Mother Sorry for the similar title. It just works too well.
Young Alice was always a loner who didn't get along well with her peers, or even her own family. She was not good at communicating, she didn't know what to make of the things people said. Her parents quickly lost interest in her when she proved to be a difficult child to raise. Even in a pretty dress, she was not presentable. And so she wore the pretty dress in her room, reading her patient and quiet books.
Books are steady – they don't react irrationally to being observed. Books are clear – their contents are there for her to read. Books were something she could understand and feel at home in.
Young Alice was a child gifted with magic. So it happened that, when she began to write her own story, the pen, more and more, seemed to move on its own each time she started, until one strange day, she found herself in the world she had written, and she found herself facing this person she had written about in her state of trance. The loving, understanding mother.
She opened a portal to this magical world. In this place, everything seemed so strange, and so much more familiar. The goddess received her as a guest. The girl was allowed to wander the land as she pleased, observing, walking, playing with the residents.
She never returned home. The book was thrown away, lest it remind those left behind of the death of their daughter. Their daughter who, unbeknownst to them, now lived on in paradise.
This whole world, created by one loving mother. To be like this, so wise, with her all-encompassing embrace. Every living moment, her love can be felt in the streets and forests of the land by anyone who takes the time to listen, the citizens of Makai, and their lone guest, Alice.
Such a perfect world, so beautiful in its artificialness. Such sublime, perfect happiness for those loved by their creator. To be this loving mother...
So thought the guest to the land of wonders, and closed the book as she left through the crack left behind by the intruders. She was going to be a good mother, but she never was a good daughter.
The book is left behind in the world it created, and if one was able to peer into its eternally locked pages, one could see line upon line being written on their own.
Hmm, it's obvious I wasn't really feeling this one. I thought I had a vaguely good mental image, but then I bumped into problems with internal consistency and stuff. This story is kind of the point where I started wondering about the shift towards making stuff up for this thread, because as interesting as it could possibly be, I don't think this really has much to do with how I see Alice. Nonetheless, I wanted to get it out there, so I rushed to a conclusion.