My name is Alice Liddell. I'm six years old, and I live in a mansion with my parents located in London, England. We're rather wealthy, with my father being a favored astronomer and mother being a very successful author. My childhood is not like others at all. I spent the majority of my childhood in father's study, learning new words, phrases, and concepts. My intelligence is far more advanced than any other six year old's that I've met. What else am I supposed to do? I don't have any siblings, so am I to play house with the maids? They're busy cleaning our home, cooking our food, and taking care of everything else for us. Mother and father are always busy with their work. Besides, I've got a lot of learning to do anyways.
I rose in the morning, and climbed out of my queen-sized bed. Some say a queen-sized bed is much too large for someone of my age, but I adore it. I walked to my vanity, climbed on to the chair, and stared back at my reflection. Pale, white skin. Long, straight, black hair (yet it is a tad messy from when I was asleep). Icy blue eyes. That was my appearance, and I loved it. I find it majestic, and beautiful. I'm very confident in myself for my age.
I reach for my brush and begin to brush out my hair. I hummed a lullaby that my mother used to sing to me when I was just a small infant. When I hum it around the maids and butlers, for some reason they freeze up and stare at me. Because of this, mother has instructed me not to hum it around the staff. I still do it anyways, despite her instruction.
I heard a knock on the door, which interrupted my humming. I dropped my hands to my sides and looked at the door, awaiting for the person on the other side to speak.
"Miss?" a maid asked. I stared at the door a moment longer.
"...Come in." I replied after a short pause.
The maid opened the door and walked in, "Good morning, miss. It's nice to see you already awake and readying yourself." I nodded as she walked to my closet. I look back in the mirror, and continue to brush my hair out, watching the maid behind me in the reflection. She was picking out my outfit for the day. I hate when they do that. But their job is to make sure I'm awake, pick out the outfit, and leave to carry on with the rest of their duties.
Once she's gone and I'm finished brushing my hair, I walk to the clothing neatly displayed out on my bed. I stare at them for a second, scrunching my face in a look of disgust before returning the clothes to my closet. I pick out my own outfit, which consists mostly of darker colors and white frills.