I am not lost, her drifting mind assured her.

I am becoming.

I am the dream and the dreamer, the question and the garden in which it grows.

The forest seemed to listen. 🌳🌲

And so Alice slept—not as one escaping the world, but as one gently dissolving into it. Like a story folding into its own pages, like a thought returning to its source.

She was, at last, at peace.