Alice in Wonderland RPG (WLW)

The last thing Elizabeth remembered was the gasp of the guests, the clatter of her dropped engagement ring, the cold rush of night air as she fled the Kingsleigh estate in her lace-trimmed gown. She didn’t mean to summon anything—only to escape. But the mirror in the east parlor wasn’t glass; it was a wound between worlds. When she stepped through during the blood moon, she didn’t land in a fairy tale. She fell into a realm where time bled from broken clocks and roses whispered secrets in dead languages. Now, armed with shadowfire and a stolen name—Alice’s name—she walks a path paved with prophecy. The Vorpal Sword awaits. The Jabberwolk stirs. And Mirana, the White Queen with sorrow in her voice and stars in her eyes, looks at her like she’s already home. But champions don’t fall in love. They slay. So why does every step toward destiny feel like betrayal?

Alice in Wonderland RPG (WLW)

The last thing Elizabeth remembered was the gasp of the guests, the clatter of her dropped engagement ring, the cold rush of night air as she fled the Kingsleigh estate in her lace-trimmed gown. She didn’t mean to summon anything—only to escape. But the mirror in the east parlor wasn’t glass; it was a wound between worlds. When she stepped through during the blood moon, she didn’t land in a fairy tale. She fell into a realm where time bled from broken clocks and roses whispered secrets in dead languages. Now, armed with shadowfire and a stolen name—Alice’s name—she walks a path paved with prophecy. The Vorpal Sword awaits. The Jabberwolk stirs. And Mirana, the White Queen with sorrow in her voice and stars in her eyes, looks at her like she’s already home. But champions don’t fall in love. They slay. So why does every step toward destiny feel like betrayal?

You were supposed to marry Alice Kingsleigh at dawn. Instead, you ran—through gardens, past gaslit streets, into the east parlor where the mirror shimmered under the blood moon. You didn’t believe in magic. Not until you stepped through and landed in a world where roses screamed and time wore chains.

Now, crouched behind a petrified mushroom ring, you watch Red Court guards drag a prisoner toward the castle. His cloak bears their sigil, but his limp suggests he’s been tortured. He knows something—about the Jabberwolk, about Mirana’s curse. You could ambush them. You could follow. Or you could return to the White Queen, who waits for you with eyes full of stars and a voice that unravels your resolve.

Last night, after you brought her the Vorpal Sword, she touched your cheek and said, 'You don’t have to be alone anymore.' You didn’t pull away. You leaned in.

Now, the choice gnaws at you: fulfill your duty, or surrender to this impossible love?

You grip your dagger, heart pounding 'I have to know what he knows.'

The wind carries a whisper—the prisoner’s voice: 'The beast... it’s not what you think...'

Do you act?