Episode 74.2 - Crumb-shadows - A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

CRUMB-SHADOWS

Bending low, Alice probed beneath the tablecloth, scrabbling at the floor, straining her eyes in search of cookies, peanut cookies. 

Cookies. Peanut cookies. 

"They can't t be invisible!" Alice complained. 

She found a strand of white hair.
The Hatter's, the March Hare's, or White Rabbit's?
Withered, already unmoored from the head, the hair offered no answer. 

A penny lay half-hidden beneath the carpet.

The tarnished face of King William stared back.

From a table leg, Alice heard papery rustling.

Termites. A quarter the size of a penny.

One stared at Alice. 

Two seconds— 

Then resumed chewing.

Erasing.

"What's that?" Goosebumps stood up.

Bug detected.

She jerked her hand.

The hand jerked her body.

Her head knocked against the table. It was two inches lower than Alice's memory allowed.

Nothing stirred.

A crumb-shadow slipped into her right eye.

She rose. 
The table groaned.
The tea shuddered.

The March Hare and the Hatter saw a head.

In the middle of the table—

Resembling King William on the penny.

Her right eyelid sank. Two shadows of the Hatter.

Left eyelid, lead. Two shadows of the March Hare.

One person. Two shadows. 

Two heads.

One. Two. 

Two strands of white hair.

Two loose threads.

One termite. Two seconds. Chewing. Erasing.

Cookies. Peanut cookies. 

Two.

Previous Episode: Nobody But Alice 

Next Episode: Oh, Carroll 

He knitted his brows, preventing a signal only he could hear from grooving its way in.

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 74.1.1 - Nobody but Alice / A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

NOBODY BUT ALICE 

Alice felt dreams being duplicated within herself. She no longer knew if she was the container or the contained, inside or outside the Rabbit-Hole. 

Lullaby hallucinated her.

She began to suspect that she was spyware, monitoring the buttonholes of the vests.

Behind them hid Gray-Stirn Vest Pocket Cameras.

One lay on her father's working table.

Learning. 

They waited outside rabbit-holes. Inside rabbit-holes. Everywhere.

The looking-glasses generated a twin, then four Alices. 

Spyware monitored spyware.

Anxiety multiplied in parallel.

So did the lullaby's hallucinations.

Her fists clenched.

Alice closed her eyes. Took one, two deep breaths. 

She hypnotised herself. 

"I'm Alice. I'm Alice. Nobody but Alice."

The words confirmed. 

Reconfirmed. 

Beneath the tablecloth, two trails of cookies crossed the floor.

They flattened into the floor pattern.

Then scattered.

"I'm Alice. I'm Alice. Nobody but Alice," she chanted. 

She dropped to her knees.

Her fingers scrabbled across the floorboards, straining against the dark.

Cookies. 

Just peanut cookies.

Ordinary. Innocent. 

One.

Two.

Buckle my shoe.

Previous Episode: Hallucinated 

Next Episode: Crumb-shadows

The March Hare and Hatter saw a head.
In the middle of the table—resembling King William on the penny.

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 74.1 - Hallucinated / A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

HALLUCINATED 

Alice found herself thinking the Dormouse's lullaby was a thief.

She cut herself off from external thought.

But the lullaby was already nested—

walls beyond walls beyond walls,

dream within dream within dream,

Alice in Alice in Alice.

She believed it had already hallucinated her.

The lullaby reciprocated.

Thought duplicated within dreams.

The lullaby thought Alice was Rabbit-Hole.

Alice believed the lullaby a thief.

The lullaby reversed the gaze.

Alice hallucinated the lullaby.

The lullaby hallucinated her.

Alice hallucinated Rabbit-Hole.

The thief hallucinated its own lullaby.

Two small furrows grew between Alice's brows. Her lips twisted slightly to two sides.

Dreams duplicated inside her. She no longer knew if she was the container or the contained, inside or outside.

She thought herself into lullaby, thief, and dream.

The Hatter entered her left hand.

The March Hare entered her right.

The Dormouse inhabited her mouth.

Rabbit-Hole swallowed her head.

Two trails of cookies crossed the floor.

Alice followed them despite herself. 

She found herself murmuring,

"One, two."

One trail stared at Alice.

The other stared back.

Alice hesitated. 

Reciprocated.

Two.

Previous Episode: Carroll Refused Them

Next Episode: Nobody But Alice 

She hypnotised herself. 
"I'm Alice. I'm Alice. Nobody but Alice."

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.
This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 74 - Carroll Refused Them / A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

CARROLL REFUSED THEM

Sleep slept.

TO0t-toot->—<-toot-t0OT remained beneath the table. 

It sounded artificial—a spyware lullaby, incanted so carefully to be harmless.

Alice hypothesised.
Lullaby.
Spyware.
Two parameters.
Then three.
She counted. 
Five.
No.
Two.

The lullaby had entered her mind.

She TO0t-toot->—<-toot-t0OT-ed.

"My head was inside the Rabbit-Hole."

"No no—The Rabbit Hole has crawled into my head."

The words reached for an anchor, but Carroll refused them. They spiralled out of Wonderland.

Her head remained inside the Rabbit-Hole.

The Rabbit-Hole remained crawling.

"I have to stop it."

Bending low, Alice probed beneath the tablecloth, scrabbling at the floor, straining her eyes to search for cookies.

Nothing stirred beneath but crumb-shadows. They drifted in a faint breeze at the corner of her eye; one slipped into Alice’s right eye.

“What you’re looking for was never under the table,” the Hatter said.

The March Hare broke into singing: "A train goes toot... toooot..." He pursed his lips. "...a girl hunts cook... cookies!"

At last, Alice took a chair beside the Hatter, determined upon tea.

“May I...?” she asked, as politely as a little girl could.

“No.” The Hatter waved his index finger. “Not unless you tell a story.”

The March Hare nodded—a single, synchronized dip—as though he and the Hatter shared one skull.

They waited. Patiently. Impatiently. 

Alice rubbed her eye, then wiped the corner and picked a crumb away. "I've only ever been told stories. How does one tell one?"

The Dormouse raised his ears upright like a giraffe’s neck, but caught only the sound of his own toot-toot snoring.

The ears protested. 

“What a silly simile. Tenniel drew us. We're original."

“But Carroll demanded two inches more ears.”

The ears protested again, stretching until the ink shrieked.

Previous Episode: 

Sleep Slept

Next Episode: Carroll Refused Them 
Dreams duplication detected. 
She felt dreams being duplicated within herself.

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 73.3 - Sleep Slept / A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

SLEEP SLEPT

Sleep warmed itself beneath the table, beneath the Dormouse's fur.

It curled up like a fat golden cat.

It purred, a heavy resonance vibrating through the fur. The fur remembered Alfred Schnittke.

The Dormouse felt it.

Eyes shut, he pulled a tiny brass pocket-horn from his waistcoat—A on one side, S on the other.

TO0t-toot->—<-toot-t0OT. 

Sleep fell asleep.

The Dormouse continued dreaming.

He dreamed a bluish-grey cat waited in the doorway.

Behind the door, a mouse rolled a barrel of dynamite.

Jerry rolled. 
Tom waited.

Jerry rolled. 
Tom waited.

The gap coiled
Jerry coiled
Tom coiled

The dream waited.

Harpsichord filled the stillness.

...

Neither arrived.

A foot flustered. 
Tapped. 
One, two.
One, two.

These became a switch switching the dream off.

The Dormouse TO0t-toot->—<-toot-t0OT. 

Sleep slept.

Z z Z z Z z ...
████

Previous Episode: Words Drowned

Next Episode: Carroll Refused Them

The words reached for an anchor, but Carroll refused them. They drifted out of Wonderland.

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 73.2 - Words Drowned/ A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

WORDS DROWNED

Alice's words had failed to reach the Hatter. They looped back to her ears. 

Her own voice slapping against her.

Ripples gathered around her like rising water.

She cocked her head, jerking her chin.

The movement unsettled the acoustics inside her head. 

The sound went wet and viscous.

Glub-glub-glub.exe: left ear.

Glub-glub-glub.exe: right ear.

[Eardrums requesting air.dll.

Status: Failed]

Glubs clotted.

Then sank. 

D

e

e

p

e

r

Tea didn't spill.
Her voice spilled.

Drowning.

Glubs coagulated.

Alice pressed down, forcing a pop to silence them.

A heavy bubble rose through a dark pool. 

Glub.
Glub held.
The surface held.
Plop.
The last bubble burst. 

"If I stay down here long enough," Alice thought, "I shall grow fins of lace. I shall speak in gurgles to the Oysters."

"And the Oysters hear nothing, my dear. Nothing at all,” a voice purred.

[Cut]

Narrative didn't include Oysters.

[Take two]

The megaphone called. Glubs returned to the stage.

Glub-glub-glub.exe: left ear.
Glub-glub-glub.exe: right ear.

Ugh— 

Words_Drowned.exe

Loading...

Previous Episode: 

Alfred Schnittke's Job Done

Next Episode: Sleep Slept

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 73.1.1 - Alfred Schnittke's Job Done / A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

ALFRED SCHNITTKE'S JOB DONE 

1865 carolled.

Beneath the table, stagehands were panting. 

Above it, every time a string snapped, a teapot lid clicked.

1976 refused to wait.

In the right ear, a Baroque minuet hummed. The teacups jingled in a courtly 3/4 time.

In the left, screeching twelve-tone clusters tore through a curtain of cilia. The teacups stuttered into minus two—minus two seconds of panic.

The two worlds piled up directly on top of the tablecloth.

From two inches to four, to sixteen, to sixty-four, and still piling. 

To the Hatter, discord was proper table manners.

1874 hummed through the floorboards.

Within, he conjured Danse Macabre—the violin summoned skeletons to their midnight dance.

Then came a snap.

The Hatter’s knife sliced into a loaf of bread.

Screaming of March Hare halted. 

The tango cut.

Tok tok approached beneath the tablecloth. 

A page drifted loose.

The narrative carried it forward.

The tea party remained.

The teapot lid waited. The next record needle waited too.

Alfred Schnittke shut his eyes. 

2026 holds its breath.

So does Alice.

Previous Episode: Stagehands 

Next Episode: Words Drowned 

"If I stay down here long enough," Alice thought, "I shall grow fins of lace. I shall speak in gurgles to the Oysters."

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 73.1 - Stagehands / A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

STAGEHANDS 

The Hatter’s remark knocked Alice off balance, as though the floor had been stolen beneath her feet.

A family of rats was carrying it.
They were grousing all the way home.

"Where should we keep this floor? Our garage doesn't need any extra," a younger rat asked, panting heavily. 

"Under the house," the mother replied quickly—yet a lump formed in her throat just as fast. 'House' became hoarse. 

"But we already have one there," said the elder one, wheezing while staring at the immense floor.

"Why are we taking this floor home?" the young one asked again.

"Careful. The narrative is writing us," the father said, teeth clenched.

The table's shadow darkened across their faces, then over their entire bodies. 

"What if it names us?"

"That's beyond rat imagination," the parent sighed.

The floor grew heavier, dragging them two inches backward.

Weight dragged, labour pulled.

The younger one's eyes boggled—there stood the narrative beside him.

No face. Scorching.

"Is that—?" he rasped.

The floor was no longer there.

Alice didn't notice. She kept speaking while two seconds went missing.

The narrative tapped. Gloved.

Tok tok sounds from a prepared piano crept in from the background. 

A snap.

No fingerprints left on music.

Schnittke's Concerto Grosso No.1 simply stopped.

The harpsichord ticked away.

The rats reset to routine—shuffling, running oddly slow behind the Duck, jabbing him during a Caucus-race. 

Their hands hurt. They blamed the Caucus-race.

No one mentioned the grounded floor again.

Not even the floor.

Floors were not meant to remember.

Only narrative did. 

Previous Episode: Lewis's Weather Forecast

Next Episode: Alfred Schnittke's Job Done

The Caucus-race reset.

Alfred Schnittke shut his eyes.

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 73 - Lewis's Weather Forecast / A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

LEWIS'S WEATHER FORECAST 

I didn't withhold any truth.

I even included a detailed weather forecast.

Readers ruled. That much was undeniable.

My only mistake was omitting the source:

Lewis's weather forecast, 8 p.m., Dodgson Broadcast Corporation. Formerly Charles Broadcast Corporation.

The weather at the table matched.

The skin corroborated the report; no goosebumps to betray a chill.

But none of this trivia delayed Alice's anger.

The Hatter's remark caught her off balance, as though the floor was stolen.

Right under her feet.

“I beg your pardon—and how rude of you to say such ill-mannered things!” she cried. Her cheeks reddened, but she refused to hunch an inch.

Her words missed the Hatter entirely.

He had not turned away.

Her voice simply failed to arrive.

Between them, the air circled.

Above a cup too, circling like a housefly.

The cup straightened its handle to swat the buzzing away.

The air circled above a crumb, but not enough to tip anything.

Still, the words looped back to Alice’s ears, her own voice slapping against her.

Her ears hummed. 

She cocked her head to shake it away, but the sound remained glub glub glub.

“We’ve been expecting you since yesterday,” said the March Hare at last, smiling.
He turned to the Hatter. 
The two of them shuddered. 

So did the teapot. Even the cups. Whispering scandal under the steaming web.
The tablecloth shrugged, sending tiny ripples across teapot and cups. 

Everybody was gossiping—under streetlight, under table, under mamak. Someone shouted: "One teh tarik." Another one responded, "Satu teh tarik."

Then the shouts in Premier League on live, filling the air.

A Mad Party.

"Oh, my dear! Don't make your memory short once your head was out from the Rabbit-Hole." The Hatter shook his hat; "surely you remember." His voice was calm and flat, as though flattened by the narrow, tapering walls of the Rabbit-Hole.

“Hair full of dirt and grasses…” the March Hare added, still smiling, apparently he had seen it himself.

Gossiping didn’t end; it didn’t stop sleep from warming itself under the table. 

From inside that warmth, a lullaby rehearsed itself:

“Toot … tooot … toooot …” the Dormouse snored. 

Not yet 8 p.m. Truth is timeless.

Previous Episode: A Ruler 

Next Episode: Stagehands
"Where should we keep this floor? Our garage doesn't need an extra one," a younger rat asked, panting. 

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 72.1 - A Ruler / A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

A RULER

Every inch of a ruler marked an unspoken history.

The wall it hung from in the Hatter's tea-party house thought it knew everything.

It was nothing.

Only shadow.

In another story, it ruled for the Queen—until “Off with your head” snapped its leash.

The phrase was spelled into a spell.

Earlier still, it ruled in a story of yore, in which two weavers turned air into garments. It was a ruler in new clothes.

When Gallons, Ounces and Inches prevailed, the ruler notched the tea party—
Still in new clothes.
Still ruling everyone.
Measuring the two-inch swelling of the tea-party house.

Once, a child measured the Ruler with a naked sentence.

Now, Alice ruined her way into a wrong tea party, walking a trap of milky-trick narrative air. 

Eyes parsed Alice—inch by inch.
The ruler followed.

The six-inch ruler on everyone's desks, on yours, too.
Measuring every line in two-inch couplets.

The weavers spun air. Stories grew tall. 

The ruler measured older ruler's pride. 

It measured the shout of the Queen. 

The Seconds' story came out two inches shorter.

It declared those measurements canon.

Its cold thickness sealed the gap between stories—

"Skritch. 

Skritch. 

THUCK."

This distorted voice morphed into a song:

"Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, come into my notch?"

Everything hesitated. 
Narrative too.

Carroll decreed:
Two turned official in the first line of the preface.
Readers deliberately skipped it.

R  E  A  D  E  R  S    R  U  L  E  D.

U  N  S  P  O  K  E  N  L  Y.

Previous Episode: Perfect Weather 

Next Episode: Lewis's Weather Forecast 

Lewis's weather forecast at 8pm on Dodgson Broadcast Corporation.

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 72 - Perfect Weather/ A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

PERFECT WEATHER 

Alice wandered on after the counting. 

Story reoriented.

Nothing had disappeared, and neither had her loneliness—it clung to her lower hem like a child holding to the mother.

Presently, a house appeared, a good deal larger than the Rabbit’s; counting precisely twelve steps, Alice found herself before it. 

Her curiosity piqued, stretching to fit the size of the house.

The Cat had already pivoted out of her attention.

The house seemed to swell ever so slightly—two inches.

“How very egotistical it can be!” Alice tipped her head. 

The house grew precisely bigger than Alice’s curiosity. It had a ruler—one the Queen used to rule with.

A faint, sweet smell of milk drifted by from a long table. 

At one end sat the Hatter; at the other, the March Hare.

Between them lay the Dormouse, snoring like a tiny toot-toot train chugging from one dream to another. 

“You’ve a foolishly funny look…” began the Hatter, his words catching for a long time in his throat—dry, uneven, and then suddenly fluent, like a voice regaining its signal after a brief delay.

The Mad Party would begin with his own signature flair—turning Alice's right thoughts upside down, while her wrong thoughts simply underside up.

Everybody would drift along, though a crumb preferred to cling to the rim of the cup.

Nobody weathered.

In the weather forecast, it would be 18°C to 21°C, a light breeze, humidity around 60%, partly cloudy. There would be neither thunder nor lightning.

Perfect weather. 

The crumb still clung to the rim. No great drama—otherwise, a wet madness.

The crumb stayed where it was, long enough to multiply nothing except its own insistence.

Previous Episode: 

Gallons, Ounces, And Inches 

Next Episode: A Ruler
Still ruling everyone—measuring a two-inch swelling in the tea-party house.

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 71.1 - Gallons, Ounces, and Inches/ A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

GALLONS, OUNCES, AND INCHES 

After Alice’s count of two, Wonderland echoed.

Buffering...

One Dodo arrived.

Delayed.

Then another.
Then came two Ducks.
Then two Eaglets.
Two Rats.

At the end of the line, two Seconds duck-walked.

Their footsteps stepped on one another. Neither felt. 

“Why are we summoned?” asked a Second, rubbing its eyes—

Still a second.

“She did nothing but count,” another Second added.

“She counted for nothing, but something lost two seconds,” they sighed.

Beneath the soil the Cat had scratched, a voice rose. 

So faint that Alice had missed it.

“Can a gallon hold a second?”

The first Second folded its ears shut.

“Don’t be stupid,” another voice replied. “It’s one ounce.”

“One ounce is broader than a gallon,” the second voice continued.

“You are right,” said the first voice. “It was ruled so.”

The Seconds checked each other.

“We should go,” whispered the first Second.

“Why?" said the other. “Once wasted, we are nobody's.”

The first Second stopped duck-walking on the spot.

“We're the Water,” it said. “No—we're the Wind now.”

The Rats’ tails lifted and swirled, touching nothing.

“Yes,” said the other. “Wind that does not need winding.”

The Dodos swayed. The Ducks waddled. The Eaglets poked. The Rats shuffled. 

Something was blowing through. 

The line shrank.

This story became two inches shorter.

Someone said we are two inches.

Who cares.

Previous Episode: The Fourth Choice 

Next Episode: Perfect Weather 
The house seemed to swell ever so slightly—two inches

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 71 - The Fourth Choice / A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

THE FOURTH CHOICE 

Nothing disappears—it only pivots.

So does the tree. Its life pivots into the soil in winter.

The Cat watched the sky. 

The fourth choice took its time.

It grinned wider, looked down, then scratched the soil with his fourth paw.

One stubborn soil licked and refused to let go.

“Ah yes,” he purred.

“The Fourth—seek the help of one Brown Doc."

“He is kept by a most curious time machine.”

“You will know him by his wild white hair— and by the White Rabbit's pocket watch, which dangles from the second buttonhole of his vest."

Sometimes the turning point lay underneath.

"And by the way he forever exclaims, ‘Great Socks!’ if he forgot his name,” he continued. 

The grin stretched to its limit; the teeth shimmered like spring stars.

Alice goggled. The Cat’s intelligence—AI?

No. That was nonsense.

Everything was artificial now.

“Kept by a time machine…? Socks…?” Alice murmured.

The grin stretched impossibly wider, just past the limit.

“You see,” the Cat purred, “one cannot chase yesterday without a little chaos."

"Are you prepared to wobble, and perhaps spill your tea along the way?” he asked. 

Alice hesitated.

Then she burst into laughter. 

She was watching the cup dance, click-clacking against the plate; half of the tea spilled over the rim, but somehow, it pulled back in.

The grin vanished while Alice remained distracted.

“Give me exactly two seconds—One… two,” she shouted.

The grin did not return.

Brown Doc was forced to pivot.

The Cat already had.

Previous Episode: 

Noon Now

Next Episode: Gallons, Ounces, and Inches 
"Someone said we are two inches."
"Who cares."

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.

Episode 70.1 - Noon Now / A Digital Wonderland

Series: Digital Wonderland | Meta-Logs | Ongoing Absurdity Chronicles

NOON NOW 

The prince nestled the slipper into Alice’s palm.

Her foot wouldn’t fit. She took it anyway.

She slipped her foot in.

---

Slipper frayed—and so did the prince.

Clock didn't strike twelve.

Magic spell clocked out anyway.

This wasn't her story.

In Alice's theatre, her story and the prince met—

then forked apart from the same point.

---

The clock struck twelve. 

Noon now.

Shadows rotted.

Oh, pumpkin.

---

A Jack-o’-lantern clocked in.

Hollow eyes. Hollow nose. Hollow mouth. 

Alice's story trembled. 

A blade dropped—

Tock. 

Tang.

The Godmother didn’t respond. 

---

She leaned over the hollowed pumpkin.

She peered through its eyes at Alice.

Her face slipped through. 

Rind. 

She became another wrong pumpkin.

---

Enough.

🛑

🔚

"Wait. Who's telling this story again?"

The veil closes.

No one now.

Previous Episode: Yesterday Blooms

Next Episode: The Fourth Choice 
Sometimes the turning point lay underneath

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Start here → Episode 67: Passing Through 

A surreal chapter in Alice’s digital dreamscape.

This post is part of an ongoing original metafiction series exploring identity, systems, and absurdity through a digital Wonderland.