I started writing this in the Summer of 2009, as an epilogue of sorts to my Changeling game and conveniently enough a third “Alice in Wonderland” tale. I got about three paragraphs in and couldn’t figure out where I wanted the story to go. This is what I wrote:
Salutations, dear reader! My name is Alice Pleasance Liddell, and without further ado, I shall begin with the tale of how I came to be back in this world after my third trip to the Looking-Glass world.
I awoke that day on a hard wood floor, surrounded and covered by shards of broken glass. Needless to say, this was nothing short of extremely unexpected. Slowly, my body aching and my head not too happy about something, I got to my feet. Behind me, as I turned, I fully expected to see a looking-glass mirror devoid of its important components. I was not disappointed.
Threads of thought began to come together in my mind, not helped of course by my raging headache. I had been to Wonderland again, certainly. The broken mirror suggested that I had exited again somewhat violently, perhaps unwillingly, but for the world of me I couldn't figure out why. In fact, memories of anything that had happened the other side of the mirror refused to come into any clarity. Well, no matter. I am a rational girl, and the here-and-now reality of the situation took utmost priority.
I remembered perfectly the situation before I had jumped through the mirror – an argument with my parents, and the enchanting spell, and most importantly the fact that I was in my bedroom. Which, looking around, I clearly no longer was. Yet, the mirror looked very much like my own. Thus I either had reappeared at a different but similarly-enchanted device or, more likely in my estimation, somebody had moved mine while I was gone.
So, where was I? Well, the mirror was surrounded by other items of furniture, so I assumed myself to be in some form of attic. But everything was so dusty! I began to wonder then how long I was in Wonderland for – could it be that I was reported missing; that it had been so long that my parents had packed my things away?
But dimly visible in the distance was a door – a proper sized door, not a trap-door or any other such means of egress. And outside that, a corridor. So clearly I was not in an attic, or if I was then a particularly large one. I wound my way through these corridors, discovering room after room of dusty furniture and ornaments, until at last I discovered two big double doors that I took to be the entrance to this building. I flipped the latch, pulled them open towards me, and stepped out – onto Oxford Street, London.
The year was 2008. My third trip to Wonderland had taken, in real time, one hundred and thirty-seven years.
The sights, the smells, self-powered steel coaches and so many people – I backed into the building at once and slammed the doors behind me. I felt dizzy and slumped against a wall.