The Garden.

After a while, I reached the stairs leading down to an open arena, the front of the castle.

I moved with rhythmic steps, my eyes scanning the area ahead. At the center stood a large fountain, its water flowing in a slow pattern.

I noticed that further away, I could see the gate to leave the castle. I wasn't sure where it led, since the entire place was surrounded by trees that stretched as far as the eye could see.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, my eyes moved to the roses growing everywhere around me.

I walked to one and cupped it in my hand

It had no scent I recognized. However, it was not unpleasant in any way. It had a unique smell about it. My fingers moved to the soft petals on the rose, slowly feeling them.

I returned it to the bush. The stem held exactly where I placed it.

Then, the flower slowly turned, not with the wind, but toward me, like a face. It held its position there.

"..."

I kept walking.

I didn't look back. But I was certain, with no way of confirming it, that every rose in the garden had turned to look at me.

My attention returned to the fountain that had been there all along. I moved closer, seeing the water spin around.

As I focused on it, I realized what was wrong: the water wasn't flowing outward from the center. It was flowing inward, everything pulling toward the middle.

I narrowed my eyes at the water. From afar, it had seemed normal, but up close, it clearly wasn't.

Something deep down appeared.

Not just one, but many.

There were many hands at the bottom, all reaching upward, their fingers spread and perfectly still. Like they had given up on movement completely.

They were of different ages, some small enough to belong to children, others large and weathered. No two were alike.

After a bit, I finally moved my legs past the fountain towards the castle gate.

While looking, I noted that the outer rim of the castle's garden had flowers planted, not in the normal sense like the bushes or a garden.

Each flower was separated from the others by a significant amount of space.

As I drew closer, I noticed nameplates in front of each flower, placed there with apparent care. I looked at what was written on them.

Names of different people.

A set number of names, after a bit they kept repeating. Each one was different from the other, and each one was fully taken care of.

I read the closest one. Then the next. And the next after that.

Then, I caught a glimpse of a figure. My instincts instantly told me that was the gardener, the one who kept all those flowers and vegetation in place, mending them into the beautiful shape they form right now.

I could only see the figure's back. It was crouching, watering one of the flowers in front of it. It was wearing an extraordinarily large hat that covered half of its back, and its clothes were simple enough to be called a gardener's.

After watering that one specific flower, it put the pot down, took a cloth out of its pocket, and started cleaning the nameplate.

Its hands were dirty, a showcase of the effort it put into taking care of this whole place.

Something about the sight made me feel out of place, as if I had walked into the middle of a story in which I had no role.

The red sky bathed the world in its color, which made the roses appear even redder than usual.

I noted that, despite the lack of wind, the flowers continued to move. Occasionally, I noticed them turn as if watching something.

Then, as if noticing my presence, the figure stopped cleaning the nameplate and stood up, slowly turning around and looking at me.

I looked closely at what resembled a doll.

Her face was a patchwork of stitches; thread overlapped old, split seams where the fabric beneath puckered unevenly.

She had wide, dot eyes fixed open, pale green irises that each looked in a slightly different direction, as though they had been placed without reference to each other.

She looked at me for a moment before giving a small bow in response to my presence.

"Alice, I humbly welcome you to my garden," she said, her voice raspy and low, resembling a young woman's.

She didn't wait for me to reply and turned back to the nameplate she had been cleaning and resumed her work. I watched as she moved the cloth in small circles over the letters.

I walked closer so that I was able to read the name.

Lorina.

It was a woman's name. By the time I registered that, she had already finished cleaning it, as the letters reflected the red light clearly.

"You take care of them all alone?" I asked.

She nodded, then moved to the next flower without looking at me. She crouched. Examined the flower with attention. Then sat the watering pot down beside it. "If I don't, no one else will." she replied.

"How many are there?" I asked, my eyes moving over the large number of flowers; at first, I thought each one was just a rose. But I was mistaken.

There were a multitude of flowers, each different, but they looked red due to the hue that consumed this world as a result of the sky.

"More than before," she said, "and probably fewer than next month. Counting them will bring me no joy whatsoever."

"I see."

She stood and moved to the next one.

I followed, not because I was interested in her. Because I found that I wanted to read the names. I don't know precisely why. They were strangers to me, yet I found myself reading each one as we passed.

Nagisa. Kenji. Kaito. Yuki.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

Honestly, I had no interest in her personally; I simply wanted to ask about a way to leave this place if she had any knowledge at all, so this would be my only chance.

The gardener considered the question; she was crouched at another flower.

"I am not sure what 'here' means when you ask it like that." she said, "If you mean this garden, then as long as the garden needs tending. If you mean Wonderland, then—" She tilted her head up as if consulting the sky. "—longer than you and shorter than some."

"Does that mean time works differently here or something?" I asked, my tone a bit annoyed at her cryptic nature.

"Time works however it likes." she said, moving her cloth over the nameplate. "Everyone has their own nature in it; a second for me might be a day or a week for you, and the opposite is true. Years and hours mean nothing." She paused. "Wonderland is a place of wonder. It takes as long as it takes."

I registered the information. "Then how does one leave, and how long will that take?"

She turned her head to me, her pale green eyes shining. Unsettling as they were. They were looking at me.

"What do you have to reach?" She asked.

Something came to mind that had been bugging me for a while.

"The White Rabbit," I said. "Is that how I get my answers?"

"The White Rabbit is... kind, and empathetic. Some people get their answers from him. Follow the White Rabbit, Alice. The end road will reach him, and you will find what you're looking for. I am not sure."

"The End Road," I repeated the words in a whisper. "I'll be fine with that."

She stopped. She raised her left hand and pointed.

I followed her eyes and saw the iron gate leading outside of the castle's area.

"The road begins there. Follow the road. Do not leave it."

I nodded. "Thank you," I said. Without looking back, I started to move.

Then, I heard a soft collapse, like a weightless feather falling.

I turned.

She was on her knees first, her wide hat tilting forward. The watering pot had fallen, and the water was spreading into the soil. Her hands were pressed flat against the earth.

"You."

She looked up, noticing that I was still there. Her face is still smiling, the same expression.

"This is normal." Her arms began to shake uncontrollably.

Then, one of her arms bent the wrong way, folding at the elbow where no joint existed. The fabric that made her began to be torn apart from within, like something inside started to rip her to shreds.

She slowly moved herself up between two flowers. A pale orchid.

"A gardener comes and tends. A gardener gives what she has to give."

"..." I was looking down at her.

Her body was twisting in a way I couldn't describe.

Soil pushed outward through the tears in her fabric, the same soil that surrounded every flower in the garden.

Her head tilted. Then tilted further than was possible. Then, it dropped straight down.

Her smiling face was turned toward the red sky. "Go, Alice. The White Rabbit is waiting."

Even as it happened with the head fallen and the body coming apart at every seam. Her hands kept moving.

Without anything to guide them, her fingers found the cloth on the ground and went on cleaning the nameplate. They moved in small circles.

I turned around without waiting, my expression still the same. I already knew all the information I needed.

Reaching the iron gate, it opened on its own. The sound was loud and unnatural.

As I moved past it, it closed. Leaving me no chance to walk back from wherever I came from.

And so I continued walking the stone path, surrounded by trees on both my left and right.

After what felt like a few minutes, I saw a lone signpost in the middle of the road. It was thick with the dust of age, and no one was there to see it but me.

I made out the letters on the signpost, slowly reading them.

"TO THE WHITE RABBIT" pointed forward.

"TO ALICE" pointed back towards the castle.

Alice.

That name again.

I wasn't sure why those I met insisted on calling me that. But I would have to get used to it for now, at least until I reached the White Rabbit and gained my answers.