Disclaimer: I own a number of hats...but no Hatter. It is indeed a sad state of affairs.

This snuck up on me a while ago while I was playing in my fabric bag. The Hatter in question is really a blend of Tarrant Hightop from Tim Burton's Alice, and Reginald Theophilus the Third of Bri-chan's wondrous tale "When Curiosity Met Insanity" which, if you have not read, I insist you go and do so at once. Some of these swatches are definitely Reggie, while others are most certainly in Underland territory. I think it ended up combining both because of all the Hatters I've known and loved, those two are the only ones who show a genuine love of their craft and a desire to run wild in a fabric store. A sentiment I well appreciate. At any rate sweetlings, I would love to know what you think and so without further ado...

Alice was like silk. So soft and smooth and colourful. Smiling brightly as she leaned down to hear what Ears was saying. Pink mouth, gold hair, blue eyes, so pretty. The Hatter sipped his tea and sighed. Alice ignored him.

Alice was like brocade. So stiff and stern and silly when she was cross. Stitched and straightened and stalking off in a huff after he tried to take her hand. Hatter threw his arms up in defeat. Alice continued walking.

Alice was like satin. Polished sheen, proud and enduring. Curtseying gracefully before the Queen. Standing head held high when she was named Champion. Hatter applauded. Alice frowned.

Alice was like lace. All tied up into funny little patterns. Filled with missing bits and holes and empty places. He wondered if she ever felt naked the way lace did. Finished but not all there, so much detail caught up in one little chit. He wondered if the world looked different through Alice the way it did when he peered through lace. Hatter stared. So did Alice.

Alice was like velvet. Smooth and lovely till you rubbed her up the wrong way. Then she was tactile and unusual and quite out of sorts until you brushed her back to sleekness. Hatter, with flowers, apologised. Alice forgave him.

Alice was like wool. Warm and comforting and knitted into funny patterns to wrap around his fingers at the end of a cold day. Hatter squeezed. Alice blushed.

Alice was like gauze. So light as to not be there, so gentle on his burnt hands, until the layers continued and she wrapped him in her arms to cry. Hatter winced. Alice held him.

Alice was like cotton. She breathed. In and out and up and down and on and on as he watched curiously. How did she manage to keep it going for so long? Surely sometimes she had to remind herself to keep it up, not let it get caught in her pretty little chest the way his did when he looked at her sleeping face. Hatter swallowed. Alice woke.

Alice was like voile. Soft and fine and sheer skin glowing in the moonlight. Stretched out over the pillows and snuggled into his arms. Alice smiled. So did Hatter.