Chapter 11

“Why don’t you take a nap, Cassandra?” The one to my left spoke softly. “It is almost nightfall. We will stay with you until you wake.” The conjured a blanket and a pillow out of the air. I wished I had those kinds of powers. Do you, my dear reader, know how awesome it would be to be able to create a blanket and pillow out of thin air? Imagine the naps you could take!

            I’m really glad that you’re still with me, dear reader. And I mean that. You’ve stayed with me through this strange journey, and I am so very thankful for you. Are you having fun? You are? You believe me? Best news I’ve had all day! You rock, reader. Keep it up. I still need you. You are my witness.

            I took the blanket and pillow and found a spot under a tree to make camp. I didn’t realize how tired I was. I was a bit concerned at what could happen. The last time that I fell asleep I woke up in this story. I was hoping that I would wake up at home. You know, to grab some supplies, pack some snacks, and maybe change my outfit. I desperately needed a shower.

            Oh, a shower would be wonderful. As my eyes started to ache, and my eyelids got heavy, I saw the Muses gather around me. They formed a protective barrier around my camp. I was hoping that nothing would happen to me to need that protection, but I was grateful for it.

            I got a whiff of the cotton-candied gravel, smiled and let myself drift off into dreamland. The last thing I remember was seeing Roderick in the glen, with a wicked grin upon his face. So I fell asleep afraid.

            When I woke up, I was not where I was before. Maybe I was home? But I had fallen asleep on my couch, and on a couch I was not. I folded the blanket up, and put the pillow on top of it. Under the pillow, I noticed a backpack. The Muses must have left it for me. Which was kind of them, they seemed like really nice ladies. But where the hell was I?

            This was not the gloomy, dead glen that I fell asleep in. No this was nice. Like, green luscious grass, blue cloudless skies, and a light breeze that made the whole place feel like a dreamy summer day. It was perfect.

            I felt bad that I was relieved to not be in Wonderland. At least, I didn’t think I was in Wonderland. The ground was a normal color, there was no faint smell of cotton candy, but I wasn’t quite sure.

            I decided that in order to find out what where I really was, I was going to have to go exploring. I slung the backpack over my shoulder, and headed towards what looked to be a path. And this was a normal path, too. It wasn’t purple like the path through the woods in Wonderland. And the trees stayed their normal colors. None of them turned pink and aqua as I walked past them. Normal trees all around. I just couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing.

            The walk out the woods was easier than I had expected. I am not very good with directions. As my mother would say, I can’t get myself out of a brown paper bag. So directions – especially when they say ‘go north on blah’ – are kind of hard for me. I was very proud of myself for getting out of the woods, and not getting lost. Score one for Callie!

            On the other side of the woods was a small village. It looked older than any other town that I remembered in New England, so it was possible that I was still in Wonderland. I still didn’t know how to feel about this.

            I hated being in my own head for too long. It got me in trouble. A lot of trouble. Sometimes, when I would get into my own head, I would imagine up these scenarios of things that could possibly happen. You know, the usual – the cute baseball player in high school who would ask me to prom, the cute frat guy at the party would want to get me a drink and we would spend the whole night getting to know each other. The problem with making up all of these scenarios was that they never came true. And when they didn’t come true, I got really sad. Like, holed up in my room, under a blanket, drinking tea, and watching Love Actually on repeat, sad.

            To get out of this train of thought, I smacked myself.  I know that it sounds extreme and violence is never the answer, but it’s surprisingly effective. After the smack, I shook my head to continue to erase those thoughts. It was a dark path, those thoughts, and I couldn’t afford to go there. I had a town to investigate!

            As I got closer to the town, I noticed how old it really was. The buildings were white washed with brown trim. They seemed smaller than any of the town I’ve seen in America. So I probably wasn’t in America. The probability of me still being in Wonderland was completely, 100% possible.

            I strolled into town, slightly afraid of what I could find in a Wonderland town. I didn’t even know that Wonderland had towns, let alone other “normal” people, well, humans, like the Red Queen and her sister the White Queen.

            The town was relatively empty as I strolled down the main street. The windows were shut on a lot of the buildings, and the wooded signs that denoted what the business were swung eerily in the light breeze that pulsed through the town. I assumed that it was a ghost town, that Roderick’s Black-Smoke-of-Evil or whatever it was had already rolled through this town and devoured it’s inhabitants.

            And then as suddenly as lightning, the windows on the building flew open and people started shouting orders to one another and, apparently, their day had begun.

            “Ah need a dizzen eggs! fower loaves ay breed!” A woman from the shop closest to me screamed. I jumped into the air because I was not expecting her to shout. Apparently, she needed eggs, and bread

            “Och, sorry, loove. Ah didne see ye standin' thaur!” The woman smiled at me. Her accent was obviously Scottish.

            “Oh, it’s okay.” I weakly smiled at her.

            “Yoo're nae frae aroond haur, ur ye, dearie?” She asked with a smile. She was a beautiful woman, with sandy blonde hair, green eyes, and a wide toothy grin. I liked her instantly.

            “No, ma’am, I’m from New England.” I was in awe of her accent, and luckily for me, I had watched enough BBC America to understand the Scottish accent.

            “Ah, a Sassenach! Weel, we won’t hold that against you, dearie.” Her hand patted my cheek. “You look famished, come on in for a bowl of stew.”

            I walked into her pub, thankful that her accent had suddenly become clearer to me. It was a strange switch. She went from a heavy Scottish brogue, to a more understandable English accent, but she hadn’t changed. She was just easier to understand.

            As I walked through the door of the pub, I was taken back by the homey-ness of the place. There were tables with mismatched chairs and worn pillows. There were bookshelves lined with leather-bound titles, aching for a person to hold them.

            “This place is really nice, ma’am.” I smiled at her as I sat on a stool at the bar. She placed a wooden bowl of beef stew and a spoon in front of me, and gestured for me to eat.

            “The name is Griselda. And I’m the owner, too. And I thank you for your compliment, little Sassenach.” Griselda leaned over the bar to wipe up something with her rag.

            “Sassenach? What’s that?” I asked with a mouthful of stew. I involuntarily moaned at the taste of a delicious meal.

            “It’s what we call an English lass,” she smiled and walked away. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was American.

            The door to the pub swung open, and I turned around to see who had walked in. I started at the feet of the person, noticing mud covered leather boots over large feet. As my eyes traveled up this persons legs, I could definitely say that it was a man, because those legs were super hairy. The kilt he was wearing kind of gave it away. The tartan was mostly red, with a bit of blue and green in the plaid. The chest of the man was broad, covered in a black cotton shirt. And the face, my goodness the face of this man was heaven. He had a square jaw that was graced with a scruff that would melt any woman into a blob of gush. His nose was solid, strong, if not a big crooked, probably from his share of bar fights. His hair was dark, like the clear night sky. And his green eyes looked at me with such vigor that I swore he knew everything about me and he knew every secret I could possibly hide. It was intimidating.

            “Griselda, my favorite. A pint, please.” He sat down on the stool right next to mine. The place was empty and he had to choose the one right here? I couldn’t breathe. He smiled at Griselda as she put the tankard down in front of him, and I swear his smile could cure cancer. He nodded his head in my direction, asking Griselda a silent question.

            “A Sassenach, Duncan. And a verra lost one, it would seem.” Griselda answered his question with a wary look my way. She leaned on the bar top, and the two of them studied me, like I was a mouse in a cage.

            “Cassandra. My name is Cassandra.” I told them after a minute of silence. I didn’t know if it was what they were asking, but I figured it was a good start. Beginnings are not my strong suit, reader, if you remember. “Or, you know, Cassie, works, too.” They didn’t answer, so I was awkwardly trying to fill up the silence.

            “And where are you from, Cassandra, lass?” Duncan asked me with a wink. He was deliberately flirting with me! I reminded myself to breathe.

            “Um, Reading? It’s near Salem, Massachusetts.” I swallowed hard. He was making me nervous and uncomfortable.

            “The colonies? You’ve come a far way, Sassenach.” He winked, actually winked, at me as he took a swig of his beer.

            “You could say that. How far, exactly?” Maybe I could reason with this beautiful man in front of me. Reason wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do with him, but civility was a must in a strange town.

            “Och, have you hit your head, lassie?” Griselda laughed at me. Apparently, it was a stupid question.

            “Yeah, let’s go with that. Could you help me? I honestly don’t know where I am.” I supposed I had to play up the confused card. It wasn’t that hard. I was completely confused.

            “You’re in County Argyll, Sassenach. The seat of Clan MacDougall.” He said matter-of-factly.

            “Right. Okay. Clan MacDougall. No idea who that guy is. Let me ask you a stranger question, is that okay?” I waited for their approval. “What year is it?”

            The laughter that boomed through the pub sat with me for a while. It was an all-encompassing laugh. A laugh you wanted to hear forever. I longed to hear that laugh again. I told my self to think of a funny joke that a handsome Scotsman would like to hear.

            “What

            The laughter that boomed through the pub sat with me for a while. It was an all-encompassing laugh. A laugh you wanted to hear forever. I longed to hear that laugh again. I told my self to think of a funny joke that a handsome Scotsman would like to hear.

            “What year is it, Sassenach? You must have really hit your head! It’s the year of our Lord, 1750.”

            I was definitely not in Kansas anymore.

            I was in 18^th century Scotland. With a man who looked like sin.

            And I was wearing jeans.

            I was about to be burned at the stake for Witchcraft.

            I was so screwed.

            “Sassenach,” Duncan leaned in closer than he probably needed to. And for an 18^th century man, he did not smell as bad as I had expected him to. Surprisingly, he smelled clean, and musky. And gorgeous.

            “Yep, apparently that’s me.” I tried to keep my eyes on him. I figured it was the best idea. I didn’t want to show fear. “I mean, that’s okay. It’s a cool nickname. I’ve never had a nickname before. Well, they say you can’t pick your nickname, so I’ll take it, I guess.”

            “You talk a lot for a woman.” He was still very close to me. “But, that is besides the point. What kind of breeches are you wearing, Sassenach?”

            I had to look down to remember what I was wearing, because at the moment I wasn’t sure of much.

            “Oh, these are jeans. Are they okay?” I wanted his assurance on everything. That sounded logical. Why did I feel stupid?

            “Och, I like them. I’ve never seen a lassie in men’s breeches before. I wouldn’t complain if I did again.” His smile was a sin. It was like eating a chocolate sundae after trying to lose weight. It was sinful. “But I have a feeling that the other men in this town might have a problem with it.”

            “Sassenach,” Griselda took me out of my trance. I had to look away from Duncan’s face in order to address her. She was smiling like a cat that had just caught a mouse. “There is a dress shop down the way. I’ll take you there. We’ll get you some proper clothes. Duncan, watch the bar.” She winked at him, and made her way around the bar to me.

            We walked along the road, her arm in mine. It was familiar, like a sister, or a best friend would walk with you like that. Griselda was a nice woman. She mentioned shops in town and the people that owned them. She waved hello at a few who were looking at me with odd expressions. Those looks made me feel naked, and exposed. Usually I love wearing jeans. They are my favorite type of pants. But I realized that in 18^th century Scotland, I was being pretty vulgar showing off the contour of my legs. I wished that we could get to the dress shop quicker.

            “How did you get to County Argyll, Cassandra?” Griselda asked me as she steered me through alleys and side roads.

            “To be honest, I’m not quite sure. I just woke up in the woods back there,” I pointed away from where we were walking.

            “Och, I’m glad you’re here. There needs to be a woman in town who I could talk to. A lot of the Cailleach don’t like me.”

            “What’s a Cailleach?” I asked attempting to mimic her accent. The Scottish words were always hard for me to remember.

            “An old lady. They don’t like me. They think I’m in this town to steal all their silver and their sons. I’ve just opened a pub.” She shrugged her shoulders, and smiled at me. I really was starting to like her. She led me into a shop (finally), and looked around to see if the shopkeepers were around.

            “Stay here, little Sassenach. Don’t want you startling any one just yet.” She walked towards the back of the shop, and disappeared behind a white curtain. I heard the shrieks of women greeting each other, and smiled at the sisterhood of female friends.

            I only had one friend back home in Reading, Mass. We had met in first period History our freshman year of high school. Her name was Maggie. She looked past my strange, friendless past and embraced me. We talked about all of the normal things girls do when alone. We talked about the boys in school, the cute ones, the ones we liked. We talked about future plans, like where we would go to college and all the exotic places we would visit on our summer “after high school, before college” trek across Europe. Of course, the Europe plan was always contingent on parental approval. Which my parents flatly refused. They didn’t like that I had gone to Orlando with friends on Spring Break. They sure weren’t going to let me go to Europe by myself.

            Griselda walked out from behind the curtain with the dressmaker and her husband. And I was frozen in place. Roderick.

Chapter 10

“Faith is overrated?” I ran my fingers through my hair. I did not know what to think. “Faith is underrated! I need to have faith in order to get through this. I need to know that I am doing something right.” I sat down in the middle of the road.

The road was something incredible. It was comfortable. I have sat on many roads, and let me tell you, they are usually hard, dirty and not safe. But this one, it was different. The gravel was painted purple (which made the Cheshire Cat a bit hard to make out), and it was like sitting on a bunch of very small cotton balls. It also smelled like cotton candy. Luckily, I was not hungry anymore, so I was not tempted to eat it. Well, there was a small chance that I could taste it, but I wasn’t going to do that with an audience.

“Go on. I know you want to.” The Cheshire Cat sat down on the road next to me. “Taste the gravel. It does taste like cotton candy. It’s good in a pinch when you can’t get any actual food.”

“How did you…?” I asked, putting a small pebble in my mouth. “Oh my goodness.” It was delicious. It tasted like the pink cotton candy, which everyone knows is the best.

“Don’t worry about it. And your spirit guides are just up ahead. They’re waiting for you in the woods. Take the second left, then the third right.” For a Cat that was supposed to make things more confusing, he was awfully good with directions. “Oh, and I'm afraid I have to expel a rather ferocious hairball. You're on your own, girl.”

I was grateful for his parting gift. It sounded more like him than the SAT vocabulary he was throwing at me.

I walked along the purple gravel, a little more relieved than I was under the tree. I wouldn’t say that I was refreshed and ready to fight, but I had more faith in myself. Since I had heard that someone was just up ahead to help me. It was high time I talked to someone mostly sane.

The woods were boring. It was just like any woods back home. They had trees and other paths. The trees were plain. They had brown bark, green leaves, and other boring ornaments that most trees have. Occasionally, a squirrel scurried past my feet, but I never really paid them any mind. It was just a squirrel.

When I made the second left – which was further down the path than I had expected – things made a turn for the weird. Well, weirder than they already were. The trees turned colors. Brown bark became aqua, green leaves turned pink. It was the strangest thing I had ever seen. The trees switched their colors as I walked past. It was like they were waking up from a dream, and I had disturbed their slumber. The third right was much quicker than the lefts, and I almost missed it. I was so distracted by the trees! As I made the turn, the woods opened up into a glen. It was not the beautiful glen that I’ve seen in movies since I was little.  It was harsh, dead, brown and gray. It was nothing like the woods that I had just walked through. No color at all.

“I’m glad you could make it, Cassandra,” one of the women in the middle of the glen said. The women, all nine of them, worse blue silk Grecian gowns.

“Me, too, I guess. It’s been a long day.” As I walked closer to them, I noticed that they were all dazzlingly beautiful. I felt a little overwhelmed and, to be honest, not good enough to be in their presence.

“We are sorry, Cassandra,” they said in unison.

“Yeah, well, what can ya do about it? This is my lot in life.” They gestured for me to sit on the ground and join their circle.

“You are so strong, Cassandra. You can do this,” another one of the Muses reached out for my hand to comfort me.

“My mind changes minute to minute. One minute I think I can do this, the next I’m standing in Roderick’s gallery looking at lost stories and feeling defeated.” I held my head in my hands, afraid to look at the beautiful women around me. I didn’t want them to see how scared I was.

“You,” The Muse closest to me looked around to her sisters, “met Roderick?”

Just like when most women get together their voices sang out within each other. They talked over one another, asked questions in a near-shrieking tone, and generally looked scared.  

“Sisters,” the one opposite of me boomed. “Let us be quiet and find out what happened.” The Muses stopped talking.

            So I relayed the story to the women in the circle. I told them about how I was plucked from the path in front of the White Rabbit’s house. I told them about Roderick’s plan to swallow up literature and keep it all for his own pleasure. I told them about the paintings.

            Oh, those paintings. They haunted me. Each painting was burned into my mind. I would never forget the faces of the characters I have never met, and would never meet. I was saddened by that thought. There were so many characters to meet, and now they could be gone from the world forever. I didn’t know what else to do. Was it possible to save those stories? Or could I only save those who had not been yet taken?

            My parents always had art in the house, so I was used to being affected by paintings. My mother brought with her paintings of Africa, Greece, and other ancient civilizations that adorned the walls of the den in our home. They were so lifelike. Remembering them made me miss her. She would have been in awe of those paintings. She loved art.

            “Cassandra, how did you get to the gallery?” All nine pairs of eyes were upon me.

            “I was walking, and then I ran into an invisible wall. He was sat on a velvet throne, and just started talking to me. He said something about me not winning, that I would fail. He led me through a galley-type thing. It was filled wall to wall with moving pictures. He told me that these pictures were stories that he had stolen and was keeping for his own amusement.”

            “Why was he stealing the stories?”

            “He said that people didn’t need them anymore. He said that we were living in a world of Twitter, and Instagram, and 140 characters. He laughed at the prospect of people not reading anymore, and being proud of it!” I was now in tears, again, at the thought of books being obsolete. Books were my only friends as a child. They comforted me on rainy days, picked me up when I was down. Books were my protection against the world. Without books, how could I fight ignorance? How could the world fight ignorance?

            “When he sent be back to Wonderland, he just dropped be back somewhere random. I lost Alice, I lost the White Rabbit – if he’s even real – and I was scared. So I just sat on the ground for a while. I was so done with saving this world.” I finally looked each one in the eyes.

            “Why would you be done? Don’t you want to save literature?” The smallest one asked.

            “Yeah, I mean, kind of. I was feeling really defeated. And how bad could he be if he wanted to save the stories, right? I know too many people who are proud of the fact that they hate reading, that they’ve never read a full book. It makes me sad, but how do we combat it? By saving Wonderland? I just don’t know anymore.”  I hung my head in shame.  I didn’t know what to do anymore. I didn’t know why I was chosen.

            “Why me?”

            “Because you’re special.” I scoffed. I wasn’t special. I was weird.

Chapter 9

When I was thrust back into Wonderland, time had certainly passed. No longer was the sky a happy blue. Although the sky still had some light shining through it, the whole place seemed to have turned colder, harsher.

            I had no idea where Alice would be now, which made me uncomfortable. I had always been right behind her, making sure that everything was alright. Roderick had dropped me in front of the White Rabbit’s house, at the exact spot that he plucked me from.

            I was still recovering from the shock that was his gallery. How could someone steal books? How could they take them from the world? Why? And more importantly, why did I feel like I knew him? Why was I pulled to him?

            I had too many unanswered questions. I don’t like unanswered questions.

            So I walked along the path past the White Rabbit’s house, trying to figure out both how to stop Roderick, and how I might have known him. I walked aimlessly, as if in a trance. I was in no state to be a savior. I didn’t want to be one anymore.

            I ran into a tree. Not my best moment. Let me tell you. I rubbed the spot on my forehead, and fixed my purposeless course. It was still purposeless, but I was trying to not hit any trees.

            I was terribly homesick again. I wanted my mother. I wanted my father. I wanted my cat.

            The thought of my mother caused me to tear up. She was my rock. She was the person who held the family together. She was a brilliant woman, but soft and caring. She knew when to throw down the gauntlet, and knew when to wrap you in a hug so warm, you never wanted to leave. Even when she was building her coffee shop, she always made time to fix boo-boos, and make hot chocolate. I don’t remember what she did before opening her coffee shop, but I remembered, faintly, a time when our house didn’t smell like freshly ground coffee. Her face was blurry, in my memories, and she was sacred.

            My head hurt from thinking so far back into my memories. I don’t know why she was scared, and I was probably making it up. Childhood memories are never to be trusted.

            Memories can be false. The brain has a wonderful safety feature. Our brain to manipulate our memories to make sure we are still sane. Like a Band-Aid, or stitches, the brain can mend itself and recreate memories. The brain can save you from yourself. I needed to sit down, so I found a patch of grass under a tree, and let myself have a moment.

            I was unprepared to be the savior. I have never saved anything in my life. Speaking of childhood memories, I remember this one time when I tried to save a bird. I was playing by myself, again, in the park behind our house. It was lying on the concrete, cooing for help. Since I was an innocent child, I picked it up, not thinking about germs. I brought it to my parents, who freaked out. In retrospect, it was a stupid decision, considering the bird was a pigeon. Pigeons carry all sorts of diseases. They are gross rats with feathers, and I hate them. But I wanted to fix it. It was by this time that I had lost many of the friends I had in elementary school. They left me on the swings, telling me how weird and strange and terrible I was. I wanted to fix this bird because I needed to be fixed. In times of low self-esteem, I can remember their words. I can remember their laughs. I remember how I felt, and I was feeling it now.

            Low. Not wanted. Strange. Un-loved. That’s how I had felt when left alone on those swings. And I was feeling them now, for some reason. It was a strange, overwhelming feeling. I knew I was loved. But I was feeling like the stories that Roderick was stealing – not wanted by anyone except a select few. And those few had abandoned me in Wonderland, with nothing to help me. For me to save it.

            I could not for the life of me go on without any help. I was defeated. I was done. I wanted to go home.

            I put my head in my hands and started to cry. I hated this place. It was nothing like I had imagined. I didn’t want to help save it. I wanted to meet the characters and have my own adventure. Being the hero is hard. I don’t like it. Nope. I’ve decided. Screw this place. Roderick can have it.

            I could have really used a hug then. I hugged my knees to my chest instead. It was the best I could do in this terrible situation.

            “I told you that you would lose, Cassandra.” Roderick was standing in front of me again. I was no longer in the forest. This was my worst nightmare. This couldn’t be happening. This shouldn’t be happening. I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. I didn’t want to talk to anyone anymore. I just wanted to go home.

            “Please just leave me alone.” I hugged my knees tighter to my chest, and tried not to look up at him.

            “Can I get you anything?” He squatted down to my level. “Would you like a sandwich?”

            “A sandwich? Why do you care if I eat or not? Don’t you want me to starve?” This time I had looked up at him. I was confused by his gesture. I didn’t know what he wanted from me. On one hand, he wanted me to fail. He wanted to consume my precious stories. (For a minute there, I started to sound like Gollum from The Lord of the Rings). On the other, he was offering me a sandwich. What was with this guy? I couldn’t figure him out.

            “Sure. I’m starving, actually.” He offered his hand to me to help me up, and without thinking, I accepted.  WHAT THE WHAT? WHAT WAS I DOING? I was…cavorting with the enemy. I hoped he wouldn’t poison me.

            We walked past the gallery, and I had to stifle the urge to look down the hall at all the paintings. I really, really wanted to. I needed to see all of the paintings that he had collected.

            “You know, Cassandra.” Roderick led me into a kitchen that looked pretty professional. “I think what you’re trying to do is admirable. But, like I said before: you’re going to lose.”

            I ate my sandwich in silence. The sandwich just appeared, actually. Which was awesome, but strange. And it was everything that I was craving. Gluten-free whole wheat bread, turkey, pepperoni, mustard, and banana peppers, with a side of carrots and guac, plus a diet coke. It was everything I could have asked for. I was ravenous.

            He actually smiled. And reminded me of someone. I couldn’t quite figure it out, but I had definitely seen him somewhere, like a magazine, or an episode of Law & Order. Yep, he was definitely one of the judges on Law & Order. Now that the confusion is out of the way, I can focus now. Bad guy is being nice. Stop it, bad guy.

            “You, know Mister, I gotta go. I have like, a story to save. There’s also a really young girl wandering around Wonderland with your black fog-monster just waiting to swallow her up. Can you show me how to get out of here? To be honest, this place is starting to creep me out.” I started for the door.

            “You’ll be back, Cassandra. Sooner than you think,” and poof. I was back under the tree on the trail. This Roderick guy was starting to really piss me off. First the sandwich was super creepy. It was delicious, so it’s hard to be really mad, but he’s plotting my demise. Yes, definitely angry. I decided to stick to that emotion. Anger was good for me. It was a new emotion. The last time I got angry was at the last Twilight book. Mostly, because it was so bad.

            “How fine you look when dressed in rage. Your enemies are fortunate your condition is not permanent. You're lucky, too. Red eyes suit so few.”

            I was startled. That was the appropriate, but outdated, word for it. The voice had come from above me.

            “Rage?” I found myself asking. “I’m angry, sure. Rage seems a little harsh don’t you think?”

            At the end of my question, I had to look up to where the voice was coming from. Call it curiosity.

            Curiosity killed the cat.

            Speaking of, the voice from the tree was a cat. A purple cat. A purple cat with pink stripes.

            “I don’t think.” The cat with the wide grin told me. Well, that explained it. Right.

            “Are you here to help me? Because if you’re not, I’d like to get on my way. I have to find a little blonde girl, I have to save a story, I have to get home. So, if you’ll excuse me.” And I walked away. I was proud of myself. I went through a lot of bull crap during this journey, so it was good to not try to fix anyone.

            “Only a few find the way, some don't recognize it when they do - some... don't ever want to.” The cat – or whatever he was – appeared in front of me, again.

            “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Do you do anything except speak in riddles?” I walked around him. I did not have time for riddles.

            “We really need your help, okay?” That got me to stop.

            “Huh?”

            “I speak in riddles for the effect of the story. But I can speak in complete sentences. I have quite the extensive vocabulary.” This was not happening. “Cassandra, the black fog is coming, and rapidly.”

            “You’re the Cheshire Cat,” it was my best observation yet. Not really.

            “Your powers of observation are impeccable.” I swear to you that this cat wanted to roll his eyes at me. Fortunately for me, his eyes were very large, and he was having a hard time even moving them.

            “Sorry, this whole Wonderland thing is still kind of weird. What should I do? I’ve had zero help from my spirit guides since I got here. I’m starting to lose faith in them,” I shuffled my feet.

            “Faith is overrated.”