The flamingo's neck coiled under Alice's fingers, muscles rippling with each frantic twist. It wanted to be anywhere but here—its pink-feathered body shuddering, beak snapping at the air. Alice tightened her grip, feeling the absurdity of it all: a croquet mallet that refused to be a mallet. "Hold still," she whispered, but the bird had no intention of obeying. It lunged left, dragging her off balance. The hedgehoop—a bent playing card painted with hearts—waited at an impossible angle. The Queen's eyes bore into her back like hot coals. "Well?" the Queen barked. "Off with—I mean, play!" Alice swung. The flamingo's head connected with the hedgehog ball, but at the last second, the bird squawked and the ball rolled wide. A card soldier stifled a laugh, quickly turning it into a cough. "I said HIT it!" The Queen's voice cracked the air. Alice felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She was failing at a game that made no sense, judged by a monarch whose only law was beheading. The flamingo went limp in her hands, playing dead. She shook it gently. "Please," she murmured. "Just one good shot." The bird opened one eye, conspiratorial. It blinked slowly. Then, without warning, it twisted its long neck, pecked her wrist, and took flight—leaving her empty-handed, surrounded by the sudden silence of a very angry Queen. "Well," said the Cheshire Cat's voice from somewhere overhead, its grin floating against the grey sky. "At least you won't forget this game in a hurry." Alice watched the flamingo disappear over the hedge, a pink streak against the clouds. Somewhere behind her, metal clicked—the guards were readying their pikes. She turned to face the Queen, her empty hands raised. "I think I need a new mallet." The grin above her widened, then faded into nothing. From the direction of the palace, she heard a distant cry: "Off with—" But the sentence was cut short by a crash of thunder. The game was far from over. And somewhere, deep in Wonderland's bones, the next trial was already stirring.