Perhaps because it seems so appropriate, I don't notice the rain. It falls in sheets, a blanket of silvery thread rushing to the hard almost-winter ground. Still, I stand without moving at the side of the coffin.

Its emptiness is more than the lack of living, breathing beings. It is the unread pages of the many books that reside on the shelves throughout the room I should hot have thought one could tell when books have gone unread, but after the company of Birchwood's well-loved library it is as if I can hear these books whispering, their pages grasping and reaching for an audience.

The day is like a diamond, all beautiful warmth on the outside but without any heat to accompany it.

To find the books end,cross the ancient wood to the mystic isle.Until then, prepare yourselffor the coming battle. . .AND TRUST NO ONE.

Alice will always be a beautiful mystery. It is one I am content not to solve.I can love her now in her lovely darkness." -Amalia Milthorpe

but I learned long ago that it does no good to think too far into the future. There is only here. Only now.

I am not my mother. I love her, but I am not her.

I shake my head. "Remember, Mother. There are no mistakes." She smiles through her tears, leaning in to kiss my cheek "No mistakes, my angel.

Some things must be done however much we wish to avoid them.

Still, experience has taught me that knowing one's enemy is key to winning any battle.