Notes: Scattered Alice: Madness Returns quotes. Song lyrics are from "Alice Underground" by Avril Lavigne.

"I found myself in Wonderland.

Get back on my feet again.

Is this real, is this pretend?"

It's not as easy to get to Wonderland when you've grown, I discover. The old ways no longer work for you. Imagination has shut its fantastical, curlicued doors. You can no longer step through the looking-glass perched above the mantel, or fall down the disused rabbit hole in the front lawn, by the big oak tree Father refuses to have cut down.

Still-when one is persistent enough, it tends to pay off. Although I'd rather not have to deal with Priss turning into a rather diseased-looking dragonfly with a lantern's eye and a sick, mewling mouth of jagged teeth. I don't like the woman, but I'm not sure this is any better, really.

It is with a rush of relief that I open my eyes and find myself once more in Wonderland.

It hasn't changed much. Oh, there's a brook there that wasn't before, and the playing cards for stepping stones bring a mirthless smile to my lips, but it's the same old Wonderland. Same mad aura that soaks into my bones and makes me feel like I've been lit on fire.

I look down at myself and can't help but laugh in delight. My somber, Matron-bestowed clothes have changed into the familiar blue dress and white pinafore of my youth, though the apron pockets sport rust-red blood stains. I wriggle my toes in familiar glossy black boots and feel at home. At peace, if one can say they are ever at peace in such a place.

Of course, that doesn't take long to change.

"Back again, Alice?" a cold, smirking voice drawls behind me. I whirl, dropping into an automatically defensive posture that turns to near-cringing embarrassment when I realise who it is. Of course it's Cheshire. Smirking bastard. He grins at me, revealing bloodstained and yellowed jagged teeth that provoke a wince of revulsion. Then again, he never has taken proper care of himself.

"Did I ever leave?" I reply, a rhetorical question, but one he seems to take seriously, hopping from foot to foot in an aimless sort of way. Unlike the storybooks, this Cat is actually human. Well, mostly. Grey, tattered ears poke out of the black, tousled hair, and a similarly mangy tail swishes from side to side from a hole poked in the back of his trousers. His eyes are pure yellow cat's, and his teeth are more than a bit pointed. Still, beside all that, he's as human as you or I, I suppose. Can still vanish like his dratted namesake, leaving only his mocking, bloodied smile behind. Bastard.

"A new law reigns in this Wonderland," he replies instead, and an unsettled look flits across his face, there and gone so quickly I think I must have imagined it. "Be on your guard." And with that, he evaporates into thin air, toothy grin fading into the mist off the brook and making me want to smack him. Blasted Cat! I never liked him. Not even in the storybooks Mum read to me. Always laughing at Alice's predicament. Even in my own mind, that hasn't changed.

Well, first things first and all that rot. I look up to find my own steps have unconsciously led me precisely where I wished to go. The spot where the Jabberwock lies. Or should I say his bones, because I already took care of that wretched beast the first time I stepped into my own personal Wonderland. All that remains is the shattered remains of his skeleton, and stuck between his ribs, as always, is the Vorpal Blade.

Despite it all, the edge remains viciously sharp, and I nick my finger on it as I tug the knife free. A hiss of pain escapes me and I nearly drop it in my haste to stick the wounded digit in my mouth and suck at the slight injury.

"At least the damn thing doesn't require sharpening," I murmur to myself, dropping the blade into my apron pocket. It sags comfortably with the familiar weight. It always feels unnatural in this Wonderland to go without a weapon, yet I find myself wistful as I walk along, deeper into the heart of it all. Where is the whimsically cheerful Wonderland of the stories? The illustrations were always so brightly coloured in Mum's storybook. Alice with her buttercup-yellow hair and bemused expression. Her bright blue dress like a beacon.

How can I compare? Sullen. Mad. Ratty black hair that refuses to stay tamed, clothes that remain dingy and torn, no matter what care I put into them. Is it any wonder the only wonder my mind can conjure up is this twisted place?

The path twists ahead, and a plethora of signs sprout at the junction. My steps slow as I near them, struggling to read each one. Caterpillar's Domain, Rabbit's House, The Tea Party, The Queen's Castle...

But of course, there's only one choice, isn't there?