Alice sits in the Looking‑Glass world, where reflections grow up but people don’t. Threads tremble in her fingers — thin as the lies this world has learned to live on.

Her puppets smile too widely, their faces are masks, their movements borrowed. They grew in body, but stayed children inside, hiding in their softness from the weight of reality.

The red spill from her cup is truth — kept sealed for far too long. Cards drift around her like opened archives, each one a quiet confession of a world built on deception.

Alice doesn’t play — she reveals. She is the fracture in the glass, the opening where the unmasked world finally breathes.

And in that light you see it all: masks collapsing, threads snapping, reality no longer pretending to be kind

[hand drawn digital art • procreate] 💔