The next statue Alice came to was identical: another pudgy little schoolboy with clothes a little too small for him. Alice knew that the maze used to be well-kept, and was owned by a widower who was an artist and a recluse. Alice guessed that the odd statues were the objects of his work, strange beings plucked from his mind and brought to life by his hands. Alice wondered if the gardeners would ever again open that part of the grounds. The maze used to be so grand, apparently one of the most intricate of its kind in the country. And now it was falling apart, an embarrassing eyesore which they tried to ignore.

Alice kept her hand outstretched to keep herself turning to the right and soon found herself right at the very centre of the maze. There was a pond, with a tinkling fountain and pretty statues of fairies clustered around it. A secret haven, which only she would use. Alice decided that the next time her mother ordered her outside, she would bring a book along with her and walk here, to read. It would technically be getting fresh air, exactly what her mother wanted for her.

It was a truly magical spot. The white marble benches and the beautiful statues added to the fantastical atmosphere.

Alice had found her real wonderland, not the one from her daydreams. The wind stirred the bare winter branches of the snowy trees and the statues seemed to smile happily at her. The snowflakes continued to float down from the clouded, endless sky above her.