Alice walks the night. Relearning once familiar streets. Her cane, wooden and carved, taps a head of her. A prop and accessory, more than a necessity. Sunglasses, amethyst, like her eyes once where, perched upon her nose. Hiding horror more readily than her closed lids. Sucken against the void. Bone white hair, loose. Ruffled and cut through by Boreas' Breath. The chill of His presence a reassuring thing. Causing Lyssa who walks a step behind her, to remind her Lady of the weather and their secret. Presenting Alice with a jacket. To hide the outfit the ghoul had also selected, dressing Alice like the Doll she is.
Alice cared not what was wrapping around her form. Shoes with heel, pants instead of a skirt. A top. Light and loose, with the jacket to hide it all away.
Pausing every few moments, only known to her, she tilts her head, strings pulling, loose and taut. She's listening to the night. The horns and sirens, the baying of hounds, and the cry of corvids.
Might she meet new voices, or old?