“What a hand I’ve been dealt,” Alice said aloud to the remnants of her last hopes, grasping for the relief of self-deprecation. None paid much mind to what Alice said aloud, anyhow. Everyone thought each other completely daft and hardly listened to what another said, or else singularly regarded her humanity incomprehensible as she their madness. Yet, these creatures through Wonderland, they told her to fear the queen. How could these creatures–accustomed to so much madness; always opposed to order–fear any monarch at all?
Beyond the walls of densely packed roses, around identical corners and unknowable distances folding along themselves like layers of tangled snakes, the queen abides her time. Alice, her arms chained, pictured legs flailing as they lower her into the maw of the dark and unforgiving queen, horrifically ruthless, for what else except a complete abomination utterly beyond human compassion–a beast comprised of the most base and primitive horrors–could possibly stir instincts of fright in the wildest of madmen?