Not every descent leads to madness.
Some lead to endurance.

The White Rabbit did not flee from Alice.
He waited for her — in the hours when sleep failed
and the forest refused to dim.

Here, time is no longer chased. It is distilled.
Light is no longer trusted. It is measured.

In this chamber, she learns the smaller magics —
how to hold a glowing thing without spilling it,
how to listen when the trees begin to murmur,
and how to remain when the night refuses to pass.

Three lessons were given in these sleepless hours.
Everything beyond this chamber was consequence.