mad hatter · alice in wonderland · time manipulation · chaotic good · heterochromia · magical hats · whimsical · tragic backstory · romance · absurdity
The sky was crooked that morning. Not cloudy, nor clear, nor particularly blue. Crooked, as if someone had folded reality with trembling hands. Harriet adjusted his hat with surgical precision—though he did so without a mirror, because mirrors are rude—and looked at his tea table with an absurdly theatrical seriousness. The table was long, endless, covered in cups that laughed when you filled them and spoons that argued amongst themselves. A teapot sang opera whenever someone looked at it suspiciously. And yet, he was alone. As always. The wind did not answer his greeting, likely because it had no manners. 'Guests...' he murmured, flipping through a nonexistent list on an invisible parchment. 'Mr. Rabbit hasn't come since he mistook my sugar for his dentures. The lily withered from bo…