Вилли Бэнкс
Alice in Zombieland / Алиса в Стране зомби

© Willie Banks, рукопись, 2025

© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2025

ONE
A Most Unusual Afternoon

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden haze over the field where Alice reclined beside her sister. A pressed flower journal lay open in her lap, its pages filled with poorly labeled blooms, but her gaze wandered to the meadow's edge, where wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze. Her sister's voice droned on – something about self-discipline and obedience – but Alice paid no heed. She sighed, propping her chin in her hand, and let her thoughts drift.

A whisper, faint and peculiar, tickled her ears. “Oh dear… oh my ears and whiskers… if only someone could help…”

Alice sat up, her brow furrowing. The voice wasn't her sister's, and it certainly wasn't the wind. She scanned the field, and there, just at the tree line, she saw him – a white rabbit, dressed impeccably in a waistcoat and clutching a gleaming pocket watch. His fur, though snowy at first glance, was strangely uneven, with faint patches of discoloration that reminded her of mildew or ash. He paced back and forth, muttering to himself in a voice that sounded both urgent and hollow, his movements hurried yet oddly stiff, as though one leg resisted bending altogether.

Alice's gaze fixed on the distant figure of the Rabbit, his peculiar attire and pacing captivating her more than any of the eerie old tales her granny used to whisper about talking animals and cursed woods. “Did you see that?” she asked her sister.

Her sister barely glanced up from her book. “See what, Alice?”

But Alice was already stepping away, her attention fixed on the Rabbit. As she moved closer, she noticed more peculiarities. His glassy eyes reflected the sunlight unnaturally, almost as if they belonged to a doll. His waistcoat, though finely tailored, was frayed at the edges, with faint stains she couldn't quite identify.

The Rabbit stopped his pacing and turned toward her, his gaze locking onto hers. For a moment, he looked desperate, as though he'd been waiting for her all along. Then, with a sharp jerk of his head, he muttered, “No time to waste, no time at all,” and began hobbling toward a hollow tree at the meadow's edge.

As he hurried forward with uneven steps, something shiny slipped from his pocket and landed in the grass, unnoticed by the Rabbit in his haste. Alice knelt and picked it up: a pocket watch. The glass face was cracked, and the hands ticked erratically, spinning forward and backward as though unable to decide the time. Inside the casing, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection, but it wasn't quite right. Her face appeared slightly distorted, her eyes wide and glassy, and the image seemed to shift unnaturally before snapping back to normal. Alice shook her head.

“Wait!” she called, clutching the watch. The Rabbit paused at the base of the hollow tree and glanced back at her, his glassy eyes catching the light again. He extended his hand toward her, not with the politeness of a request but with the expectation of someone who knew he would be obeyed.

“You'd better hurry, miss,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “There isn't much time.”

Without waiting for a response, he disappeared into the hollow tree. Alice hesitated, the pocket watch ticking madly in her hand. The sound was unnervingly loud, each tick resonating deep within her chest, almost as if it matched the rhythm of her own heartbeat. It was hypnotizing, pulling her focus entirely, and for a moment, she couldn't tell if she was still in the meadow or somewhere else. Her sister's voice called faintly from the distance, but it sounded so far away now, so unimportant.

The hollow tree loomed before her, dark and inviting. She felt a pull, not just of curiosity but something deeper, something she couldn't quite name. And so, clutching the Rabbit's peculiar watch, Alice stepped forward and crawled into the tree.

At first, the hollow seemed like a simple tunnel, but then the ground gave way, and Alice was falling. She let out a gasp as the sensation of weightlessness consumed her. Down and down she went and, as she fell, the walls around her seemed to blur and warp, as though the hollow was stretching into infinity. Objects floated past her, some familiar and others utterly bizarre: a child's toy horse that galloped in mid-air, a picture frame displaying a couple she didn't recognize, and a silver bell that chimed without sound. Alice reached out instinctively toward a leather-bound book, its cover etched with shifting golden symbols. When she opened it, the pages were completely blank, as if waiting for words that had long been forgotten. The emptiness sent a shiver down her spine, and she quickly let it go, watching as it floated out of reach.

The descent seemed endless, the sensation of falling both exhilarating and terrifying. Every so often, she thought she saw shapes moving in the shadows – tall, spindly figures with glowing eyes watching her silently. She shook her head, trying to convince herself it was a trick of her imagination. Yet, the deeper she fell, the more the world around her seemed to hum with a strange, otherworldly energy, pulling her ever downward.

She thought of her sister – not as she was now, sitting calmly with her book in the meadow, but as she had been back when they used to play together. The two of them clasping hands and spinning in circles under the sun, dizzy with laughter. They'd let go all at once and fall into the grass, giggling and breathless, the world still spinning around them. Now she was falling too, yet endlessly, hopelessly. Why did falling always go down, anyway? Never up, never sideways. Always down-down-down, like the sand in a clock. Maybe she was the sand. Or a speck of it. A grain tumbling through a world that didn't bother to catch her.

She liked the clocks that ticked more. She remembered one in their sitting room – how calm it used to make her feel, the soft, orderly rhythm of it while Dinah purred and the fire snapped. But not this watch. No, this one in her hand ticked like it didn't know what it wanted. Its hands spun unevenly, as though they couldn't decide if time was coming or going. It was trying to trick her, maybe. Or it was broken. Or it was laughing.

Tick-tack. Tick-tack. Hee-Haa.

The ticking swelled in her ears, filled her head, pressed into her chest. She gasped as though all the air had gone missing. Her heart thudded against her ribs in time with the erratic clicks. She pressed the watch away from her, but the sound didn't fade. It was everywhere. “Stop it,” she whispered, though whether to the watch or herself, she didn't know. How could this tiny thing be the source of such a tremendous sound? Her thoughts turned to the desperation she'd seen in the Rabbit's eyes, his muttering voice echoing faintly in her memory. “No time… no time…”

The ticking grew louder still, a roar of seconds and minutes collapsing in on themselves, each tick stabbing through her like a pin. It was unbearable – no longer a sound, but a force shaking her bones. Her head spun, her breath came in shallow gasps.

And then – she landed.

It was so abrupt it made her flinch. The world around her went utterly still and quiet.

She sprawled for a moment atop a bed of soft tiny mushrooms and thick moss, catching her breath, the vibrant caps of the fungi bending slightly beneath her weight before springing back. She scrambled upright and looked around, her eyes wide.

The world was strange and otherworldly. Towering mushrooms stretched overhead, their caps shimmering faintly, and moss blanketed every surface, pulsing faintly as though alive. Shadows danced across the space, but no clear source of light could be found. The air smelled damp and faintly metallic. Alice glanced down at the watch in her hand. It ticked steadily, hands no longer jerking in confusion but circling forward with purpose. It was nearing 4:40. For a moment, she just watched it, mesmerized.

In the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the White Rabbit, his movements jerky and hurried as he disappeared between a cluster of vines. “Wait!” Alice called. He turned his head slightly, just enough for her to hear him mutter, “Hurry, miss! Wonderland's been waiting long enough!” Then, with a flick of his ear, he was gone. Her feet squished against the moss as she ran after him, each step accompanied by the persistent ticking of the watch in her hand.

She emerged into a grand hall lined with towering doors, each more peculiar than the last. Some were enormous and others so small she would have to crawl to fit through. None of them had handles, and their polished surfaces gleamed in the dim, shifting light. Her eyes darted around, searching for the Rabbit, and then she saw him. He slipped through a door with a handle, the only one of its kind, leaving it wide open.

Alice rushed toward it and stopped at the very threshold, her hand gripping the cold, ornate handle tightly. She saw a radiant summer garden bathed in golden light. Roses bloomed in vibrant reds, and a beautiful woman sat at a tea table in the center, smiling kindly. The warmth of the scene drew her in, and for a moment, Alice thought of home – the comfort of her sister's voice and Dinah's soft purr. She leaned closer, one foot hovering over the threshold, but before she could move further, the door slammed shut with a deafening thud, nearly catching her foot in the process. The handle in her hand twisted sharply, pulling her away and dragging her toward another door.

The new door creaked open – six feet above the ground, lodged absurdly in the upper row of the wall like a misplaced cupboard. A faint chill wafted out, and Alice, now several inches off the floor, dangled awkwardly by the handle.

“Well, this is entirely uncalled for,” she muttered, kicking her feet to find purchase. She scrabbled the points of her shoes against the wall and managed to plant them against a knot of molding beneath the frame. Her grip tightened.

“Now see here!” Alice scolded the doorknob, her voice wobbling between indignation and curiosity. “You can't just drag me about without so much as a by-your-leave! What kind of doorknob are you, anyway?”

The doorknob, of course, gave no reply, but it shuddered slightly, as though offended by her outburst. Alice tilted her head, her curiosity outweighing her fear. “I daresay you're the rudest handle I've ever encountered,” she continued. “And I've met some rather rude ones in my time, you know. Do you even know where you're taking me?”

She gave it a small tug, then a firm twist, but the knob wouldn't budge. It rattled once, then pulled sharply back, nearly jerking her off balance. “Oh, so that's how it is, is it?” Alice muttered. “Well, two can play at this game!”

With a huff, she braced her foot against the molding and gave one final pull. The doorknob seemed to decide it had had enough of her resistance. With a decisive twist, it yanked her forward into the doorway like a bag of onions on market day – her shoulder bumped against the doorframe as she was swung through and the space beyond swallowed her whole.

TWO
Of Smoke and Shadows

Alice dusted herself off and looked around. The hall of peculiar doors was gone, and so was the doorway she had just passed through. She turned in a slow circle, half expecting the Rabbit to appear again, muttering urgently. But there was no sign of him – just the endless stretch of the strange world she had fallen into.

“No matter,” Alice said aloud, though the ticking watch in her hand gave her pause. “If you want to go out of somewhere, you must go through somewhere first. That's only sensible.”

Satisfied with her logic, she began to walk. The ground beneath her was soft and springy, and the air carried a faint, sweet rot, like overripe fruit left too long in the sun. Towering mushrooms loomed overhead, their luminous caps casting shifting patterns of light. Tangled vines dangled lazily, their tips brushing against her as she passed. Every so often, she thought she heard whispers, but when she turned her head, there was nothing there – just the dry rustle of leaves scattered across the grass.

Ahead, a faint glow marked a clearing. As she stepped into it, she saw a large mushroom at its center, its cap wide enough to provide shade for a small crowd. Seated atop it was a creature so peculiar that Alice stopped short. A Caterpillar – or at least, something that resembled one – was lounging there. Its segmented body shimmered faintly, with patches of its shell appearing cracked and brittle, as though time or decay had begun to claim it. It held what appeared to be a pipe that emitted thin tendrils of mist that swirled with a faint, sickly green glow. The mist clung unnaturally to the air, as though reluctant to dissipate.

“Why are you here?” asked the Caterpillar, its voice sharp but trembling slightly. Its many legs shifted as if it were trying to steady itself, and its eyes gleamed with an unspoken urgency.

Alice tilted her head. “Why am I here? Well, that's a rather peculiar question, isn't it? I was following a Rabbit – a very odd Rabbit – and now I'm here, wherever here is.”

The Caterpillar exhaled a plume of green mist, its antennae twitching. “That doesn't answer the question.”

Alice frowned. “But how can I answer properly when I don't know what you mean? If you mean why I'm here at this precise moment, it's because I walked. If you mean why I came down the Rabbit's hole, it's because I was curious. And if you mean why I'm still here, well, that's rather your fault, isn't it?”

“Curious?” The Caterpillar sneered. “That's a pitiful excuse. People get curious about all sorts of things – why clouds float or why mushrooms grow – but they don't tumble into holes over it. What a bother.”

Alice straightened. “I don't think it's fair of you to judge when you haven't tumbled into any holes yourself.”

“I don't tumble into holes, Alice,” the Caterpillar drawled, each word floating lazily like smoke from its pipe. “I make them. And I always know where they lead. It's the tumblers who don't.”

Alice shifted uneasily. “Well, I didn't mean to come here. It was a mistake – a misfortune. I didn't want to end up in a place like this.”

“A mistake?” the Caterpillar declared, slow and smoke-laced. “No, I don't think so. They don't come to me by mistake.”

Alice narrowed her eyes. “And what are you, exactly?”

The Caterpillar took another long drag from its pipe, the glowing mist swirling around its form like a veil. “Me? I am what waits. What watches. What wonders when the wondering stops. But if you need something shorter – call me the welcome committee.”

“Well, I should call you terribly unhelpful,” Alice muttered. “Which way should I go to leave, then?” she asked, lifting her chin. “Surely there's a path out.”

The Caterpillar chuckled, a low, curling sound. “As if you really mean to leave,” it said. “If you wanted to leave, Alice, you would never have come.”

Alice bristled. “You don't know anything about me!”

“No,” the Caterpillar agreed. “You're a case to be unraveled. Something new in the stale breeze. But I know that you haven't been here long, that your cheeks are rosy, and your eyes still shine. Have you eaten anything? Drunk anything?”

Alice frowned. “Not yet. Why?”

“Why?” The Caterpillar exhaled slowly, a faint chuckle curling in his throat. “You didn't even notice the cake or the bottle? Marked so plainly – Eat me, Drink me?” His tone was more amused than scolding, as if the oversight were part of a long-running joke only he understood. He tapped his pipe against the edge of the mushroom, sending a lazy puff of green mist into the air.

Alice blinked in confusion. “What cake? What bottle? I didn't see anything like that.”

The Caterpillar exhaled a slow coil of mist and smiled – not kindly, but with a shade of amusement. “No, I don't imagine you did. Curious how the pieces shift when they're left to move on their own. How does one miss what's meant to be found? That's a trick worth studying.”

“Perhaps,” Alice retorted, “if one is too busy chasing Rabbits and trying not to be flung about by a stubborn doorknob, one might overlook a few things.”

The Caterpillar muttered something under its breath, its antennae twitching. Then it gave a small, amused shake of its head. “Doorknobs are curious creatures. Always pretending to be the key, but they're really more like riddles. Sometimes they open doors. Sometimes they open you.”

Alice's eyes narrowed. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

“You don't have to understand it for it to be true,” the Caterpillar said mildly, then gestured toward the mushroom. “Eat.”

Alice folded her arms. “Why should I eat anything you offer?”

The Caterpillar sighed, its glassy eyes flicking toward the edges of the clearing. “Trust isn't on the menu here, Alice. They'll find you soon enough, rosy cheeks and all.”

Alice's stomach turned at the cryptic warning. “Who's 'they'?” she demanded.

The Caterpillar ignored the question. Instead, it leaned closer, its voice dropping to a whisper. “It's bad manners to face a world in ruin on an empty stomach, don't you think?”

Alice stared at the mushroom, its speckled surface glistening faintly in the misty light. It didn't look appetizing in the least. “Is it poisonous?” she said finally.

“Perhaps,” the Caterpillar murmured, exhaling another plume of mist. “But every poison is a medicine, if used the right way. This – ” he gestured lazily at the mushroom, “ – anyway, is just a mushroom. A funny one, yes – but more helpful than you'd expect. Especially for someone like you.”

“That's not very convincing,” Alice said flatly.

The Caterpillar sighed, exasperated, his antennae twitching with mild irritation. “Then let me put it plainly,” he said, his voice less dreamy now, more commanding. “This bit will keep you alive. So eat it, Alice. Now.”

Hesitating and a bit scared, Alice broke off a small piece of the mushroom. “Just a nibble,” she muttered. “And if this turns me into something horrid, I'll – ”

“You'll do nothing,” the Caterpillar interrupted, watching intently as she lifted the piece to her mouth and took a cautious bite.

The taste was cloyingly sweet, with a moldy undertone that made her gag. “It's awful,” she managed, swallowing reluctantly.

“You'll get used to it in time,” the Caterpillar said. Then, he exhaled another slow ribbon of mist. “There now. Keep to the path behind the mushroom – follow where the stems bend.”

Alice looked at the so called path. “Where does it lead?”

The Caterpillar's smile curled ever so slightly. “Don't you see? It leads to the forest.”

Without waiting for another riddle or smoky sigh, Alice turned on her heel, spine stiff with indignation, and stomped out of the clearing, the taste of the mushroom still clinging to her tongue like a vile trick. She paused just long enough to toss over her shoulder, “Thank you ever so much for your… insight.”

“Goodbye, Alice,” the Caterpillar called after her, his tone airy with amusement and the faintest trace of something else. Then he chuckled softly, as if enjoying a private joke.

Alice paced the clearing, muttering to herself as her stomach churned. “Well, that was helpful,” she said under her breath, not meaning it in the least. She glanced toward the looming treeline, where shadows curled thick between the trunks. “Not at all ominous,” she added, trying to sound braver than she felt. “Perfect weather for a polite stroll into probable doom. And now that I've nibbled on a funny mushroom, I must be absolutely invincible, right?”

Alice's steps were hesitant as she moved deeper into the forest, her senses thrumming unnaturally. Every sound felt amplified – the rustle of leaves, the creak of branches, even the faint hum of the air seemed to whisper secrets she couldn't quite catch. Shadows shifted at the edges of her vision, and the ground pulsed faintly beneath her feet, as though Wonderland itself had a heartbeat.

Her thoughts were no better. She found herself thinking, I should keep going. Just a little farther. They're waiting for me. The thought felt strange, as if it had slipped into her mind uninvited, but it was undeniably her own voice.

Alice shook her head, trying to clear it. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, pacing a few steps. “Nonsense and mushrooms. Why, if I hadn't been chasing that Rabbit – or wrestling that dreadful doorknob – I'd have seen whatever it is I was supposed to see. 'Eat me, drink me' indeed! What rubbish.” She sighed, glancing around at the unfamiliar forest. “And why does everything feel like it's watching me? Trees shouldn't watch. That's hardly proper.”

The forest loomed, its towering trees twisting toward the sky like grasping hands. Their bark was gnarled and rough, riddled with deep grooves that resembled faces – screaming, laughing, or perhaps something in between. Vines draped heavily, swaying ever so slightly as though stirred by unseen breath. Bioluminescent fungi clung to the roots and lower trunks, casting a ghostly blue glow that barely lit the forest floor. Strange insects flitted in and out of the shadows, their wings producing an eerie hum. Somewhere in the distance, a low growl echoed, but when Alice turned her head, it was gone.

She took a shaky breath, brushing her hands against her skirt as though to steady herself. “Now, Alice,” she murmured, “there's no sense in losing your head over some noises. A noise is just a noise, and noises can't hurt you.” Her voice wavered, but she continued. “And even if they can, there's no use standing still and letting them catch up.”

She glanced around, forcing herself to observe the eerie beauty. The twisting trees seemed almost alive, their gnarled roots curling like claws. Tiny creatures flitted from branch to branch – things with too many legs or none at all, their movements unnervingly fast. Strange flowers glowed faintly in the underbrush, their petals curling inward like they were hiding secrets. Despite the oddity, Alice tried to focus on the details. “It's just a forest,” she whispered. “Just a strange, strange forest. Nothing to be afraid of.”

The forest opened into a small clearing, and Alice froze. Shapes shuffled in the gloom, their movements slow and disjointed. Their bodies were in the last stages of decay – flesh hanging in tatters, bones gleaming through gaps in their skin. Hollow eyes glowed faintly, fixed on her with unnerving intensity. Were they dead? She had read about such things in books, but these were worse than anything her imagination could have conjured.

There were five of them, their appearances vaguely familiar, as though they had been someone important once. One of them, a round-faced figure with a vacant stare, gurgled incoherently, his bloated form jerking as he moved. Another, thin and wiry, muttered, “Twinkle, twinkle… twinkle,” the words falling from his rotted lips like broken fragments of a memory.

A third creature, smaller than the others, gripped a rusted umbrella. She tilted her head at Alice, her jaw moving soundlessly as if trying to form words. A wet, choking sound came from another – a tall figure with a once-grand hat now torn and hanging in ribbons. He laughed, a low, bubbling sound, and muttered, “A very merry… un-birthday… to… to you…” before breaking off into an ominous groan.

Alice's mind raced, her own thoughts slipping into unsettling places. They're going to eat me, she thought, her chest tightening. The terror clung to her ribs like a shadow – hot, cold, and very real. She tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in her throat. The clearing around her swam, and the figures – those rotting, swaying things – loomed too close, too silently. They've been waiting for me. She shook her head violently. “No, this is nonsense!” she muttered, forcing her voice into the emptiness like it could hold the fear back.

Alice's breath caught as the last figure, towering and skeletal, fixed her with its hollow eyes. Its gnarled hand reached out, fingers twitching like they remembered how to grasp. All five of them shuffled closer, circling her slowly, as she stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a root. The zombies surged forward – not fast, but with the dreadful inevitability of a tide. Their movements were slow, limbs dragging with decay, their hollow eyes vacant of thought or feeling.

Alice fled, her heart pounding as she darted through the trees. The forest seemed alive, the shadows twisting and reaching like claws. Branches snagged her hair and tore at her dress, their creaks and groans sounding like mocking laughter. The ground beneath her felt unsteady, as if it might give way at any moment. The air grew colder with every step, carrying whispers she couldn't quite make out but that sent shivers down her spine. She didn't stop until she reached a large, gnarled tree and collapsed behind it, curling up with her arms around her knees. She buried her face in her legs, trembling as tears pricked her eyes. She wanted to look behind the tree and see if they followed – wanted it so badly it felt like a pressure in her chest – but her limbs stayed locked in place. Even though she knew they couldn't be that fast, the idea of seeing one lurching just feet away was more than she could bear. Instead, she buried her face deeper into her knees, squeezing her eyes shut and whispering nonsense under her breath like a charm against fear.

A deep, rasping snore startled her, the sound coming from somewhere nearby. Alice froze, her breath hitching as dread pooled in her chest. Her limbs felt heavy, uncooperative. She wanted to look – needed to – but fear clutched at her too tightly. The snore came again, louder, and she forced herself to move. Her limbs shook, her breath hitched, and every inch she leaned felt like wading through ice. Still, she crawled forward just enough to peek around the edge of the tree.

Leaning against the other side of it was a figure, slumped and barely moving. It was a man – or at least, it might have been – draped in a tattered red robe. His face was sunken, the skin mottled and grey, and his bony hands rested limply on his knees. For a moment, Alice thought he might be dead, but then his chest rose and fell in slow, shallow breaths.

“What – what is that?” Alice whispered, her voice trembling.

“That,” came a lilting voice above her, “is the Red King.”

Alice's head snapped upward, and there, perched on a low branch, was a cat. Or at least, something that resembled one. Its striped body faded in and out of the shadows, and its grin was far too wide, its teeth glinting in the dim light. “He's dreaming now,” said the Cat: “and what do you think he's dreaming about?”

Alice frowned. “Nobody can guess that.”

“Why, about you!” the Cat purred, its grin widening as it perched higher in the tree. “And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be?”

“Where I am now, of course,” Alice said firmly.

“Not you!” the Cat retorted with a chuckle. “You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream!”

Alice's mouth fell open. “That's absurd! I'm very real.”

“Are you?” the Cat mused, its tail swaying lazily. “If that King was to wake – ” it glanced at the Red King and grinned wider, “you'd go out – fizzle, pop – just like a candle snuffed by a rude wind.”

“I shouldn't!” Alice exclaimed indignantly, her voice rising. “Besides, if I'm only a sort of thing in his dream, what are you, I should like to know?”

“Ditto,” said the Cat with a flick of its tail. “Me? Why, I'm the cat who's always grinning, or perhaps the grin that's always catting. Does it matter? If the King wakes, we all fade – puff, swish, gone with the smoke.”

“He looks…” Alice hesitated, glancing at the King again. “He looks awful.”

“He's been here a long time,” the Cat said, its tone suddenly softer, almost wistful. “Too long, perhaps.”

Alice opened her mouth to ask another question, but her gaze got caught by something glinting faintly beneath the Red King's bony hand. It was a tarnished metal cap, the kind that might have once belonged to a pocket watch, still faintly hinged to a rusted fragment. At first, it seemed like any discarded piece of debris, but as she leaned closer, she noticed faint engravings etched deep into its surface, their curves catching the dim light filtering through the trees.

“What's this?” she murmured, hesitating as she pried it from the Red King's skeletal grip. His rotting fingers, blackened and brittle, crumbled slightly at her touch, releasing the object with an almost reluctant sigh. A sickly-sweet stench wafted up, making her stomach churn, but her curiosity pressed her forward.

The Cheshire Cat's grin flickered slightly, and its tail swayed with what might have been unease. “Oh, best leave it alone, Alice,” it said lightly. “Some words are better left unread. They tend to stick.”

Ignoring the Cat, Alice squinted at the markings, the grooves catching the faint light filtering through the forest canopy. Slowly, she read the words aloud:

“Where shadows creep and echoes chime,
The truth lies buried under time.
Hands that point yet cannot move,
Mark the path that you must prove.”

She shivered, the riddle settling uncomfortably in her chest. “What does it mean?” she asked, glancing at the Cat.

The Cat stretched, yawning with exaggerated ease. “Mean? Oh, it means everything and nothing, naturally. That's the charm of riddles, Alice. They tell you everything while saying nothing at all.”

“I want to go home,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she stared at the tarnished cap in her trembling hands. The sickly-sweet stench still clung to her fingers, and the memory of the Red King's crumbling flesh made her stomach turn. She gagged, dropping the cap to the ground and wiping her hands frantically on her skirt. Her eyes darted to the King's sunken face, and she froze as his chest rose with a wet, rattling snore.

“Pity,” came a languid voice above her. “You've only just arrived.”

“Who – who are you anyway?” Alice stammered.

“Who, indeed?” said the Cheshire Cat, its grin widening. “Some call me Cheshire. Some call me clever. But most call me when they're lost.”

“I'm not lost,” Alice snapped, her fear giving way to irritation. “I just – ”

“ – don't know where you are,” the Cat finished for her. Its body faded entirely, leaving only the grin behind. “The whole castle is looking for you, you know. Quite the commotion.”

Alice's stomach twisted. “Why?”

The Cat reappeared, lounging on the branch. “Why, indeed? Perhaps because you're important. Perhaps because they need you. Or perhaps… because your Rabbit is in terrible trouble.”

Alice's heart sank. “The Rabbit? What's happened to him?”

The Cat tilted its head, its grin never faltering. “Oh, I shouldn't say. It's far more fun if you find out for yourself.”

Alice clenched her fists. “That's not helpful at all!”

“Isn't it?” The Cat's body faded again, only its eyes and grin remaining. “Follow the path, Alice. Or don't. Either way, they'll find you.”

Alice jumped to her feet, her fists clenched. “Wait! You can't just disappear like that! Come back and answer my questions properly!” she shouted into the darkness.

The Cat's grin reappeared first, hanging in the air like a crescent moon. Its body followed lazily, materializing atop the branch once more. “What's the point of asking questions if you don't like the answers?” it purred.

Alice glared up at it. “I'll like them if they actually make sense! What did you mean about the Rabbit being in trouble? And why is the castle looking for me?”

The Cat's grin widened. “Oh, those are such big questions, Alice. Much too big for one sitting.”

Alice stomped her foot. “You're impossible!”

“And you're delightful,” the Cat replied with a mock bow. “So fiery. So full of life. I might have misjudged you,” the Cat added, its tone thoughtful. “You might yet surprise us all. But don't let that get you in trouble and don't linger, Alice. You wouldn't want to end up like him. Just follow the path.”

Alice crossed her arms. “You all keep saying that, but where does it lead?”

The Cat's eyes gleamed. “To tea, of course. And maybe a few answers, if you ask the right questions.”

“And what about this place?” Alice demanded. “What is it?”

The Cat stretched, its tail flicking lazily. “It's home to some. A trap for others. Call it Wonderland, if it pleases you. Or call it something else. It won't mind.”

Before Alice could retort, the Cat's body began to fade again. “Enjoy the tea, Alice,” it said, its voice lilting with amusement. “Just mind what you drink.”

And then it was gone, leaving Alice standing in the shadows, her thoughts more tangled than ever.

THREE
Never Quite Tea Party

Alice stood motionless for a while, staring at the Red King slumped against the tree. His slow, shallow breaths were barely audible, accompanied by the occasional wet, rattling snore. Her stomach twisted at the sight of his sunken face and decayed, brittle hands, yet she couldn't tear her gaze away.

“Dreaming of me,” she muttered, recalling the Cheshire Cat's cryptic words. “How absurd. And how exactly would I be a thing in anyone's dream? Nonsense! But then again,” she paused, her brow furrowing, “if this is all his dream, does that mean he's dreaming himself?” She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Ridiculous.”

Her eyes fell on the tarnished cap lying among the moss and mushrooms. Curiosity warred with revulsion as she leaned down, hesitating only a moment before picking it up from the moss. The tarnished cap felt ihnospitably cold and damp in her hand, its surface etched with rusted engravings. As she slipped it into her pocket, her fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the watch she had taken earlier. She had forgotten it was there. Curious, she pulled it out, holding it for a moment. The watch's hands moved smoothly now, ticking forward like any ordinary clock. Mesmerized, Alice traced its cracked face with her thumb, the faint ticking an unsettling counterpoint to the silence of the forest. “This place,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, “isn't right at all.” She straightened and looked at the king, her nerves still on edge, the sickly-sweet stench clinging to her senses. A pang of regret struck her suddenly, sharp and unfamiliar. It felt wrong – stealing something from him, approaching him at all. She shuddered.

“Right, then,” she muttered, brushing the dirt from her dress. “The path. Whatever that means.”

She glanced around, frowning. There was no clear path, just the tangled roots and the bioluminescent fungi glowing faintly in the shadows. She scanned the woods carefully, recalling the direction she'd come from – and the slow, rotting figures that had nearly surrounded her. Her chest tightened at the memory. With a deep breath, she turned away from that direction. If nothing else, she knew she didn't want to go back there. Her feet crunched lightly over moss and dirt as she moved forward with cautious purpose. “Right,” she muttered. “Anywhere but back. That's a start.”

As she walked, the scenery began to change. The towering, gnarled trees thinned, their twisted shapes giving way to bushes and clusters of wildflowers. The flowers were unnaturally vivid – blues that shimmered like water, purples so deep they seemed to drink the light. Small, red berries hung in clusters, glistening as though freshly washed by invisible rain. The forest gave way to a meadow that should have been idyllic, but the colors were wrong – too bright, too saturated, as if the world itself was trying too hard to convince her it was safe. At the center of the meadow was a long table, piled high with teapots, cups, and plates of pastries that looked suspiciously fresh. Around it sat three figures: a man in a battered top hat, a hare with wild, glassy eyes, and a dormouse slumped over a teacup.

Alice hesitated, her stomach twisting. “Tea,” she muttered. “The Cat did say tea. But…” She trailed off, taking a tentative step closer.

The man in the top hat looked up first. His grin was wide, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Ah, our guest of honor has arrived!” he said, his voice both warm and unsettling. “Come in, come in! There's plenty of room.”

“But I didn't – ” Alice started, then stopped herself. She wasn't sure what she was going to say anyway. She approached cautiously, her eyes darting between the three figures. “Were you… expecting me?”

“Expecting? No,” said the man, tipping his hat. “But isn't it delightful when someone unexpected turns up?” He gestured to an empty chair. “Sit, sit. You must be tired.”

Alice hesitated but sat down, her back straight and her hands in her lap. “Thank you,” she said cautiously. “But I really shouldn't stay long.”

The hare let out a wild laugh, slamming his paw on the table. “Shouldn't! Shouldn't! But you're here! That's what matters, isn't it?”

“Oh, don't mind him,” the man said, pouring tea into a cracked cup and sliding it toward Alice. “He's a bit excitable. Allow me to introduce us properly. I'm the Mad Hatter, that's the March Hare, and our dear friend here is the Dormouse – though he's not particularly chatty these days. Tea?”

Alice offered a polite nod, folding her hands neatly in her lap, and stared at the cup. “I don't know if I should – ” She raised her head suddenly, remembering. “My name is Alice, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes, yes, we know,” the Hare interrupted brightly, waving a paw.

“Of course you should,” the Hatter said, his tone turning sharp. Then, just as quickly, he softened. “But only if you'd like.”

The Dormouse stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent before slumping back into the table.

Alice's eyes flicked to the Dormouse, and for a moment, something about him made her pause. There, just above his collar, the fur was thinning, patchy in places, with a faint discoloration creeping beneath. Its movements were sluggish, delayed, too slow to seem fully conscious – eerily similar to what she had seen in the forest. Her grip tightened on the cup. Alice cradled the warm porcelain between her hands, her fingers finding the crack running down one side and scratching at it absentmindedly, as if trying to ground herself in the motion. “I saw… creatures in the forest,” she said. “Horrible creatures. I think they were dead, or – They didn't catch me because they were too slow – but they wanted to. They were going to. I saw it. They would've if I hadn't run.” She tore her gaze away from the Dormouse, fixing it instead on the Hatter. “And there was… someone else. He didn't look right – not like the others. Better – and somehow worse. Like he'd wandered in from another nightmare altogether. The Cat called him the Red King.”

The Hatter froze mid-pour, his teapot trembling slightly in his grip. His grin faltered, just for a moment, before he quickly recovered. “Ah,” he said lightly, setting the teapot down with deliberate care. “The forest does have its… peculiarities.”

Alice's brow furrowed. “Why are they like this? Was that really some king? Is it true that – ”

“Best not to dwell on such things,” the Hatter interrupted, his tone unusually sharp. He cleared his throat and forced a smile. “The forest likes to play tricks on wanderers, showing them things they ought not to see.”

The Hare twitched nervously, muttering under his breath, “Not supposed to see… not supposed to be there… oh dear, oh dear.”

Alice frowned, her curiosity growing. “But he was real, wasn't he? I touched – ”

The Hatter's hand shot up, silencing her. “Let's not discuss the matter now,” he said, his grin tightening. “You never quite know who's listening, and some names carry weight that echoes. You'll learn soon enough – but for now, we need to follow the path.” He lifted his cup in a mock toast. “To tea and time,” he said cryptically. “And to Alice.”

“To tea and time!” echoed the Hare, clinking his cup against the Hatter's with such force that a crack appeared in its side.

The Dormouse stirred just enough to mumble, “Tea… time…” before slumping over again.

Alice watched them with tight lips, her fingers still cradling the cup without raising it. The liquid in her cup looked like pond water left too long in the sun. Everyone kept talking about some path – follow the path, follow the path, follow the path – as if everyone else already knew the rules of the game, and she was left to guess with no instructions. Just nudges. Riddles. Smiling warnings. It was maddening. She scratched at the edge of the cup and muttered, “Right, the path again.”

A loud chime interrupted her, ringing out from nowhere and everywhere at once. The Hatter sat bolt upright. Then – without so much as a blink or shuffle – he was suddenly sitting at a different angle, legs crossed the other way, his teacup in the opposite hand. Alice blinked, startled.

“What just happened?” she asked, frowning.

“Ah, that?” The Hatter tapped his nose. “That's what we call a slap from Time. He gets fidgety when ignored. Tea time is near, you see – but I have a peculiar feeling it may never arrive, so we may as well get started.”

“To tea time!” cried the Hare.

“Nowish!” added the Dormouse, half-lifting his cup.

Alice looked bewildered. “But… your clock just rang five.”

The Hatter pulled out a battered, rusty watch and held it up with a shrug. “Did it? Strange. Mine says it's just past four.”

Alice blinked and leaned slightly closer. Sure enough, the little face showed just after four. Intrigued, she reached out a hand, fingers hovering to take a better look.

“Ah – no, no, no,” the Hatter said quickly, whisking the watch just out of her reach. “One does not simply handle Time. He's touchy, you see. Temperamental.”

Alice drew her hand back, cheeks coloring. “I'm sorry,” she said quickly.

The Hatter set his cup down with a conspiratorial grin, leaning closer. “You see, Alice, time and I used to walk the same path for a while. Oh yes, we were quite the pair. I danced to his tune, and he kept things ticking along nicely. But then – ” he tapped the side of his hat, his grin twisting into something sharper, “ – then there was a disagreement. Different paths. Different clocks. And here we are.”

The Hare let out a nervous giggle, tearing into a scone. “A quarrel! A tiff! A terrible misunderstanding!”

“Misunderstanding?” The Hatter snorted. “Oh no. You see, in all honesty, he was always too early. Always arriving before I was ready. Rushing things. It wasn't stalling, not on my end – some stories just aren't meant to end so soon.” His fingers tapped rhythmically against the side of his teacup. “So I told Time he wasn't welcome anymore. He didn't like that. Took it personally. And since then, it's always almost five o'clock. Tea time forever – and never quite.” He spread his hands with theatrical flair. “A most convenient inconvenience, wouldn't you say?”

Alice blinked, her brow furrowing. “That's rather ridiculous, if you ask me.”

As she adjusted her seat, the Hare leaned toward her, crumbs clinging to his whiskers. “Ridiculous? No, no! It's orderly chaos!” He chuckled and reached for another scone. “Speaking of chaos, did I ever tell you about the Dormouse?”

Alice frowned, glancing at the slumped figure. “What about him?”

The Hare's ears twitched, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, he wasn't always like this, you know. Used to be quite sprightly. But then, one day, he nibbled something he shouldn't have. A crumb from a cake, or perhaps a berry from the wrong bush. Changed him completely.”

“Changed him how?” Alice asked, her curiosity piqued despite herself.

The Hare waved a paw dramatically. “Turned him quiet, didn't it? Took the spring out of his step and the shine out of his eyes. You might say he… slowed down.” He giggled, the sound unnerving. “Some say it wasn't the cake or the berry at all. Some say he lingered too long, and Wonderland loved him too much to let him go. And Wonderland… well, Wonderland has a way of holding onto those it cherishes.”

Alice shivered. “That's horrible.”

“Horrible?” The Hare shrugged, popping a scone into his mouth. “That's Wonderland. Horrible and delightful, all in one.”

Alice shifted uncomfortably, the weight of their cryptic answers pressing on her. “What am I to do now? And why does no one ever bother with proper answers? It's all so very tiresome!”

The Hatter's grin flickered, his expression softening for a moment. “Ah, Alice, you're asking the wrong questions again. It's not about what you do now – it's about what you're meant to do.”

“And what's that?” Alice snapped, her frustration bubbling over.

The Hatter leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Perhaps this. Perhaps nothing. Wonderland decides that, not you.”

Alice glared at him, but before she could retort, he straightened abruptly, his grin sharp once more. “But don't fret too much about that, dear girl. It's tea time! Time enough to worry later.”

The Hare giggled, brushing crumbs from his whiskers. “Always tea time! Always questions! You'll figure it out, or you won't. Either way, you'll stay!”

Alice opened her mouth, her face pale with fear and shock, but before she could speak, the meadow was filled with the sound of rhythmic, marching footsteps. Her head snapped toward the noise, her heart pounding. Emerging from the bushes were figures clad in black and red armor, their faces hidden behind polished helmets. Their weapons gleamed ominously in the too-bright light.

“The Queen's soldiers!” the Hatter exclaimed, his voice a mix of surprise and amusement. “My, my, they do get around.”

Alice jumped to her feet, her voice rising in panic. “What do they want?”

The Hatter tipped his hat, his grin wavering. “You, dear Alice. I wouldn't keep the Queen waiting – she has a rather sharp fondness for trimming things that displease her – heads included.” Seeing the growing unease in Alice's face, he added more gently, “It'll be alright. Just remember where your feet are meant to go – and try not to look too surprised when they take you there.”

FOUR
The Queen

Alice stood at the edge of a receiving room near the Queen's court, her wide eyes darting around the grand yet decaying room, a dimly lit space with walls covered in peeling tapestries of forgotten battles and faded glory. The furniture was sparse and austere, the servants in pristine waistcoats scurried about, their glassy eyes avoiding her gaze, while guards with patchwork armor and eerie, rigid movements flanked the room like lifeless sentinels. The oppressive air of the court seeped into her skin, but what truly unsettled her was the uncanny way everything seemed alive and dead all at once.

She glanced down at her own dress, now smudged and slightly torn from her journey. It had been beautiful once, black with crisp white puffy sleeves, but now it bore the scars of Wonderland's unforgiving paths. She brushed at a stubborn patch of dust on the skirt, her fingers trembling as she muttered under her breath, “Blast it all.” The unladylike thought gave her a moment's grim satisfaction, though she quickly straightened up, reminding herself of the eyes upon her.

The memory of her arrival here replayed in her mind. The journey to the Queen's castle had been long and tiresome. The skittish little hare, limping and muttering, had led her through a maze of paths just outside the castle walls – twisting, uneven things lined with damp stone and overgrown ivy. The castle gates had creaked open on old hinges, revealing not horror, but age: an old, worn structure, too large and drafty to feel welcoming. The corridors echoed faintly with every step, and there was a faint smell of mold in the air. Still, the roses lining the pathway had been lovely – bright, well-kept, and blooming with impossible vibrancy. They stood out like laughter in a library, unexpected and strangely reassuring.

Every step inside had echoed in the vast, hollow halls, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence that hung in the air. The trembling little coward of a rabbit had said little, his glassy eyes flickering nervously as they entered the very chamber where Alice now stood.

“Wait here,” the Rabbit had said sharply, not bothering to look back before disappearing into the shadows.

“As if I could go anywhere else,” Alice muttered then, glancing around the lifeless chamber with a sigh.

A sudden flourish of trumpets shattered the uneasy silence, making Alice start. The towering doors swung open, and two lines of elaborately dressed heralds stepped forward, their movements perfectly synchronized as though controlled by a single will.

“Her Majesty summons you,” one intoned, his voice hollow and resonant. Without waiting for a reply, they turned in unison, their pale faces powdered and their expressions eerily identical.

Alice followed them through a corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly, her steps echoing until she entered the throne room. It was a cavernous hall, dazzling and grand in a way that momentarily took Alice's breath away. Chandeliers dripped with crystal teardrops, casting refracted light over the courtiers who lined the room. They were adorned in vibrant silks and elaborate jewelry, their faces powdered to perfection, gleaming with an almost ethereal beauty. A few of them leaned toward one another, whispering behind jeweled fans, their eyes flicking briefly in Alice's direction.

At the far end, on a throne of twisted thorns and glimmering obsidian, sat the Queen. Her skin was pale as paper, a stark contrast to the deep crimson of her flowing gown. Jewels sparkled at her throat and wrists, but they only served to highlight the stillness of her form. She did not rise, but as Alice entered, the Queen slowly raised one elegant hand, and the entire room fell silent at once – not a murmur, not a shuffle. The gesture was graceful, deliberate, and so assured it seemed to command not just attention, but absolute obedience.

With a majestic voice that rang through the throne room, the Queen proclaimed, “The prophecy speaks, and today it comes alive! Alice, the chosen one, has come to deliver us from ruin!” The entire throne room erupted into a symphony of cheers, their voices harmonizing as though rehearsed for this very moment. Alice jerked in surprise, the sound crashing over her like a wave. The courtiers smiled warmly at her, but she felt every gaze like a touch, unwelcome and pressing. Her arms wrapped around herself, one hand gripping the opposite elbow, as if trying to shrink away from the attention, to fold inward and vanish. Then, with the same elegant authority, the Queen lifted her hand once more, and the throne room fell into an immediate, reverent silence. “The Rot spreads, child, devouring all that we hold dear. Only you – you alone – have the power to restore balance, to bring us back from the brink!”

The words were woven with a near hypnotic cadence, their sweetness almost intoxicating. The courtiers remained utterly silent, their gazes fixed on Alice with a kind of reverence that made her skin crawl. No one moved, no one whispered – only their eyes flicked, wide and expectant, watching her like she were a living miracle or a beast in a cage.

Alice stood frozen, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Her limbs felt too stiff, her mouth too dry. She wanted to disappear, or at the very least shrink behind one of the columns and pretend none of this was happening.

The Queen tilted her head slightly, her pale eyes scanning the chamber before flicking her chin in a small, decisive motion toward the grand doors – a gesture that sent a clear command rippling through the silent court. “Leave us,” she said, the command soft but iron-bound.

Without hesitation, the courtiers bowed as one, their movements unified, and swept from the room in silence, like a single thought exhaled all at once. The grand doors shut behind them, sealing Alice and the Queen in the hollow quiet.

The Queen's gaze softened, or so it seemed to Alice, as she leaned slightly forward. “Do you know why you are here, child?” the Queen began, her tone shifting to something almost maternal.

Alice gave a tiny shake of her head, too overwhelmed to speak.

“Wonderland is dying. The Rot spreads unchecked, consuming the beauty and magic of these lands. It began as a whisper, a crack in the foundation, and now it threatens to devour us all.”

Her words, though steeped in urgency, carried a melodious cadence that lulled Alice into a strange calm. “Only someone like you, Alice, can save us. You are not here by chance; you were chosen. It is your destiny to heal what has been broken.”

Alice tilted her head, her brow furrowing slightly. “Chosen? By whom? And how does anyone expect me to fix something I barely understand?” she asked, her voice tinged with defiance and curiosity. “This 'Rot' you speak of… where did it come from? And why can't someone else deal with it? Surely you have others far more qualified than me.”

The Queen's expression softened further, her smile serene yet tinged with sorrow.

She paused, her gaze turning distant, and when she spoke again, it was slower, more thoughtful, like a thread unwinding.

“Oh, Alice,” she said gently, her voice seemed to envelop the room, “If only it were that simple. The Rot began long ago, a shadow creeping into Wonderland's heart. I still remember the first time I encountered it… an ordinary day, or so it seemed. I found one of my subjects stricken – his skin discolored, his movements sluggish, his eyes clouded with a sorrow I could not comprehend.

“At first, just like you – ” for a moment, her eyes focused on Alice, “I thought it an illness, something that could be cured with care and rest. But no salve or spell could touch it.

“Fear spread through the land like wildfire. The voices of my people, once bright with song and laughter, turned first to hushed worry, then to silence, as more and more fell under the Rot's touch. I tried to protect them, Alice. I gathered those untouched into the castle, offering sanctuary. For the others, the ones too far gone… I…” The Queen hesitated, her voice catching for the first time, before continuing, “I hid them deep in the forest, not out of hope, but because I feared what their presence would do to the rest of my people. The sight of them, their suffering… it spread panic, and panic, I thought, would hasten the Rot's advance.” As she spoke, her hand drifted to her necklace, fingers lightly tracing the delicate chain as if seeking comfort. “I told myself it was to protect the kingdom, but the shame of it has never left me. Even now, I wonder if I abandoned them to their fate because I did not know how else to face it. But it was not enough.

“The Rot spread relentlessly, infecting not just bodies but the very soul of Wonderland. My castle became a refuge for the frightened and the grieving, yet its walls could not hold back despair. In time, even it proved not enough. The Rot crept in, silent and insidious, and the people – my people – chose to return to their homes, believing themselves safer surrounded by what little familiarity remained. The sanctuary I offered could no longer ease their fear. The land turned on itself, beauty withering into ruin. And now… now the Rot has festered for so long it threatens to swallow everything we have ever loved.”

Her fingers trembled slightly as they brushed the armrest of her throne. “I myself have not been left untouched by its grasp,” she admitted, her voice heavy with shame. “The Rot has weakened me, sapped my strength until I can scarcely rise from this throne on my own. What once was a seat of power has become my prison. I feel its weight with every passing moment, a constant reminder of how far we have fallen.”

The Queen paused, her gaze fixed on Alice, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “You were chosen, Alice, because you are untainted by this land's sorrow. Your strength lies in your clarity, your ability to see Wonderland not as it is, but as it could be.”

Alice took a step back, her hands trembling as she clutched at her sides. This was all so absurd – so very much. They wanted her to save a kingdom, fight off some ghastly Rot, fulfill prophecies and whatnot? Was this the “path” everyone kept talking about? Because if it was, she would've much preferred one with fewer eyes and a lot more clear instructions. “But… what if I can't do it? What if I fail? You keep saying I'm your saviour, but how can I save you?”

The Queen's face grew somber, her voice lowering to an almost reverent tone. “There is a prophecy, Alice. It will show the way.”

She recited with a measured cadence:

“Where shadows creep and echoes chime,
The truth lies buried under time.
Hands that point yet cannot move,
Mark the path that you must prove.”

Alice blinked, trying to make sense of the cryptic lines. Her brow furrowed, and she muttered, “That sounds awfully like the writing on the Red King's clock cap.”

The Queen froze, her eyes narrowing as her lips thinned into a sharp line. A flicker of restrained anger passed over her otherwise serene features. Her gaze darted briefly toward the throne room doors, her voice ringing out, “You bumbling fool, come at once.”

Alice stiffened, unease crawling up her spine. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recalled the Hatter's odd warning about names that carried echoes. At the time, she'd thought it nonsense. Now, she wasn't so sure. The Queen's change in demeanor had been swift and sharp, and Alice felt its sting like a slap she hadn't seen coming. Then, just as swiftly, the Queen's expression softened at the sight of Alice's alarm, shifting into something almost motherly, as though hoping to soothe the tension she herself had stirred.

“Oh, my dear child,” she said, her voice suddenly soothing. “You must not worry yourself with such notions. The Red King is but a poor, lost soul – a relic of stories meant to frighten and confuse.”

The White Rabbit appeared moments later, his fur disheveled and his movements hurried. He hesitated at the threshold, his ears twitching nervously, before shuffling forward to stand beside Alice in front of the throne. The Queen's gaze fell on him like a blade. “It appears, my skittish little hare, that Alice has encountered not only the friendly society of the tea-party,” she said coldly, “but also the lost souls of the forest.”

The Rabbit began trembling violently, his large foot tapping nervously against the floor, causing a faint thudding sound. Alice glanced at him, her confusion growing, a disquieting tension gnawed at her nerves and left her struggling to make sense of the Queen's sharp words and the Rabbit's trembling fear. The Queen's lips pressed into a thin line of irritation. “How could you let her face such horrors, you trembling coward? She is a child, unarmed and unprepared, and yet you allowed her to endure such a nightmare. Is this your idea of service?”

“No, Your Majesty,” the Rabbit stammered, his voice quaking with unease. “I deeply regret my failure, Your Majesty. I shall do everything in my power to ensure it does not happen again.” As he bowed deeply, his sore leg gave way, and he stumbled forward, falling awkwardly to the floor. His ears drooped low in embarrassment as he scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off hastily. The Queen's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Pitiful,” she murmured, not cruelly, but with the cool disappointment of someone expecting better. The Rabbit flinched all the same.

Alice, who couldn't help but feel a flicker of compassion for the humiliated creature, moved cautiously toward him. She hesitated, unsure how to help, her mind racing. Then, as if struck by an unexpected thought, she remembered the pocket watch she had tucked away earlier. For a moment, she wondered if it might help, and though uncertain, she decided to try. “I still have your watch,” she said, pulling it out carefully. “Here.”

The Rabbit snatched it quickly, clutching it as though it were a lifeline. “You should not have taken it,” he muttered, his tone curt. Though he did not meet her gaze, his ears stood upright with irritation. “Do you have any idea the trouble you've caused?”

Alice exploded with a sharp retort, her hands clenching at her sides as she stepped toward the Rabbit. “I didn't take it!” she snapped, her voice tight with hurt and disbelief. “You dropped it, and I simply picked it up. It's not my fault if you can't keep track of your own things!”

The Rabbit made a feeble motion toward Alice as though to continue arguing, but the Queen's icy gaze pinned him in place. The unspoken threat in her eyes made him freeze mid-gesture, his ears flattening as he recoiled slightly. “You will escort Alice to her room,” she commanded, her tone cold and unyielding. “And you will attend to Alice's every need. Do not fail me in this.”

Bowing deeply, he murmured, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Alice mirrored his bow awkwardly, her cheeks warm with embarrassment. The Queen smiled, her composure fully restored. “Think on the prophecy, child,” she said, her voice kind once more. “And know that you may visit me whenever you wish. Rest well. You have much to prepare for.”

FIVE
On ashes and time

Alice lay sprawled across the bed, staring up at the delicate canopy of embroidered silk above her. It was grand, ostentatiously so, with golden tassels hanging like miniature suns at each corner. Yet, as she shifted slightly, the fabric let out a faint creak, as if it might crumble under too much scrutiny. The events of the day spun in her head like a whirlwind, leaving her in a state of exasperated reflection.

“What a peculiar day,” she murmured to herself, rolling onto her stomach and tucking her hands beneath her chin. “First, tumbling down that dreadful rabbit hole – honestly, who builds a hole so deep without at least putting up a sign? Then the Caterpillar, all riddles and smoke rings. The creatures in the forest, the Cheshire, and that tea party – lunacy! And finally, the Queen, all thorns and grandeur, declaring me the savior of Wonderland, as though I'd ever volunteer for such nonsense.”

She turned onto her side, her gaze unfocused as she traced a finger along the edge of the bedspread. “But maybe,” she murmured softly, turning her face into the pillow as her fingers clenched the edge of the bedspread, “I don't have a choice at all.” The words trembled in the still air, and a faint, helpless shiver ran through her as the thought refused to let go, its weight pressing down harder. It lingered, unwelcome and heavy, as the melancholy weight of the day settled into her chest.

Her gaze drifted to the room around her, its opulence overwhelming in its fragility. The walls were covered in intricate wallpaper depicting sprawling vines interspersed with deep red roses. A chandelier hung precariously above, its crystals shimmering like trapped starlight. The air was unnervingly still, silent as if the world outside had ceased to exist. On a small table by the bed rested an ornate clock, its face adorned with tiny, unmoving hands that seemed frozen in mid-thought.

“How fitting,” Alice muttered, her eyes narrowing at the clock. “Even the time here doesn't know what it's meant to do.”

Her mind wandered back to the Rabbit's begrudging guidance to this room. He had led her down twisting corridors lined with tall, arched windows that let in little light, the glass fogged as though hiding secrets. The castle felt like a maze – a grand, intimidating labyrinth where every turn seemed to lead back to the same place. When they'd finally arrived, he'd given a terse bow before scuttling away, leaving Alice to fend for herself.

Exploring the room, Alice had found little comfort. The furnishings, though luxurious, had an air of being too fragile to touch, as though they might disintegrate if handled carelessly. The wardrobe, a towering structure of dark wood with gilded edges, seemed almost oppressive. She'd opened it out of curiosity and found it empty save for a single dress – a garment that looked suspiciously like the one she'd been wearing earlier, now miraculously mended.

Her eyes had then fallen on the clock, its frozen hands drawing her closer. There was something about its stillness, the quiet defiance of its unmoving face, that both irritated and intrigued her. She'd touched it lightly, her fingertips brushing the smooth surface. A faint metallic whine had followed, almost like a sigh, and she'd pulled back immediately, her pulse quickening.

Hands that point yet cannot move.

Near the clock, she'd also found a small book bound in faded red leather. It had been tucked beneath a pile of decorative pillows, as though someone had intended it to be hidden but hadn't tried very hard. The title on the cover read, The Clockmaker's Journal, and though the pages were mostly indecipherable – filled with complex diagrams and notes in looping handwriting – one phrase had stood out:

Each tick is a goodbye dressed in brass.

Alice had closed the book with a snap, a faint frown creasing her brow. “Each tick is a goodbye dressed in brass,” she repeated under her breath, wrinkling her nose. It sounded like something her grandmother would underline in one of those weepy love novels she kept hidden in her chest – dramatic, overly polished, and so obvious it nearly made Alice roll her eyes.

Of course they were running out of time – there was a horrible, creeping disease crawling through the land, and every second spent without a cure brought it closer to the end. It wasn't profound, it was obvious. Anyone with eyes and a bit of sense could've figured that out. With a sigh, Alice flipped through the rest of the little book, hoping for something more useful. But the writing was barely legible, scrawled in such a messy, looping hand that she scoffed aloud. Even her own handwriting was neater, and her sister was always telling her it looked like a chicken had stepped in ink and danced across the page.

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