AN: I decided to make a sequel, since my friend's awesome drabble, A Collector and his Specimen, inspired me. All hail Secret Agent Codename Bob for being an inspiration and an awesome beta!

Disclaimer: I don't own American McGee's Alice or its sequel. Guess who does? You don't have to be a genius.

Sometimes, Alice wonders if Lizzie was worth all that she sacrificed. Some days, she even ponders on whether that dream girl had really been her future self, or if it was some demon or witch pulling her into the deepest depths of hell.

Oh, Alice has been there and back.

She was lucky in many ways- her age, her family, Scotland Yard's inaptitude. The pieces of the puzzle were mismatched, didn't fit together- where had the eight year old girl got a knife from? Why did she decide to kill? How had she known of Bumby's presence in her sister's bedroom? - And when there is insecurity any balance can easily be tipped.

Her family had fought, defended her even though they were terrified of their daughter. She is scared of herself, scared of what she has seen, what she has done; but, at the same time, she is petrified of what would have happened had she not acted. Even now she can close her eyes and conjure up images of that night, almost as though she is reliving them.

In the end, Alice got off 'lightly'- no hanging, no gaol, just ten years of pain, misery and torture in Rutledge Asylum. The treatments that were supposed to cure her instead have made her doubt the existence of god, of justice, of anything other than electricity, whips and despair.

But there was always Wonderland.

Here it is pleasant, here is still a playground. Alice sits on the edge of a playing card, chancing fate as her legs dangle over the edge above an endless blue sky, sipping her tea with her pinkie finger lifted (as she has been raised to do). Every few seconds, she can't help but run her fingers through her thick ebony locks. In reality, her hair has only just begun to grow back in awkward curls, still short enough to raise eyebrows. In Wonderland, it is sleek and black, rustling gently in the surprising little breeze.

She senses the figure behind her before it can speak. Sighing as her time of peace has been interrupted, Alice finishes the last of her drink before tossing the teacup and saucer away. She watches the discarded pieces of crockeries' descent before they are swallowed by the clouds.

"When one's head is in the clouds, one's heart tends to get wet," the voice says, smooth as silk. For some reason, this voice aggravates her.

"When one makes oneself an uninvited guest, one tends to be a source of great irritation," Alice replies curtly.

She can imagine a grin spreading out across their face. "When one dwells within card castles in the sky, one is at the mercy of winds."

Alice whips her head around, glaring at the Cheshire Cat. He is the one corrupted thing spoiling this near-perfect world: his fur gone, skin mangy, teeth and eyes dripping with impurity. The Cheshire Cat doesn't deserve to be here, defiling the cerulean sky. Yet he seems intent on never leaving her alone. "I've been through much worse, Cat. Not even a hurricane could faze me."

"But I do?" he says, flashing that much hated smile.

She narrows her smoky jade green eyes. "You may have perplexed me as a child, but since then much has changed. You of all people should understand that. You were always there at Rutledge- dwelling in the corners, teeth and eyes glowing in the dark, driving me delirious. I could, no, would have fared much better without you."

"Your hostile words wound my heart." The Cat replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. Alice folds her arms, turning away. He seems disappointed. "No tears? You cried a sea of them when you first came, remember?"

"My first trip was roughly ten years ago. That's ten years of Rutledge Asylum, which more often breaks a person than makes them," she leans back as the cat appears in front of her, honey eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"I see that none of my words are getting through to you, Alice. Perhaps it would help to talk with someone more… familiar?"

Before Alice can even question as to whom he means, violent winds begin to rip at the structure. Cards tumble and dance in the gale force winds, which are so loud that she couldn't speak if even if she wanted to.

She is thrust off her perch and flung carelessly into the sky, surrounded by swarms of butterflies plucking at the edges of her skirt as though in a futile attempt to keep her airborne.

And then she is in free-fall, hair a whirl as she tumbles through the air. This is not weightless, serene drifting; this is plummeting and quite frankly it terrifies her. But if there is one thing that Alice learnt from Rutledge Asylum, it is to never show weakness until you have covered all the cracks and hidden yourself from sight.

Just her luck that Wonderland is the biggest crack of all.

As she passes through the clouds, Alice is briefly engulfed in wisps of white; they are cool and refreshing. They whisper to her, singing little ditties or simply chorusing her name.

And then she is out of the clouds, eyes clenched shut. Her hands are desperately reaching out as if to grab something before she simply flings them out to the sides, like a bird taking off; except she is broken beyond flight.

A splash and change of density inform her that she has hit water. It is warm, and salty, but definitely not the sea. Her skirt billows out, slowing her descent until her boots finally tap against the river bed. The first thing she sees upon opening her eyes are patterns of dancing light. Looking up, she can see a figure peering down at her, however they are silhouetted against the sun and the water blurs any details pertaining to their identity.

Well, no better way to find out than to meet them. With a newfound determination, Alice kicks off against the river bed and swims up to the surface.

It comes as no surprise that she emerges in the Vale of Tears. It is, however, pleasant with its warm colour scheme, quirky nature and flying dominoes- Alice is not complaining.

What she is not so thrilled about is the young girl holding out her hand, a plush toy rabbit stuck under her arm.

She supposes that it is only logic at use here; older Alice is the one to corrupt her, young Alice is the one to remind her of what she was. Nevertheless, she slaps the hand away and gets out herself, trusting the power of evaporation to dry her dress.

It is her eight year old self, right before the worst choice she ever made. The same cotton white nightdress, the same old rabbit, the same ornately patterned knife in her hand. The Cheshire Cat- that traitorous feline – sits by her side, purring as she strokes him.

"Good Cat," young Alice praises him, watching her older self stand up and wring water out of her skirt, "I apologise: but this place seems a much nicer location for our meeting, don't you agree?"

Looking upon this girl Alice is disgusted: fresh faced, beaming, looking for all the world like she has her whole life ahead of her. Would she persist with that 'innocent' smile if she knew just how much one night could ruin her life?

Little Alice smiles at her, indicating towards the picnic she has set out: cakes and sandwiches, tea and biscuits. "Please: Won't you sit down?"

The two sit, although the elder is uncomfortable. Her younger self is either oblivious to or ignores this: she pops a piece of cake into her mouth before continuing to talk. Her words feel as though she has just plunged the Vorpal Blade through Alice's heart.

"How's Lizzie?"

She already knows, but Alice still answers. "Traumatised. Terrified of me. As are the rest of my family; and Nan Sharpe, and Radcliffe and pretty much everyone I have ever known."

"But alive?"

"If you can call it a life. I came in time to stop her from being raped, but something tells me she won't be finding a husband anytime soon."

Her younger self smiles in a way that makes Alice want to behead her. "That's good to hear."

"Is it now?" Alice hisses venomously. The small girl shrugs.

"And Angus Bumby?"

That is another of Alice's buttons that she would rather not have pressed. She slams her teacup down hard enough to crack the saucer. "Oh, he's dead alright. A bloody dead mess. I visited his grave before I left," she clenches her fist around one of the shards. It cuts into her flesh, and a trickle of blood begins to run down her skin. "A grave? He tried to rape my sister and tore apart our lives, and he still gets a grave?"

The Cheshire Cat's taunting grin did not falter. "It appears that we are losing control of our emotions, young lady. Restraint is a trait difficult to obtain, but prosperous in rewards."

Usually, Alice is somewhat entertained by these sayings. But her younger self and this smug, smirking devil is unleashing all of her pent up anger and frustration.

The little minx only nods in acknowledgement of Alice's outburst. "And what of Rutledge Asylum?"

At this, Alice only glares darkly. "Those are ten years that I am glad are over."

"You seem to be somewhat aggressive towards me. May I have an explanation?"

Alice leaps up, hands balled into fists. "You ruined my life! Everyone I ever knew despises me- even I hate who I have become! And it is all because of you!"

The little girl tilts her head, observing her with wide, leaf green eyes before she speaks. "Let me explain what chain of events would have occurred had you not murdered Bumby. Close your eyes, Alice."

She did so, and the scenes played in front of her as though in a picture book.

"Lizzie lies dead and defiled on the floor of her bedroom. Bumby runs through the house and, in an attempt to cover his tracks, knocks over the oil lamp- the one that Mama allows you because you are scared of the dark, only until you turn thirteen. The flames begin to lick at the carpet. He returns to your sister's bedroom, locks the door and escapes through the window with the key.

"You are awoken by the smell of smoke and the screams of your parents. They are knocking on Lizzie's door, begging her to come out and escape with them. You are scared, terribly burned, your life hanging on the edge. You see Dinah leave through the window, and follow her to escape the smoke. There are fire sergeants outside, and they flock around you before you faint.

"I am sure you need no description of Rutledge Asylum, Alice.

"Then you are released into the slums of London. Here the air is choking with smoke and filth, the Thames toxic and the people walking the streets not much better. You live in an orphanage with a therapist. After much difficulty both in Wonderland and London, you find out that this therapist has been brainwashing these vulnerable children into prostitutes."

Alice's eyes snap open as she gasps. "That- that's just sick!"

"Your therapist's name is Doctor Angus Bumby."

Silence cloaks the two of them. Young Alice sitting patiently, hands in her lap, head cocked to the side as she regards her older self with mild curiosity. Grown Alice fiddles with the edge of her apron as realisation dawns upon her.

When she is sure that her message has sunk in, the little girl continues. "And you say Lizzie despises you? You saved her life, Alice, and nothing will ever change that."

The older girl remains in shell-shocked silence.

"Your parents? Sure, they are wary of you, perhaps confused over their emotions. But they payed for your immigration, did they not?"

Alice bites her lip, eyes closed.

"From here on, Alice, the future is bright. Go running towards it."

When she opens her eyes, she is back in the familiar realm of reality, back in her bed. It is the early hours of the morning, but there is no chance of Alice sleeping now. Upon getting dressed, she makes her way up on deck. The sky is grey yet already beginning the conversion to steel blue and later on brilliant azure. Alice leans against the rail, the wind tousling her hair, decidedly crisp but not bitingly cold. In the distance she can see what looks like land, though it is currently a dark blur in the early morning fog.

"Not very impressive for all you have heard, is it?"

She is not even faintly annoyed when she turns to see the grinning face of the Cheshire Cat. This new revelation is like a weight taken off her chest; she can breathe lungfuls of air again without feeling like she is choking.

"One must not judge by appearances, Cat. Who knows? Maybe America does hold a future for me."