Alice was musing in the museum when happened an occurrence so baffling
As she was shrunk—along with stag-statues—to a state that left her maffling.
“Oh-oh, d-deer! What h-have we h-here?!” stumbled her inquiring exclamation.
Anticipating her fright, in unison, the circled mates chimed, “Fret not. This is just pre-celebration organization.”
And, then, she was told the actual story of old regarding how Nick could know which souls were decent and which were of the dastardly pack.
Who knew that such correspondences were happening not only twixt domiciles, but between each inherently inert knick-knack?
Of course, it made perfect sense that a wondrous world could be active in both a dream and its encompassing milieu.
Though, she would have preferred to remain full-sized if it meant she could escape the burden of labelling an attribution onto each who.
They must have been telepaths, for sure, as she next heard, “We just need some help checking the list if you do not too much mind.”
“We would do it ourselves, but inked antlers all too oft mark unintended boxes. A couple hours, please, and you may return to your kind.”
So, she rode and she wrote as the—who knew?— now caroling caribou calculated chari-Chris-matics of characters—until it was finally time to bid bye-byes.
*Blink-blink* Before’s same painting and same seat. Fawns back to brawns. Pulling hand from right pocket, alas, a reasonable-seasonable cheer—a miniature reindeer—alive to not-so-much-anymore a surprise. ; )
