He had once heard that lovers got to know one another so well that they could memorise every part of their body. This, however, he knew to be quite false, for he found something new on Alice's body every day without fail, and by Underland, there had never been a person so loved as she.
He had been ever so happy when, with the Jabberwocky blood just about to spill onto her lips, she had changed her mind about returning home, told him that the answers could wait awhile, that yes, she would stay in Underland. With him. The last part, of course, had been unspoken – naughty girl, being such a Riddler – but it had become clear soon enough when she had turned up at the Tea Party.
There had been some manner of fuss made over Alice staying in Underland. He wasn't quite sure why. Then again, he hadn't really been listening to anything much at all once he'd heard Alice say she would stay. It was quite understandable. He had, after all, just heard that the woman he loved – yes, he did, to the extent that not even the Badness, he would hazard, would be a danger to her – agree to remain with him.
Really, could anyone expect him to listen to fuss at that point?
Unless it was altogether necessary fuss for a party. A tea party. To celebrate having Alice in Underland forever. A most excellent and marvellous celebration to commemorate this most outstanding, wonderful, magnificent, extraordinary and above all superlative event.
He wanted to laugh when it was suggested that Underland might be in any way bad for Alice. It was simply impossible. Not possible. Un-happenable. In any way, shape, form, dimension, or anything else that might conceivably come to mind! There had surely never been anyone more completely and utterly suited to and deserving of a life in Underland.
He wasn't quite sure why they were always so alone now, though. Nobody had come close for quite a while, which was rather odd even for Underland, and he had spent quite some time discussing the oddness of it with Alice. She hadn't had much to say, but then she still had to learn a lot about Underland. He didn't mind telling her. Still, it would be nice to hear her talk more often. He hadn't heard her voice since she'd gotten over her illness some time ago. He really had been rather worried then – his poor, dear Alice had been coughing so much, and looked almost as pale as him – but his fears had been proved false. Thank goodness. Thank Badness.
Thank Underland.
It was as he was pondering this particular point that he noticed her teacup was empty. Of course! What an oversight. No wonder Alice could not talk if her throat was as dry as tea leaves left out in the sun!
As he leaned over to refill her teacup, he frowned and swatted a maggot from his dear Alice's gown. Pesky thing, daring to disturb her. All things set back to rights once again, a smile settled back into place on his face, and he whispered in confidential tones, a distinctive Scottish burr accenting his words:
"Have you any idea yet how a raven is like a writing desk?"
There was no reply, but that was perfectly all right. He had, after all, waited a long time for the answer to that question. A little longer would not hurt.
And so he sat at the tea party for two, his eyes aflame with madness, burning more darkly than they ever had before Alice ventured into Underland.
Perhaps it is a mercy that he is completely unaware of the whispers circulating around the rest of Underland – whispers of how the Mad Hatter has finally plunged into utter insanity, and takes tea with his corpse bride.