AN. I have a tendency to explore the same concepts a lot- for that, I apologize. Mostly, I just wanted to write the Will of the Abyss and all her craziness. : )

Follow the white rabbit down the rabbit hole

And you'll get lost down there—and you're never coming out

(the white rabbit's late, oh he's never on time…)

-tick tock.

The clock struck twelve and the fairytale fell to ruins and by the time Oz made it to the Center of the Abyss, he had already forgotten what sunlight felt like. His breath was a sparse, weak thing, and the weight of the full Revolution burned on his chest. He clutched at it, as if he could staunch the flow of his time tick-ticking away, like it was blood or something equally corporeal.

It took an age of running to find exactly what he was looking for—racing aimlessly, waiting for the darkness of the Abyss to yield something he once remembered in a dream.

And suddenly, after what could have been years or merely moments, the grotesque parodies of the world beyond the veil dissolved, and so did the emptiness, giving way to that checkerboard room (whiteblackwhiteblackred) that once belonged to her.

The dolls lining the shelves creaked into life, just as he remembered, and began to titter away madly.

"He's back again."

"Let him stay this time."

"She's been so lonely without Cheshire, you know."

"Make him stay."

He was bleeding, somewhere—everywhere—but the boy took little notice. He swallowed the fear rising in his throat, and asked aloud of the room, "Where's the Will of the Abyss? I need to talk to her."

The dolls howled in a childish uproar.

"Quiet, everyone," said the Will of the Abyss in Alice's voice, and Oz spun around to see her standing in the doorway. (Just where did that door lead, just how much further down the rabbit hole was there to fall?) "We've missed you."

Oz scowled. This Alice was the inverted image of the one he had known; her palette was composed of whites and blues and deceptive, cryptic smiles.

"We've missed you," this Alice said again, and the absent smile spread across her face like an oil spill in the ocean. "Oh, you have come to stay this time, right? You're here all for me, right?"

His chest burned and his head swam. "Please—there's something—I need for you to do. There's something I need you to change. I need to go back and change it. That's why I'm here. That's what people make contracts for, to change the past—"

"Won't you play me something?"

Oz paused, looked into the empty eyes of the Un-Alice. A hundred years of time lay in those eyes, gone bad and turned sour.

"Please," he tried again, and the blood rushing away from his body made his fingers numb and produced patches of crimson to stain his clothes. "I paid my price; I need to change something, before it's too late—"

"The piano is all tuned up and everything! Remember that, remember? Won't you play me something?"

And, indeed, there was a piano in the room, black-and-white keys blending seamlessly into the same colors of the floor, as if they were one and the same.

Oz felt himself shaking his head, but did not register it as a conscious action (for his mind was growing absent-minded).

"No. No, I can't play."

The Will of the Abyss cocked her head in a question, the smile fading from her face. "But why not? You used to. All the time."

"No," Oz insisted, his patience wearing thin. "I'm not—"

"Cheshire left. Did you know?" She said, seemingly unaware of her disconnected thoughts. She was spinning around now, in a mad almost-dance, white hair spreading like the threads of a spider's web. "Now I'm all alone."

The dolls chattered their wooden mouths and rolled their wooden eyes. The room suddenly felt darker, smaller, colder.

"All alone, all alone," they repeated, the clattering of their wooden limbs providing a sordid metronome for the broken record of sounds.

"…but you know how that feels, don't you?" The Will of the Abyss's eyes grew dark and her smile turned deadly, and Oz felt the need to cry or shout or move, for fear that something would tear him apart from the inside out.

"Alright-!" He managed, his head full the echoes of the Abyss. The cacophonous storm of sounds ceased almost immediately, leaving nothing but a ringing in his ears. He repeated, mouth dry, "Alright. I'll play."

He couldn't play, of course. His knowledge of music was embarrassingly rudimentary; he was at no greater level than a child when it came to theory or notes.

So, when he took his place achingly at the piano, and the Alice-that-was-not-Alice hovered at his shoulder with the unbridled joy of the child she was not, Oz hardly even knew where to place his hands. The span of the black and white keys was too great for his tremulous fingers, and he placed them awkwardly at either end; one hand three octaves below and the other three above.

Oz shut his eyes tight, swallowed hard, set his mouth in a grim line—and brought his fingers down upon the keys.

A discordant symphony poured from the instrument. Four-five-six-notes were played all at once, notes that were never meant to be played together, notes he didn't even know the names to. There was no melody and no tempo and no grace; it was a random smashing of keys. It was a travesty of music. The sounds clashed with each and fell to the ground like dead birds. The black and white of the piano had been marred with red from Oz's bleeding fingers, streaks of it like paint.

(With a grimace and a small smile, Oz mused that Elliot, if he had been present, would have had a conniption to hear him play.)

This charade of music went on for a few more minutes. And then, after one last discordant thrum from the piano, Oz stopped. He did not bother to look up.

Not-Alice gave a loud laugh and began to clap her hands.

"That was fantastic!" She laughed, and applauded like he had performed music. "I told you you could play! Just as good as before— Jack."

"I'm not—Jack." Oz ground out. "Listen, you can change it, can't you? The past?"

"Won't you play another song? You're so good at it. You really are."

"I want to change to past. It wasn't…supposed to turn out this way."

"Play me that song. You know, the one you used to play all the time. The one Glen wrote."

"I don't know how far to go back. Save Jack? Save Glen? Save Gil, or Alice? Myself? I don't know what to do."

"Ne? Won't you play?"

"Shut up!" Oz yelled, his head in his hands, his shoulders trembling with pent-up anger and frustration. "Shut up and listen."

The room faded into black for an instant, dissolving into the Abyss, and the white plush rabbit looked at Oz with holes for eyes and a rotten smile.

"I don't want it to end up like it did."

And the room was back with all of its dolls and shelves and the pale version of Alice. But the girl had retained the rabbit's crooked smile.

"Too late," she tittered, lacing her fingers together, the poisonous smile spreading across her face. "You're too late. There's no more time—not in the world."

"No," Oz said, rising from the piano bench. "I know you can do it. You've done it for all the others—you can make it so none of it ever happens—"

The Will of the Abyss was laughing. "The clock is striking—time's up, no more fixing up or going back. Little lost lamb of the Abyss, won't you have some tea with us?"

The girl reached for Oz's hand, clutching onto it in a tight grip as if she'd never let go.

Oz offered little resistance. "I need…to go back to the beginning."

"I won't do it," she said. "You can't do it. You chose her over me, and I told you you'd regret it." She turned to him, and gave Oz a smile. "You don't ever have to worry about where you are again, see? Because you can be right here. Isn't that great?"

(Words he'd always longed to hear, but now they sounded so wrong to his ears-)

And Alice-of-the-Abyss's hand was on his chest, hovering just above the delicate clockwork that was his heart, and the seal's completed revolution burned like it had been seared into his skin, but Oz couldn't look away and he couldn't move. He had the sensation of falling very fast, and began to feel himself fading.

"I can't…change it?" He asked weakly.

His mind and body seemed to be two separate entities now. And the Will of the Abyss grinned greedily and shook her head and her hand seemed unrelentingly warm on his chest.

"Nope. I told you that I'd kill you in your last moment, didn't I? I did. But you can stay here with me for a while. Have some tea. Play for me."

The tea tasted like copper and almonds, but Oz had no more presence of mind to stop himself from drinking every last drop.