A/n: no, i do not own alice in wonderland and all the fairytales.

Everyone has their own happy endings, huh. Sorry, that's just a whole load of trash people tell you. Every princess (read: girl) has her own prince charming too. Hell yeah, my mum has my dad, my sister, my brother-in-law and my eldest brother's busy playing prince charming to a girl a year older than me. Wow.

Anyway, the whole prince charming thing? It's just crap. Cause guess what? Me, 16 years of age, brown haired, black eyed (wait, that sounds incorrect. then again, I do have black eyes so... yeah.) no boyfriend. Therefore, I do not have a prince charming, therefore the statement that 'every girl has her own prince charming' is to be considered fallacious as it has committed the fallacy of a hasty generalization because HELLO! People like me don't have any prince charmings coming to save their sorry behind when they desperately need one to?! Shit. Philosophy is getting to me. I need to kick the fallacy identifying habit. Fast.

My name is Vanessa. Van for short. Nice to meet you, whoever you are. According to my best friend, also named Vanessa, my skin is the colour of steamed white chicken. Let your imagination run wild. I'm fat and 1.59 metres tall. Ok, I know 60kg isn't considered that fat because it's still in the 'acceptable weight' range but hell yeah. I'm flat chested (my best friend called me a 'surfboard'. speaks volumes, huh.) and... There's nothing much left to be said about my physical appearance. Oh yeah. I wear glasses, square rimmed, orange and maroon. I love my glasses. I absolutely adore my glasses.

Back to the point. Thing is, I'm writing this because a certain magician of mine who's now brooding in a corner (thank goodness he's not looking, if he is he'll freak out from reading the way I've decided to do this) instructed me to keep a 'detailed record of the events from when it all began until well, the supposed end'. Too bad to him, I'm going to do things my way. It's a long story on how I got a magician (as well as a couple of other weirdos) SHIT! My stupid cheshire cat sitting on my lap just scratched me! Ok, ignore him, he's just being lousy and stupid because I called him a weirdo. I am a weirdo too, in case you haven't noticed. I mean, this is a diary, supposedly but... You get my point. Great, I've finished two pages talking almost crap. My magician (I forgot his name again) would kill me when he finds out I've wasted so much space. Who cares. At this point, my cheshire cat is nodding in agreement. Good for him.

My mad hatter's pounding on the door. Gotta go...