I knew the man you’ve surely read as Lewis Carroll when he was someone else entirely and I was but a child. Charles Dodgson built quite a reputation based around the odd adventures of little Alice, but the facts are far different than history has thus far recorded.
The rabbit hole, the Cheshire Cat, the Queen of Hearts?
And little Alice was far more than some stupefied child stumbling about lost.
She was the adventurer. The storyteller. And although Charlie listened attentively as she rattled on about what she had done and seen, he got some things wrong when he wrote about her time down the rabbit hole.
And he most certainly left some things out.
Now, seeing the end of my days fast approaching, I am prepared to tell you what really happened when Alice took that first fateful fall while chasing that damnably neurotic white rabbit.
For, you see, I am Alice.