The garden was too quiet. Alice sat with her back against a crumbling stone wall, knees drawn to her chest, one finger dragging slow circles through the dark soil. The dirt was cool and damp, and it yielded easily under her touch, as if the ground itself was waiting to be written on. She had traced a spiral, then a maze, then something that looked like a keyhole. The Queen's roses loomed nearby—white ones, mostly, though one had been smeared with a hasty red that dripped like blood onto the leaves. The card soldier who painted it was gone now, probably hiding behind a hedge. Alice didn't feel like looking for him. She didn't feel like looking for anyone. For a long moment, she just stared at the pattern she had drawn, watching the edges crumble. Somewhere far off, she heard the Hatter's laugh—a wild, broken sound that seemed to echo from nowhere and everywhere at once. The Cheshire Cat's grin flickered in the corner of her vision, then vanished. She did not look up. 'I could stay here,' she whispered, her voice barely a breath. 'I could stay here and never move again.' But even as she said it, her hand was already moving—tracing a new path, a different direction, a line leading out of the spiral. She stopped, staring at the fork she had just drawn. Two ways. One led back into the garden. The other—she wasn't sure. But the soil felt warmer under that second line, as if something underground was waiting for her to follow. Alice clenched her fist, scattering the pattern. Then she stood, brushed the dirt from her dress, and took a step toward the unknown path. Behind her, the Queen's rose dripped red onto the white petals. Ahead, the dark opened like a door. She did not look back.