Alice had opened eleven doors, and her stomach was starting to fold in on itself. The corridor kept rearranging while she walked. A door she'd just tried would slide behind her without a sound, and a new one would bulge out of the wall ahead, painted a color she hadn't seen a minute ago. She had chased a rabbit in a waistcoat down a hole to get here. He hadn't looked at her once, not even when she called. Now she only wanted the way out, or the small green garden she'd glimpsed through the first door before the floor gave under her foot. She made herself stop. Opening doors blindly had gotten her nothing but worse rooms and thinner arms. If she kept it up, she would starve in a hallway that wouldn't stay still. She sat down on the cold tile and pressed her palms flat against the floor to think. That was when she noticed the table. It hadn't been there a breath ago. A little glass table on curved legs, sitting in the middle of the corridor like it had always meant to. On it lay a golden key and a squat bottle with a paper label. Drink Me. Alice picked up the key first. It was too small for any of the doors she had tried. She walked the corridor with it in her fist, watching the walls. Halfway down, low to the floor, a curtain she hadn't seen before hung against the paneling. She lifted it. Behind it was a door no taller than her knee, wooden, with a bright brass knob. She knelt and fit the key. It turned. The door swung open on a strip of green. Warm air came through, smelling of cut grass. The garden. The same one. She could see a low hedge, a red flower, a path of pale stones. She was far too big to fit. Alice went back to the table on her hands and knees and took the bottle. She pulled the cork with her teeth. The liquid inside smelled like cherry tart and toast and something burnt underneath. She hesitated. Every choice in this place had cost her. But sitting still cost her too, second by second. She drank. The corridor lurched upward. The ceiling raced away. Her dress puddled around her ankles, then her knees. The table became a tower. When she stopped shrinking, the little door stood in front of her at full height, still open, the garden waiting on the other side. She stepped through. Her foot came down on stone that held. The corridor sealed shut behind her with a soft click, taking the key and the bottle and the way back with it. Alice stood in the garden at last, no taller than a teacup, and saw that the red flower above her was not a flower. It was watching her.