emotion in my chest. We watch the head bounce down the stairs, akin to how the scroll unfurled this morning, this time each bounce an entirely different crack. The fissures in my heart ooze only kindness, expose mercy, pity overwhelms me when I spy the sadness in my sister's eyes. Mere moments later it is but bewilderment distorting them, as they all refuse to execute her orders, the Red Cards throwing down their arms. I know that I should feel triumphant, must be satisfied, but every fibre of my being craves the safety of the bars.

It's as if my prayers are answered or perhaps Cheshire reads my mind – he's as ancient as he is mysterious – and he floats the crown over to my head, it changing on the way. I close my eyes, envisage the malevolence; the crown settles… and as it comes to rest, the bars slam down, trapping it in place. But even as the winds of change caress my face and brush my hair, I feel unsettled, concentrate much harder, and it's only then I truly understand. The bars, not those of ten years ago, not nearly as strong or tough, are spaced a little too far apart so I can see the tendrils reaching, their darkness touching - tainting where they should not be able to reach. I swallow: to relieve the dryness in my throat, the premonition, the terrible realisation running through my mind. The bars will hold, they will contain the darkness for a while but they – the crown – are no longer enough; not the impenetrable wall that can't be breached.

It is perhaps the lingering dismay and horror that obscures the pity, that veils the kindness, the benevolence I'm meant to show. "Iracebeth of Crims, your crimes against Underland are worthy of death. However, that is against my vows." To all around me, I am the essence of light, showing my sister only mercy, but in her eyes I read the terror of what's coming next. "Therefore, you're banished to the Outlands, no-one is to show you any kindness or speak a word to you. You will not have a friend in the world."

We're sisters, we're blood, we are one – each one of us so very aware of the other and so I know... she fears this far more than she has ever feared death. For I deny her the one thing she craves, the one thing she has always sought but never gained – acceptance. Perhaps she would have never gained it without my punishment but we will never know for these few words have stripped all chance of it away. Her gaze connects with mine before she glances down and I see it – recognition – her dark eyes mocking me, you won't escape my fate.

"Majesty, I hope you bear me no ill will."

His smile sickens me and this time I do not conceal revulsion, consigning my sister to an even worse course. "Only this one, Ilosovic Stayne, you're to join Iracebeth in banishment from this day until the end of Underland."

I know what he will do before he does – pure evil, unlike madness, is predictable – I know that Tarrant sees it too and so I trust him to take care of Stayne.

"Majesty, please, kill me… please," Stayne begs as he is dragged away.

My answer is not mine, yet it is. I know inside that this will guide me from this day, "But I do not owe you a kindness." This isn't who I was, this isn't who I should be… but I am. In this, Iracebeth must take the blame as much as I – her rule has changed me – and she must grasp that I am not a person she will fool again.

"He tried to kill me, HE TRIED TO KILL ME," her rage is evident across her face; I stare in her eyes and let her know the truth, you tried to kill me… and now you must live with the consequences of your acts.

"Oh Frabjous Day!" His joy pulls me out of my morbid, morose thoughts, sends a shiver down my spine. At least he is himself again, and if just one person – especially Tarrant – has reverted to his prior self then this not a moment for reflection but a cause for celebration.

If even one is saved, I haven't failed.

I smile, I cannot help it, he's so happy – I've never quite had the heart to tell him how I hate that dance. The music pulls me in and I allow myself a second's pleasure – a carefree swaying to the merry tune. There will be time for contemplation, grief and preparation later, but just for now I let his joyful cheer course my veins. My hands, always my hands, lift of their own accord and clutch in front of me in satisfaction as I acknowledge the delightful fact that Tarrant's truly back.

It's only then my eyes catch sight of her, remind me to whom I owe… well, everything – a debt that I can never hope to repay. The smile disappears as the weight of expectation crushes me: theirs, hers, my own should I let it.

This is not her place.

She doesn't belong down here with the rest of us, can't be expected to remain. She has her life to live, her world to change, she won't be able to achieve that down in Underland… her job is not to fight the darkness in me - by my side.

I slide to the Jabberwocky's head – the stench is overwhelming… the creature's rotten breath; the one in front of me or one residing in myself - I shy away from thinking as I let the liquid drip. Finished at last, I rise, advancing to my champion, "The blood of the Jabberwocky, you have our everlasting gratitude…and for your efforts on our behalf…" I proffer the vial. It takes all the kindness within not to crush it in my hand. Her finger barely brushes mine but I feel it everywhere, the bars inside my mind somehow reinforced.

"Will this take me home?" Her heartfelt questions shakes me for I long for it to be - to answer – Alice, you're already home.

Instead, I smile and I hope that she doesn't see my desolation as I utter softly, "If that is what you choose." Tarrant's words flit through my mind and I know the choice is mine more than hers – I have a crossroads before me – I can step back, let her traverse her own path or I can ask she stay. Her eyes hold innocence, her face shows earnest youth; it would be oh so easy. Before I know it, I am bestowing a caress. A simple brush –a nothing, yet and everything – it centres me like nothing ever could. Do not forget me, my eyes beg. I won't, hers return, but we both know it's an illusion – back in her own world, I do not - cannot exist.

I move to stand behind my ragtag bunch of friends, everyone but Tarrant; I long to call him over, ask him not to plead. He does, of course; perhaps he has less strength than I, or maybe more. Just as she would me, she rebuffs him… and I am both glad and saddened that I didn't ask.

For even if it's taken all this time to see it, I've come to understand the painful truth.

She is a champion, this Alice – theirs, his.

She's even mine.

But all the longing in this world can't make us hers.