Resolute, Alice walked on. Night had fallen, but still she continued in her search for anything familiar. Guided by the full moon, she wove her way through the dead forest that surrounded her.
"Look...who's...here." said a voice from above.
Alice in a flash of steel grabbed her knife in a double grip and fell into a slightly crouching stance, looking up.
She couldn't see him, just his teeth. A familiar sight.
"Cheshire cat." Alice said, still maintaining her stance.
"Mr. Cheshire cat to you." A wide grin spread across his face, but Alice knew it was just an excuse for him to show off his rows of fangs. Quite the show-off, as always.
"Alice, oh, Alice." The Cheshire Cat said, floating down to perch on a low branch, his body re-materializing. "It's been long."
"Where am I, Cheshire?" Alice barked, "Where are the Queens?"
"Oh, Alice." The Cheshire cat said, disappearing then re-appearing on her shoulder. "Only the Red Queen is left. The White Queen died, but the Red Queen's spite has preserved her it seems."
Alice scoffed. That was totally believable. Her spite preserved her like pickles in a jar, and just as foul.
"What became of the White Queen?"
"She took ill. Rumors say it was poison."
"Poison? Who would do that?"
"Some say it was Red Queen spies." Cheshire flashed his rows of teeth as he tilted his head to the side.
"Can you take me to the Queen, Cheshire?"
"Take you there?! Why...", His eyes widened even larger than Alice thought possible.
"To kill her of course. She's a wicked old hag. Wonderland needs no ruler."
Cheshire faded into the night, his voice echoing out;
"I do so like your style."
The Red Palace stood, menacing, even in its delapitated state. Window panes shattered, paint peeling off, bricks falling off the high towers to the ground far below like suicide jumpers.
The collasal trees surrounding the palace appeared devoid of any life. Gnarled, twisted, and hard. The exposed, knotted roots climbed in through the foundation and at the bases of the towers. Dying vines clawed their way desperately up the tower, similar to the souls of fallen pharohs climbing their pyramids to their eternal rest.
The moat was thick with slime and the rotting bodies of the dead. A thick haze of flies and mosquitos formed deafening clouds over the corpses. Alice had never tried a rotting corpse before, but it seemed a tasty morsel to the bugs.
Alice treaded carefully across the rickety old bridge to the great doors. It was like walking on egg shells, crossing that bridge. Every moan and creak of the wood was like a cry of pain, and equally as annoying.
She walked to the doors, but a sudden pinch in her neck made her stop. Her hand shot to her neck and she pulled the dart out. She tried to inspect the small needle, but her vision blurred and double vision interwove itself as her eyes rolled up and she fell to the ground.