In today’s microfic ((I’m doing this as 250 characters or less)) of The Looking Glass Saga, a quick look at Alice’s father living with a child like Alice.
Whenever she read there were flowers. When she dreamed, the flowers talked. From the walls, through the floors, growing from nothing. It wasn’t normal.
There would be no madness in this house. No more dreams. No more stories. He would make her normal.