Page 57 of Knot My Wonderland: Part Two
I considered his words, feeling the ancient consciousness stir beneath my skin in response to the mention of trust. Through our communion, I sensed its patient confidence—not arrogance, but the deep certainty of something that had existed since before Wonderland itself.
"The pattern chose you specifically, Alice," Dee continued, his opalescent light pulsing in slow, hypnotic waves. "Not for your magical experience, which you lack, but for your capacity to grow into what's needed."
"And what if I don't grow fast enough?" The question escaped before I could stop it, carrying all the weight of my accumulated fears.
Dee's expression grew thoughtful, his gaze seeming to focus on something beyond the present moment. "You already have," Dee said, his voice taking on that strange harmonic quality that made me feel like he was speaking from multiple timelines at once. "I've seen it."
I pushed myself up on my elbows, studying his face. "What do you mean, you've seen it?"
"Time isn't linear for me, Alice. Not completely." He adjusted one of the temporal devices on his wrist, and for a moment, faint images flickered in the air between us—shadowy echoes of possibilities. "I've glimpsed versions of you standing against the Queen. Not all succeed, but many do."
"That's not particularly reassuring," I muttered.
"It should be," he countered, his silver eyes reflecting calculations I couldn't begin to understand. "When you first arrived in Wonderland, the successful timelines were rare exceptions. Now they're becoming the dominant probability."
I considered his words, trying to find comfort in abstract probabilities. "What happens in the successful timelines? What do I do differently?"
Dee's expression softened, something rare for him. "You trust. Not just the pattern, but all of us. You allow the bonds to support you rather than trying to bear everything alone."
"And in the failures?" I needed to know, even though I know the truth could hurt.
"You isolate yourself. Try to protect everyone by facing the Queen alone." His temporal devices hummed softly as he adjusted something on his wrist. "It never ends well when you do that." The pattern pulsed beneath my skin, as if emphasizing his point. I sighed, letting my head fall back against the pillow.
"It's hard not to feel responsible," I admitted. "Everyone's risking everything because of me."
"With you," Dee corrected gently. "Not because of you. There's a difference."
I glanced at him, struck by the unusual gentleness in his voice. The Tweedles—especially Dee—typically maintained an analytical distance, their minds half-caught in temporal calculations beyond ordinary comprehension.
"The distinction feels semantic when lives are at stake," I said quietly, as I gave another sigh.
"Words matter," Dee replied, his silver eyes holding mine with surprising intensity. "Especially in Wonderland. 'Because of you' implies you're the cause. 'With you' acknowledges partnership—choice."
The pattern beneath my skin pulsed in agreement, silver and gold light spiraling more harmoniously as his words resonated with something deep within me. Through our opalescent bond, I felt Dee's certainty—not just intellectual, but emotional. For all his analytical detachment, he believed in what we were doing.In me.
"You're different when we're alone," I observed, watching the subtle play of opalescent light beneath his skin. "More... present."
Dee's lips quirked in what might have been amusement. "Vee handles most of our social interactions. I'm usually too caught up in temporal calculations to engage properly." He paused, adjusting another device. "But with you, it's different. The first bond grounds me more firmly in the present moment."
The admission surprised me. I'd assumed the Tweedles' shared consciousness meant they experienced relationships identically, but apparently even their bonds with me carried unique qualities.
"Is that... difficult for you?" I asked, curious about how someone who existed partially outside linear time experienced emotional connection. "Being grounded, I mean."
"Initially, yes," he admitted, his silver eyes growing distant. "I've spent centuries experiencing time as a fluid concept. Past, present, and future existing simultaneously." His opalescent patterns pulsed with a subtle shift in rhythm. "But now I find I appreciate the clarity. Experiencing each moment singularly rather than as one point in an endless flow."
I reached out tentatively, my fingers brushing against his wrist where his temporal devices hummed with quiet energy. The pattern beneath my skin responded instantly, silver and gold light spiraling toward his opalescent glow. Our bond brightened at the contact, carrying emotions that transcended ordinary language—his fascination with my linear perspective, my wonder at his temporal awareness, and beneath it all, a shared connection that felt both ancient and brand new.
"What am I like?" I asked suddenly. "In the successful timelines, I mean."
Dee's expression grew thoughtful, his silver eyes focusing on something I couldn't see. "Determined. Compassionate, even when it would be easier not to be. And..." he paused, a rare smile touching his lips, "...remarkably stubborn when it matters most."
The description made me laugh despite my earlier frustration. "That sounds like me, I suppose."
"It is you," Dee said with quiet certainty. "The same qualities that drew the pattern to you in the first place. You just need to trust them—trust yourself—when the moment comes."
His hand turned beneath mine, fingers intertwining with an unexpected gentleness. The opalescent bond between us pulsed with harmonious energy, carrying impressions too complex for words—his confidence in outcomes I couldn't yet see, his careful calculations that always, somehow, included my wellbeing as a primary variable.
"You've been protecting me," I realized suddenly, understanding flowing through our strengthened connection. "All those temporal adjustments during training—you've been shifting probabilities to minimize risks." Dee's silver eyes met mine, neither confirming nor denying my words.
