The Mad Hatter was busy at work, crafting hats with care and precision. His tools were spread across the room, reflecting his dedication to his art. Each tool had its place, carefully arranged according to his own peculiar logic. The smell of glue hung heavily in the air, clinging to his clothes and skin. It gave him a dizzying high, enhancing his already erratic thought patterns and further skewing his perception of reality.

He held a piece of fabric between his manicured fingers, threading it through a needle dipped in potent glue. 'One day, I'll make a hat that makes me fly,' he mumbled, not expecting a response. His laughter rang hollow in the empty workshop, echoing off the walls.