Alice left on her mission, leaving Tarrant with a long, lonely night. Each night for these past days had been filled with Alice's warmth; he had grown accustomed to falling asleep with hopeful dreams and waking to the soft morning light with his beloved Alice by his side.
Since her departure, Tarrant had locked himself away in his studio, trying to use the busyness of work as a shield against the onslaught of longing. Yet, the faint sadness crept into every corner of his heart like the encroaching night. As the hours deepened, the painful memories of the past surged forth once more, relentless as the tide.
He reluctantly set aside the fabric he had been carefully sculpting; the garments and hats that had consumed his day's labor lay silently on the floor, as if sharing in his desolation. Tarrant sat alone at his worktable, cradling his head in his hands, his gaze drifting through the window, entwined with the cold moonlight as he stared into the distance, letting his thoughts float into the night sky in search of that familiar shade of blue.
"Alice…" Tarrant murmured in the moonlight. He picked up a piece of blue fabric, examining it closely in the silver glow. "You left me again." His rough fingers traced the soft cloth, as if searching for her touch. Memories flooded his mind—her embrace, her gentle hands slipping into his arms. No matter where he was, he could always smell her golden hair. Unconsciously, he brought the fabric to his face, inhaling deeply. With each breath, he found it harder to control himself. "You have made me even crazier," he roared, tension building within him. His breath quickened as he clutched the fabric tightly, his other hand helplessly soothing the growing ache. His body trembled slightly, movements becoming increasingly frantic as his breaths grew more rapid and intense: "Alice, Alice…" Until the longing surged from his palms, his breathing gradually returned to normal. He had never done or thought such things with anyone or even himself before. He slumped helplessly in his chair, a realization dawning upon him. Why am I doing this? The act felt like a desecration to the goddess of his heart. Yet the moonlight remained blinding, unable to hide the unshakeable yearning within him.
Before dreaming of the tea party, Alice had often dreamed of Tarrant. Some dreams were pure and beautiful, often shared with the crew or her sister. But there were others she kept hidden, never speaking of them. Spending long nights in the captain's cabin of the Wonder, the rocking of the waves gave her dreams a certain intoxication. In her dreams, Tarrant invited her to his home; the familiar surroundings of the hat shop remained unchanged. Yet in his room, she always wanted to sit down and have Tarrant beside her or standing before her, holding him close and staining the crisp white sheets. Or she would dream of the tea party, where she transformed into a pastry, savored by him piece by piece. The next morning, her flushed cheeks would take the entire day to fade. Of course, she didn't know why she dreamed such things and felt a twinge of regret.