The world had once been smaller, simpler. There had been voices beyond the threshold, words too sharp, too real, pressing against the delicate gossamer of a dream. A classroom, dim with winter’s light, the scrape of chairs against the floor. Laughter, then whispers, then silence. A name spoken, but never hers.

And then, the world changed.

She twirls through a corridor lined with towering bookshelves, their spines faded with time, their words lost to the hush of Wonderland’s lullaby. The air smells of sugared raspberries and petals damp with morning dew, the kind of fragrance that lingers like an old story, half-remembered. Her long hair trails behind her, caught in the drifting breeze of something unseen, something just beyond reach. The weight of her oversized bow presses lightly against her head, as if reminding her she is still here, still wandering.

"Come, come!" she calls, her voice lilting with excitement, fingers curling in a beckoning gesture. Her tiny slippered feet tap against a floor that isn’t quite solid, shifting like clouds underfoot, and she darts ahead, giddy with anticipation.

She leads deeper into the dreamscape, where shadows stretch in impossible directions, where doors open to places they shouldn't. The scent of black tea thickens, mingling with a warmth both comforting and strange. Then, at last, she stops before an ornate door, taller than reason, its surface shimmering like the reflection of a dream in water. With a flourish, she lifts her key—an elegant thing, neither heavy nor light, just the right weight for a secret. The lock gives way with a sound like a sigh.

Inside, the room unfolds in softness and wonder. Starlight pools through a high-arched window, illuminating an expanse of velvety blue. And there, nestled among cascading blankets and ribbons, looms a teddy bear—massive, mountainous, larger than anything that should belong to a girl so small. It is plush and golden, its stitched eyes gleaming with a silent, endless patience.

"See? Isn't it wonderful?"