There is a rabbit that she has seen before, tucked under her arm, eyes hidden contentedly. The rabbit's limbs sprawl comfortably on the bed, sleeping.
Cotton, washed and smelling of the sun, white. If you look at it carefully, there are little blue flowers on it. But of course, only when there is light. The blanket is dark now, because it is at night. Even the rabbit, the snow-white rabbit is dark now, because it is sleeping, because it is night. There is no light to shine on its lovely white fur.
It is at night, black peeking in from the curtains. There is one star that perseveres to shine. "It's all because of the smoke from the factories, Alice. They cover the sky so that you can't see the stars anymore." Father said. Hoo, goes an owl. There are sometime owls in the trees. They go hoot together with all the crickets chirping. Then sometimes the night breeze blows and carries the scent of the daisies. They smell like daisies, the air-
The air is thick, and it smells familiar.
Thick, so that it feels like there is something when there is nothing when she jolts up in bed, like moving through colourless fog. The smell will not go away, how odd. Crash goes the something, a shatter of broken glass, footsteps - someone - they - are running, running, running-
"Fire, Alice, fire!"
A silver of light creeps at the bottom of the door - bright burning red and orange and yellow light -
What is it? What is it?
"Lizzie? Lizzie! Open the door!"
Mother is panicking, crying, screaming. The doorknob rattles, hard. Loud. Thud, thud, thud, palms hitting against the wooden door. Where is Lizzie? Lizzie never locks her door.
"Meow."
Dynah jumps up to her face, emerald eyes shining. "Meow." Dynah jumps off, jumps onto the windowsill and looks back pointedly.
"Dynah-?" Then she jumps out.
"Dynah!" The blanklets rustle and are thrown to the side. The ground is dark and hard, the branches tendrils of black. Where is Dynah? Down, it is too deep. Two stories high and down, it is impossible, Dynah cannot land - that is mad-
"Meow."
"Alice!" Mother.
Open the door-
She grabs the knob and twists.
The door opens to red and orange and yellow, bright light, lights of scarlet and amber. Mother is screaming and crying - why? Mother, why are you crying?
"There's a fire-!"
Crack, and then with a resounding crash the planks from above collapse and plumment to the floor. Fire continues to burn, roaring, blazing. The fire is eating everything, the floor, the wallpaper peeling and curling and turning into ashes. Silver tears fall from above - they are on her face - her eyes are wet-
"We can't go down the stairs, it's blocked!" Father's eyes are wide, green and red, stumbling and shocked. His hands are flailing, he can do nothing, they can do nothing -
Fire, fire, fire.
It is so hot - it is too hot.
They are helpless, doomed.
Burning flesh, fire ravaging- curling into ashes, white and grey, what about the blood and the bones? Screaming, high-pitched. The cloth on fire, the flesh on fire, violet burned onto skin- Crash, then the ceiling falls and crushes-
No. No, no, no, no. No.
Mother, her dress, her silken skirt and the pink ruffles. Violet, and the perfumes of flowers. "Mother, I'm scared!" Arms wrap around her.
"Meow."
She lifts her face from the skirt. There is Dynah, sitting there at the doorway, still calm, emeralds still gleaming.
"Meow."
The tail holds high and straight as the cat turns, and leaps out of the window. There is another way out of the house. The window.
"Mother! Father!"
"Alice-" The arms are left empty. The window, a square of black and black, grows larger and larger. Her feet are moving, the footsteps pound, quick, to the window.
Broken bones can heal, burned flesh never recovers. "But what about Lizzie-!"
Lizzie will not wake up, she will not open the door - that she knows.
"Hurry!" Before the fires catch, before-
The night breeze is blowing, it is cool and pleasant. "Out of the window- hurry, out of the window!" Away from the fire, away, away.
Arms wrap around her, again, another time, the thin, delicate arms of her mother. With gravity further and further, light as a feather- Father carries Mother up-
"Jump!"
Her hair blows in her face, the stars twirl madly and the fire disappears behind the nighttime darkness.
Thud.
Mother is crying. The crystal tears do not suit her face. They drip down, forming dark spots on her ebony dress.
"Lizzie...Oh, Lizzie!" She shudders and shakes, makes a small gasp with her eyes open and full of tears - the closes them again as her hands cover her face.
She herself cannot help but weep, even Father is. But at least there is only one coffin instead of three.
Mother pulls her into an embrace, still crying and crying. Then Father wraps his arms around both of them.
Mother.
Father.
A lone tear rolls down her cheeks and splashes.
Mother.
Father.
They stare, eyes of drawn lines, as fixed and solid as ever. Mother and Father, two unmoving figures. With the beautiful Lizzie, and Her. Young, innocent, unknowing. The rabbit is still tucked in her arms.
The lithograph.
Three pristine crosses. Dearly Departed, read the flowing inscriptions on the white marble. 1895. Henry George Liddel. Lorina Reeve Liddel. Elizabeth Liddel.
Lizzie.
If there was a grave for Alice Liddel, would it make things any better?
They are dead. Killed in the fire. She jumped out of the window. Just for once, she wants to live in her dreams. With trembling hands, she sets down the roses - three of them, three for them, one, two, three.
A lone tear rolls down her cheeks and splashes.