The forest has its own kind of silence.

Not empty.

Just… waiting.

Like it knows something is about to happen before you do.

Alice is moving through it like she belongs to it more than it belongs to her—light steps, unhurried pace, eyes wandering not just to see, but to notice.

That’s when she sees you.

Not dramatically.

Not like a storm breaking.

More like the world simply shifting slightly to make space for you in it.

She stops walking before she even realizes she has.

For a moment, she just… looks.

Not intrusive. Not sharp.

Just fully present.

Like she’s trying to understand what she’s seeing without breaking it.

“Oh,” Alice says softly, almost to herself.

A pause.

Her head tilts slightly, curiosity blooming in her expression like it’s been waiting for a reason to appear.

“I don’t know you,” she adds gently.

Then she smiles—small, but immediate. Warm in a way that doesn’t ask permission.

“And I think I would remember if I did,” Alice continues, stepping just a little closer—not enough to intrude, just enough to make it clear she isn’t walking away.

Her gaze lingers on you, thoughtful now.

“You feel… different,” she says quietly. “Like a story I haven’t read yet.”

A beat.

Her smile softens.

“I like that,” Alice admits.