At first, there was only the hisssss of the final burst of magic spray paint, and then a heart shimmered on the garden wall, in the twilight, a burst of color against the dull blankness, its edges glowing like a memory waking from a long sleep. The spraypaint—infused with the song of the phosphorescent alien seagrass—had done its work. And yet, something was still missing.

The flowers trembled in the hush, their petals frozen mid-sigh, as though waiting for something—waiting for him.

But, at the very moment the spray paint first touched the garden wall, a kettle had begun to bubble, a small happening that only the dormouse noticed at first. A delicate, fragrant steam began to curl through the air—soft as a lullaby, warm as twilight. Steeping in the moonlight, the petals in the tea unfurled, releasing tiny whispered secrets. A blend of twilight and wonder, of petals that had once known how to sing. The steam curled into the air, carrying with it the faintest, most delicate note of a forgotten melody.

The scent found the Hatter where he sat, slumped on the riverbank, under the moonlight, his reflection staring back at him with the same tired eyes. But the moment the first tendril of fragrance reached him, something deep in his chest stirred. His fingers twitched. His nose twitched. His heart, which had felt like an old and empty teacup, gave the smallest, softest plink!

And then—

“Oh bother and biscuits!” he cried, sitting up so suddenly that his hat nearly tumbled into the water. “What is that aroma?”

He stumbled to his feet, following the scent, faster and faster, until he burst into the garden, breathless and wild-eyed. And there, upon the wall—

A beautiful heart.

For him!?

And nearby, on his garden table sat a teacup, brimming with Vespertea, steaming in the light of the moon.

He reached for it, hands unsteady, and took a sip. The moment the tea touched his lips, the Hatter let out a most surprised and most delighted laugh—a laugh that rang out across his garden as he further beheld the madness of his once-drab wall now exploding with color. A rather scandalous number of empty spray bottles lay strewn about, along with a rather dashing stencil, as if someone (or someones) had been very, very busy.

And oh, what a laugh it was! A laugh that had been missing for far too long.

It bounced and tumbled through the garden, rolled over the hills, and spilled like a waterfall into the fields beyond. The sound of it carried on the wind and, as laughter often does, it tickled.

The flowers—oh! The singing flowers!—they felt it first. They gasped. They shivered. Then, one by one, they burst into song, a chorus of harmonies too bright to be anything but joy. Their melodies spilled into the river, where the seagrass, overcome with glee, began to giggle—a soft, bubbly sound that soon turned into a full-fledged gurgle of mirth.

And then—splash!

A rather exuberant wave leapt from the river, smacking directly into a small, unsuspecting dragon-fly, who promptly sneezed, spiraling wildly through the air, all the way to the palace, until—tickle!—it brushed against the nose of the Red Queen.

Now, it is never a wise thing to tickle the Red Queen’s nose.

WHAM!

She slammed her baton furiously into the ground—except, instead of doom and terror, this time it sent a magnificent jolt through the very fabric of Wonderland. Lurking in a nearby forest, the electro-magnetic Sandworm, known as the Nothingness, convulsed, let out an indignant whoosh!, and collapsed into oblivion—good riddance! And as for the Queen—

Well.

Let’s just say that her hair, now standing at wildly gravity-defying angles, made her look rather smashing.

She blinked.

She turned to the nearest mirror.

She gasped.

“Why, I love it,” she declared.

And, back in his garden, the now-happy hatter Hatter declared, “I say! I do believe I was quite sad! How dreadfully boring! And how exceedingly unfashionable!” With his eyes crinkling at the corners, he spun around on his heels, arms flailing. “Oh, do let’s have a midnight tea party at once! With dancing! And cakes! And perhaps even a spot of synchronized spoon-clinking!”

And . . . just like that, all of Vapeland was right again. The flowers sang, the colors glowed, the Nothingness was gone, the White Rabbit of course complained about all the fuss at such a late hour, but the tea—oh, the tea!— was simply divine.

And as for you, dear traveler? Well, it seems you’ve done quite a bit of good in this topsy-turvy world. But do sit, have a sip, and enjoy the flowers’ song—for even the cleverest of adventurers must sometimes rest.

Comment below to join the leaderboard of those who have completed the Quest, and saved Vapeland with the power of their love and curiosity!