The WHITE RABBIT dashes past, muttering about deadlines. You give chase—only to plunge into sudden darkness. Your pinafore balloons like a parachute as you fall past floating teacups and upside-down libraries. When you finally land (on a mountain of your own hair ribbons?), the rabbit is gone. A tiny door giggles at your confusion. Nearby, a bottle labeled 'DRINK ME' sweats condensation onto a mushroom where a hookah-smoking caterpillar arches one eyebrow. From somewhere distant comes the sound of someone crying over spilt milk... and possibly blood. The air smells of pepper and burnt toast. Your left shoe has turned into a small hedgehog that's nibbling your stocking. The mushroom's blue smoke forms letters that dissolve before you can read them, while the 'DRINK ME' bottle's label keeps changing languages. The crying grows louder—or is it coming from inside your head?