The path split three ways, each fork swallowed by shadow. Alice stood at the center, her pinafore catching the faint light that bled through the canopy. To her left, a narrow trail wound between gnarled roots. To her right, a wider track curved toward a distant glow. Straight ahead, the trees thickened into an impenetrable wall of black. A blur of white shot past her left shoulder. The White Rabbit, coat tails flying, skidded to a halt at the leftmost path. He glanced at his watch, his whiskers twitching, then at Alice. His eyes were pools of panic. "Not that way," he gasped. "Never that way." And he was gone, swallowed by the dark. Alice stared after him. Above her head, a shimmer in the air. The Cheshire Cat's grin materialized first, floating like a crescent moon, then his eyes, unblinking. The rest of him stayed hidden. "Well?" The grin widened. "Decisions, decisions." Alice pressed her hand to the nearest tree. The bark was warm, almost breathing. She could feel the forest watching. Waiting. "Which way is home?" she asked. The grin flickered, faded, then returned. "Home is not a place. Home is the path you choose." He vanished completely, leaving only the echo of his laugh. Alice looked again at the three paths. The left where the Rabbit had gone. The right toward the distant glow. The straight, the dark. Somewhere, a pocket watch ticked. Somewhere else, a teapot clinked. The air smelled of pepper and roses. She took a step forward. Not left, not right. Straight into the dark. Behind her, the grin reappeared, hovering in the moonlight. It said nothing. It didn't need to.