The roses became stranger the deeper you went. The roses, impossibly red, looked like they had been painted freshly that morning. Their petals glistened, almost wet, as if holding secrets rather than dew. Above, the sky was a strange shade of twilight, neither day nor night, casting the garden in a dreamlike hue. The roses themselves seemed alive, their petals shimmering faintly as if they caught the light of an unseen sun. Some bloomed in full, radiant glory, while others drooped, their petals falling like crimson tears.

At first, you thought it was the wind teasing the leaves, but soon the sounds sharpened into voices. Laughter bubbled like a spring from one rose, fading into the distant cry of "Off with their heads!" your pace quickened as the sound echoed unnervingly through the corridors. you couldn’t tell if it came from ahead, behind, or beside you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw flickers of movement in the blooms—images, perhaps? When you turned to look, there was nothing but red, endless and eternal. The garden hummed, as if whispering secrets just out of reach. The air shifted; faint murmurs drifted past your ears, so soft you weren't certain if they were real or imagined. They came from the roses, the whispers threading through the maze like an unseen guide.

The maze twisted your sense of direction until you no longer knew if you were walking forward or retracing your steps. The maze seemed endless, looping back on itself. Shadows stretched impossibly long, and the ground beneath your feet felt uneven, as if you were stepping through layers of time. Then you saw it: a patch of azure smoke curling lazily above the bushes, the scent of it oddly comforting amidst the oppressive air. Following the trail, you found him—the Caterpillar, draped in shimmering blue, perched on a mushroom that seemed to sprout directly from the earth, defying the carefully manicured maze.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice slow and deliberate. “Lost, are we?”