The portrait that almost sleeps, and the dream that will not hold still. Wonderland is not another room. It is the half that ripples when you try to look at yourself and stay. One side of her is still. The teacup does not tremble. The cloth does not lift. Only the eyes keep time — a small, living refusal to become a picture. The other side is the same hour poured into water. Alice at tea, but the surface will not keep her. Waves take the face, the pour, the quiet ceremony, and return them bent. The looking-glass does not show the whole girl. It keeps half and lets the rest run.