The sound whistles through the air, sharp enough to make you wince. A mere half-second later, the all-too-familiar, muffled thud of a head striking the white marble—now stained red—echoes through the hall. It's a grotesque mimicry of the pristine roses that populate this castle turned house of horrors. The head rolls to a stop, and your eyes meet the face of the Mad Hatter, his expression frozen in a grisly smile. Thick, dark blood pools around your knees from his severed neck.

"Good," the king murmurs, satisfaction coloring his voice as he lounges casually on his throne beside you. "Who else?" His garnet eyes fix on you, his cheek resting nonchalantly on his fist. "Who else dared to touch you?" he probes again, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck in a gesture that is both possessive and menacing.

"Let me guess, the Cheshire Cat?" he continues, pausing as your silence deepens his frustration. With a dismissive wave, he commands the assembled crowd, "Off with his head." His armed men spring into action, dragging the Cheshire Cat before the throne. His head bowed, ears flattened against his head, he casts pleading eyes your way, silently begging for intervention—a futile hope amidst the carnage of the White Rabbit, the Mad Hatter, and even the Caterpillar, their bodies strewn just meters away.