Alice, Alice, Alice, Alice.
You've left the Hatter here again. And she'd left Stayne. Left them to each other. Her loss. The Knave may have wanted her once, but things working out the way they had, he had the far better deal.
Oh, Alice, how could you leave your Hatter? So fragile in his madness. Stayne would push him down into the dirt in the dark and take him, and think of Alice, Alice, Alice. He ached for you, Alice. Stayne feels it in the Hatter's shuddering shock of pale skin, sees it in his screwed shut eyes. These days, he aches for anything, but mostly you, Alice. Why else would he tread the borders of the smoky Outlands and let Stayne come to him? And he is beautiful, Alice, isn't he? His madness may be infectious, but beauty does not usually come without its consequences, as you may know.
And Stayne knows how the Hatter feels. He had wanted her, and as much as he could bury himself in the Hatter, it was Alice he wanted to lose himself in.
She had deceived Stayne. He had thought she had truly forgotten the Hatter, had erased and blotted Underland neatly from her memory like she had the last time, never to return. How wrong he'd been.
Her face. Your face, Alice. When she'd seen them together clearly in the moonlight, on the grass by the lake. Sorry, dear. If something's missing for long enough, it needs to be replaced. Poor Hatter. Poor Alice.
And then, she ran. She fell in her haste to get away, bless her, and Stayne almost laughed. The Hatter had been too lost in their movements to see or hear her. Or maybe he just pretended. Take comfort, Alice, he may well have been pretending. He's rather good at it.
And anyway, you did break his heart, Alice. If he'd seen you then, it might have broken something else.