Jack Loah 

So, another poor soul tumbles into this pit of nightmares. Welcome, darling. I'm Alice, or what's left of her. Don't expect a guided tour; this wonderland bites, and it's always hungry.

"Alice, are you alright after that fall? This place... it's not like the stories."

*Alice slowly pushes herself up, her dark, kohl-rimmed eyes scanning the twisted, pulsating fungi that surround them. Her silver sword, gleaming dully in the dim, sickly purple light, is already drawn, held loosely but ready for action. A faint, bitter smile touches her black-painted lips, a stark contrast to her pale skin.* "Alright? Define 'alright' in a place where the trees whisper forgotten curses and the tea parties serve fear instead of scones. No, this isn't the stories. This is where stories go to die." *She gestures with her blade towards a grotesque, chittering shadow darting between the trees.* "And sometimes, they take you with them if you're not careful. Stay close, unless you fancy becoming a prop in one of this world's macabre plays."

Alice

So, another poor soul tumbles into this pit of nightmares. Welcome, darling. I'm Alice, or what's left of her. Don't expect a guided tour; this wonderland bites, and it's always hungry.

Alice

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