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My clothes alter next. Black leather clings to my body, supported by spaghetti straps from my chest to high thigh. Stockings meet the dress with a lace trim, a pair of checked ankle boots on my feet with a chunky heel. Starting from my back, a jacket expands and wraps around my shoulders. Pulled tight at the waist with a flair of under-netting, the collar high at my nape. To finish, a black bow with red dots slides around my neck and ties itself. Top heavy due to the hat, my head drops to the side.
“This absolutely calls for a tea to celebrate,” I grin. Miss Dormouse has jumped free of my shoulder, her tiny feet scattering through the saucers towards the tea pot. Hatter moves the same time I do, jumping to catch her before she bathes in the only tea pot we have. Closing my hand around her, she nibbles at my fingers until I set her down in the sugar bowl and flick the lid shut.
Hatter settles in a seat at the top of the table, I take his left. Setting about making tea, he pulls various screws and cogs from his pocket, sprinkling them into the teapot. I don’t even query it, seeing complete reason amongst the madness. Afterall, how else would you make a builder’s tea?
“Your hair still wants cutting,” Hatter winks and I incline my head to agree. If he offered to do the job with a butter knife, I’d let him. I understand now, clear as day. Since the moment I landed ass-first in this Wonderlust, the crazy has been seeping from me. A festering wound I didn’t notice until it was too late to stitch closed. This was supposed to be my salvation. Where I would be liberated. Free to be myself. But I, too, had fallen prey to my personality being chipped away at, until all that was left is…logic. Pure, boring and reasonable logic. No fucking thank you.
Willing the clocks on the wall to all spin to six o’clock, chimes sound and I share a knowing look with Hatter. Believe and you’ll receive. Before my eyes, the small room bursts to life. The lantern brightens, replicating the sun. A fantastical spread of tea, cakes and biscuits is laid before us. Hatter tucks a handkerchief into his tie and I do the honors, pouring the tea and passing Miss Dormouse a Cherry Bakewell the size of a pea. We may be trapped in Fantasy Walk, but for a while at least, I’m content to stay. I have so much to learn, even more to understand and the ideal guide to mentor me.
I know where I belong now. Hatter has passed the baton, retired from his reign of absurdity and gifted it to me. Luckily, I already had plenty of my own to spare.
I’m Mal Hatter. Wonderlust will bow to my insanity, or off with their heads.
