Interlude of Jabberwock, returning again.
Back at the castle, back to the see-saw balance that loved to swing precariously up and down, back and forth, but never yield.
He recieved no word of the pilgrim-girl with her voluptous, untended body and her silken notions. In the last photograph he possessed of her, the blue hair-ribbons which had so tickled his snout when, in her youth, she'd swing from his great neck, now laced up her gilt bodice. Her eyes were painted and her mouth was swollen with the knowledge of it's use-- for things other than eating blackberries and milk. He did not know whether to laugh with delight or to weep salt tears of mourning for his fragile, jewel-Alice.
The windchimes tinkle-clanking above thy hoary, horned head, remember that flowers bloom whichever way they will, and thou canst only pick and smell them, great monster that thou art.
