Kitabı oku: «Alice in Zombieland / Алиса в Стране зомби», sayfa 2

“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?”