At that moment, I felt utterly powerless.
Alice held me tightly against her body.
I hadn't been this close to her in years, and the scent of her—familiar, distant—flooded me with nostalgia.
It dragged me back to the day we first met, three years ago.
Her embrace was cold , Safe.
And suffocating.
"Please… let go of me," Morpheus tried to say.
Nothing came out but a thin, broken moan.
Alice smiled as she held me closer.
"Since today's Friday, and I got my paycheck yesterday," she said casually, "I'll buy some supplies."
Her fingers brushed through my fur.
I trembled.
Her gaze shifted—cold, empty—her eyes glinting beneath the harsh sunlight.
"Are you afraid of me?" she asked.
I am.
My tail shivered.
Alice tightened her grip, staining her pajamas with dirt and fur.
"You shouldn't be afraid," she said softly.
"Leave everything to your new mommy."
My tail went still.
So did the rest of me.
Alice smiled and continued walking, carrying me toward her destination.
In that moment, memories I had buried deep inside myself surged forward as my eyes slowly closed.
I didn't want to close them.
I didn't want to lose sight of her again.
But my eyelids shut anyway, and Alice's angelic face faded from view.
Three years ago.
At the end of my first year of high school, I walked home with my classmates after the graduation ceremony.
Every group had popular kids.
Every group had someone dragged along.
Naturally, I was the one being dragged.
Halfway down the street, I slipped into the mud—or at least, that's what it looked like. In truth, Alex had tripped me.
He laughed, satisfied. The others followed, like sheep.
I forced a smile and told them to go on ahead. I said I needed to change.
When I was alone, I couldn't stand up. My legs wouldn't respond. Maybe that fall had been the last straw for what little pride I had left.
"I hope you all die," I muttered, still lying in the mud.
Then I felt a hand rest gently on my shoulder.
Cold. Careful.
"Why didn't you say that out loud?" a voice asked.
"When that boy tripped you?"
I turned my head.
Alice was standing right in front of me.
I laughed weakly, rubbing the back of my head.
"What do you mean?" I said. "No one tripped me. I just stumbled—"
I stopped.
Her eyes wouldn't let me lie.
They peeled the truth out of me the way a parent forces a confession from a child.
I looked down.
"What good would that do?" I asked quietly.
"He'd just say it was an accident or a joke."
She smiled and offered me her hand.
"You can't expect people to stop treating you that way," she said gently, "if you never express how you feel."
Then she chuckled.
Her smile rivaled the moon beside her.
I still don't understand how that was possible.
That was the day I took her hand.
And the day I became a slave to that smile—and her cold embrace.
I remember seeing a spider that night, wrapping its prey in silk as I walked beside her.
When I opened my eyes, I was still tangled in Alice's arms.
But I felt no fear.
No stress.
Only warmth.
Which frightened me more than anything else.
"You awake?" she asked, smiling the same way she had three years ago.
I didn't answer.
Instead, I licked her hand.
The thought formed in my mind before I could stop it.
I hope I am.
And if this is another dream…
I hope I never wake up.