ALICE

On that night, I saw my Aunt. Her bright crimson hair lits like a dancing fire in the sunlight. Her hazel narrowed eyes glinting hints of unapparent malice and ruthlessness.

“Alice,” she called me. In a shaky voice, I respond. “Yes, Auntie?”

She stretch her hand at me, telling me to come closer. So I did. She flicks her wrist and a chain of strings, black, red, and white of mixed colors burst out from her fingers. One connects to me. Others connect to the eleven people in the room. Majority shot up in every direction, moving outside from the white circle shape of the wall.

“Can you see...