 Dark
Alice picked up the feather. Its colour made her think the sun had grown
wings, and was moulting. And the convolutions within the flights seemed
very like a summer's maze; diamond pathways cut through a field of corn.
Alice so much wanted to run through them, that she closed her eyes and touched
the tip of the feather to the tip of her nose. Tip to tip, feather to nose,
and when she opened her eyes and looked into the mirror, how surprised she
was to see that her hair, once dark as midnight's breath, had turned a burnished
gold! Then she looked down, and noticed that the ground had vanished, and
that she was walking through the leaves of a book.
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