St. Aerith's home to the mental unstable was a nuthouse – Sora wondered why he signed up for the job in the first place. He was stuck (volunteer) to read to a little girl named Alice – she was a nice girl, accept she thought she was ten years old, instead of seventeen. She was a pretty girl, but she was always spitting out nonsense – about a rabbit that was going to be late and flowers that talked.
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He read to her everyday, but they would never get very far, she would tell him stories about wonderland – and he couldn't help but get interested. She was a very intelligent girl, she just saw the world differently – and never wanted to grow up. He didn't know what happened to her, but the more he talked to Alice, the more he started to like her.
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He would talk about her at school, at home – soon every other word was Alice this, and Alice that. It was on the day that he was suppose to go with her to a tea party, that things went wrong – for one thing Alice wasn't in her room. Which was a very un-Alice thing to do, and her room was untidy, which was another un-Alice thing to do. Her books scattered across her room, her bed shirts torn off her bed – and Sora noticed drops of red stuff on her floor.
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"Oh dear," giggled the nurse, Rikku. "She isn't missing sweetie, she's dead." It echoed in his head, dead – dead – dead. Alice was dead, when he asked how she just shook her head solemnly. "I'm sorry sir, but we won't need you anymore." Two weeks later, he was watching the news – when the Alice's photo showed up on the screen, he sat down. He was told how her parents were no longer able to pay for her stay, and she was killed at St. Aerith's. Sora cried, turning off the television, tears falling down his face – they live in such a mad world.