At first, he was just a grin. A crescent of luminous, disembodied teeth floating six feet off the ground. Then, as if remembering he had an audience, the eyes appeared—two emerald slits that blinked slowly, one after the other, like distant lighthouses.
“Here’s what’s precise,” he said, and his voice was now the rustle of a billion unseen things. “You came looking for answers. But answers are just doors with ‘Exit’ signs painted over them. You don’t need to leave, Alice. You need to realize there was never a room.”
Alice folded her arms. “I wasn’t aware we had an appointment.”
Alice sat alone for a long time. The toadstool had stopped squeaking. Cheshire Cat Monologue
The Cat’s tail curled into a spiral. “Ah, but that’s the secret, isn’t it? There is no wrong fork. There are only forks you haven’t invented yet. The Queen is terrified of that truth. That’s why she needs rules. Rules are just panic, embossed.”
The Duchess’s pepper-pot had long since stopped sneezing, the Queen’s croquet match had devolved into its usual charming chaos of screams and decapitations, and even the Hatter had run out of bad puns. The quiet was, for Wonderland, suspicious.
But when she stood up, the ground felt suspiciously like a grin beneath her feet. At first, he was just a grin
The Geometry of Unbecoming
The Cat vanished. Then, from her left ear: “You think you’re falling.” From her right: “You’ve been standing still the whole time.” His face reassembled in front of her nose, upside down. “Wonderland isn’t a place you visit, Alice. It’s the shape your sanity makes when it’s tired of being a square.”
Alice found him on a branch of the old Twistwood Tree, which grew in impossible directions—some limbs pointing down into the earth, others curling into their own knots like thoughts trying to escape. “Here’s what’s precise,” he said, and his voice
“You’re late,” the grin said.
She wasn’t sure if she’d heard anything at all.