Chapter5 I Am Alice
The snow fell gently now—
soft enough to hide a crying face.
Alice didn’t know how long she had stayed there.
She was curled up in the snow, holding her ears,
her heart beating quietly in her chest.
The rabbit’s voice that once screamed run was gone.
All that remained was her own breath,
and the sound of falling snow.
Then, the snow at her feet shimmered faintly.
Chiri, chiri.
The bell rang once more.
“You do cry a lot, don’t you?”
Alice looked up.
Standing close by was a red cloak.
The Cyber Santa—Saint Nicholas—held up his lantern.
Startled, Alice wiped her tears.
The empty box she had been clutching was damp now.
“I’m sorry… for crying.”
The red figure shook his head.
“There’s nothing to apologize for.
Crying means you’ve stopped.”
She found the words strange.
“Stopped…?”
“When you’re running, you don’t have time to cry.”
Alice realized he was right.
When she fled from the Queen, she hadn’t been able to cry at all.
“…May I ask something?”
She spoke the question she had been holding inside.
“This box… do I really have to accept it?”
She looked down at the white box.
Empty. Always empty.
The red machine narrowed its eyes slightly.
“Who decided that you have to?”
“Well… I thought accepting presents is what good children do.
And refusing them feels wrong.”
“So that’s what you were taught.”
He lifted the lantern, letting its light fall into the box.
The inside glowed softly, reflecting the snow.
“You know,” he said gently,
“sometimes the child who can say I don’t need this is making the harder choice.”
Alice traced the edge of the box with her finger.
Cold. Smooth.
Her heart beat once.
You can say you don’t want it.
The voice this time was quiet.
Not rushing her—
standing beside her.
(The rabbit…? Or me?)
She could no longer tell.
And somehow, it didn’t matter.
Alice closed the lid softly.
Tap.
The sound echoed more loudly than she expected.
“I’m sorry,” she said, holding the box tightly.
“I don’t want this present.”
The red machine didn’t look surprised.
If anything, he seemed relieved.
“That’s a good answer.”
“…You’re not angry?”
“Why would I be?”
He held out his hand.
Alice placed the box into his palm.
The moment it touched him, the box dissolved into particles of light,
melting into the snow.
Nothing remained.
“You chose,” he said.
“That makes it the right choice.”
The lantern light softened her face.
“And the ears—what will you do?”
Without thinking, Alice raised both hands to her head.
The rabbit ears drooped slightly, heavy with tears.
“If you remove them, you can return.
Forget everything. Start over.”
The Queen had shouted, Become an adult.
Two red voices echoed faintly inside her.
Alice closed her eyes.
She listened to her heart.
The part of her that wanted to run.
The part that wanted to stop.
The part that wanted to cry.
The part that wanted to smile.
They were all there.
(I don’t want to lose any of them.)
She opened her eyes.
Gently, she wrapped her hands around her ears—
and removed them.
The sensation was strange.
Like setting down something heavy,
and yet feeling suddenly colder.
In her palms lay white rabbit ears, faintly glowing in the snowy light.
She stared at them.
(These ears rushed me, protected me, and brought me here…)
She could leave them behind.
If she placed them in the snow, they would soon disappear.
But—
Alice shook her head.
“…I want to keep them.”
Her voice surprised even herself with its clarity.
She placed the ears back on her head.
This time, no one else put them there.
She chose them.
The ears stood upright.
They caught the night air, brushing away snowflakes.
Her heart answered with a steady beat.
The Cyber Santa nodded quietly.
“I see.”
He said nothing more.
The lantern grew slightly brighter,
stretching Alice’s shadow—and her ears—long across the snow.
Far away, she thought she heard the Queen’s voice.
Become an adult.
But it no longer chased her.
It faded like distant thunder.
Instead, laughter echoed from nowhere.
“Good for you, Alice.”
The Cheshire Cat’s voice.
“You didn’t make a mistake.”
Alice looked up at the clearing sky.
Snowflakes touched her ears and bounced away.
“…Yes.”
She answered softly.
The Cyber Santa swung his lantern once.
The light flickered.
The red cloak, the staff, the bells—
all dissolved gently into the snow.
The last remaining glow illuminated a path ahead.
A straight road of snow.
She didn’t know where it led.
But it was no longer a road that chased her.
Alice placed a hand over her chest.
Her heart beat—quietly, certainly.
She took one step forward.
Her heartbeat marked the rhythm instead of a clock.
The snow crunched beneath her feet.
Another step.
Another.
Her ears swayed.
Her breath turned white.
As she walked, Alice whispered:
“I am a rabbit.
I am Alice.
I am Kurokawa Arisu.
I am many names, many lives—
and I am Alice.”
Her words became white breath and dissolved into the sky.
The snowy road and the blue heavens stretched on.
Endlessly. Anywhere.
With her rabbit ears swaying,
Alice walked on.
—End—
