Alice in Wonderland and its characters do not belong to me in any sense of the word.

Not a Ghost

There are days when the Mad Hatter doesn't remember who he is. His eyes twist amber and his voice thickens, the broad, Scottish accent of Outlandish forcing him into articulation. Those are the days he is the most productive, the days when he can forget she came. His mind is clearer, if not organized. He thinks like a saner man, but on those days, those sane days, he rages. Masterpieces he created are destroyed, delicate basting work shredded by vicious, dyed fingers, and feathers are scattered into the air like ghosts.

The peace which Alice brought to Underland does not calm his mind. While she remained, she could stop him; when she disappeared, he grew worse. When her form finally faded he laughed shrilly as he stepped into her footprints, his eyes twisting black with fear. He adds her to the list of ghosts in his mind. No, not a ghost, she'll come back, he's sure. Things beginning with Q. Quisby, Quinnet, Quiddity...no, not a ghost.

Sometimes the Scotsman rages in the hope that she will come and stop him, reminding him that he can always rise above this anger. She doesn't, and he goes and goes and goesandgoesandgoes until there's nothing left to ruin.

When his eyes twist back into a cooler color, he cannot remember what he has done. He notices, sometimes, that things are missing. A hat he had created would be reduced to ribbons and cloth strewn on the floor. A hat form would be crushed against a wall and his scissors hidden under a closet. During those moments, when his mind feels crowded and utterly disorganized, he wishes for the Alice. Then he picks up a pin, sticks it between the gap in his teeth, and begins again.

Several times a day, or was it a week?, he remembers his purpose, and rushes back to his table, forgoing his hats to wait for her return. The March Hare sits next to him, occasionally breaking a teacup, but he never really minds. The ghosts crowding his mind keep him company. Sometimes they yell Downal wyth Bluddy behg hid!, and they make him say it too. When he looks into their eyes he never sees her. Not a ghost. Real.

If time had paid attention, it would have registered the passage of two years since the Champion left Wonderland, but all he knew was that she was later than expected. He fusses when she is so obviously late - tea has an unfortunate habit of becoming cold and unpleasant. He rearranges his tea set, which is really his least favorite but one can't help it when the March Hare does so love to throw things, he hopes Alice won't mind, and fidgets. Things that begin with S. Solitary, somber, secret...no, mustn't think that way. The Scotsman flickers back, and the tea set he never really loved is destroyed. So far, she hasn't come, but one day, one day...

He sits at his table and waits.