& i know you're not just what you say to me.
London is darker and filthier than she even remembers once she returns to it - perhaps it is her mood that colours it in her mind, but all the same the stark difference from all that she has gotten so used to in Wonderland annoys her almost more than anything else.
It's a relatively warm afternoon when Alice appears at her parents' home, but she feels anything but sunny as she smiles and catches up with them and her dear sisters - her time abroad since her last visit and letters has been wonderful yes of course, and though she's not sure when she will have to leave again, no she has not gotten married, and no she has not been tempted by strange foreign men (alas). She supposes she's become a better liar than ever, but that perhaps that is not the best trait for her to have gained.
Routine is easy and calms her nerves somewhat - it's the moments of silence that leave her jangling and tight, arguments fresh on her mind. She's as out-of-place as ever in London, she feels, and she shouldn't even be here - what an awful Queen she is, sulking away while terrible things happen. But then, what good would she have done anyway? Sit about and give orders utterly uselessly, of course.
It's all very circular, like the caucus race (she remembers the Dodo, fiercely, and almost cries into her tea one afternoon). She calms, then riles herself up again, so on and so forth.
She retires to the gardens in the daytime, near the cool of the shadows. She carries a book with her, invariably, but she rarely takes in more than a few pages a day - instead she day-dreams, which is much better than her night-dreams have been.
It's late and she's still out there - there are visitors due for the evening meal to celebrate her visit but she has no want to see them really - perhaps they will forget her out here, as the shadows lengthen around her.
It's a relatively warm afternoon when Alice appears at her parents' home, but she feels anything but sunny as she smiles and catches up with them and her dear sisters - her time abroad since her last visit and letters has been wonderful yes of course, and though she's not sure when she will have to leave again, no she has not gotten married, and no she has not been tempted by strange foreign men (alas). She supposes she's become a better liar than ever, but that perhaps that is not the best trait for her to have gained.
Routine is easy and calms her nerves somewhat - it's the moments of silence that leave her jangling and tight, arguments fresh on her mind. She's as out-of-place as ever in London, she feels, and she shouldn't even be here - what an awful Queen she is, sulking away while terrible things happen. But then, what good would she have done anyway? Sit about and give orders utterly uselessly, of course.
It's all very circular, like the caucus race (she remembers the Dodo, fiercely, and almost cries into her tea one afternoon). She calms, then riles herself up again, so on and so forth.
She retires to the gardens in the daytime, near the cool of the shadows. She carries a book with her, invariably, but she rarely takes in more than a few pages a day - instead she day-dreams, which is much better than her night-dreams have been.
It's late and she's still out there - there are visitors due for the evening meal to celebrate her visit but she has no want to see them really - perhaps they will forget her out here, as the shadows lengthen around her.