The Adventures of Alice in Wordland
A Literary Quest Like No Other

Imagine, if you will, waking up not in your bed, nor in any place familiar, but in a land that seems stitched together by dreams and stories. The air hums with the scent of parchment and peaches, the sky overhead painted in soft strokes of lavender and gold. Thankfully, your trusty GPSr is in your hand, blinking insistently, its screen pulsing with a single marked destination.

You reach that destination, and what do you find a Date to remember, and a new set of Coordinates.  You quickly put those in your GPSr and hurry on to the next destination, The screen pulses faster along with your heart as you near the location.

As you push through a wall of flowering bushes, the signal grows louder—beep… beep… beepbeep!—until you break through and stumble into a surreal clearing.

Before you lies a table fit for royalty—or at least, a very hydrated king with a penchant for the bizarre. Piled high are towering cakes, powdered donuts that sparkle like sugar-dusted moons, and gleaming bowls brimming with fruits you've never seen before, some even glowing faintly in the twilight. It’s strange, delightful… and just a little bit unnerving.

Beyond the table stands a small, curiously quaint building. The sign above its tiny door reads:

"El Dorado Hills Library"
Hours of Operation:
Mon 10am–5pm
Tues 10am–7pm
Wed 10am–5pm
Thurs 10am–7pm
Fri 10am–5pm
Sat 1pm–5pm
Sun Closed

A note below scribbled in looping script reads:
⚠️ This feast is only available during open hours in Wordland (a.k.a. the Library). Choose your moment wisely!

Your stomach growls. Curiosity piqued—and appetite growing—you step closer to the feast, tempted by the strange yet tantalizing offerings. Just as your hand reaches for a flaky tart, a sudden rustle under the table draws your attention.

Out hops a White Rabbit, no ordinary bunny. This one is clothed in a waistcoat stitched with golden thread, a monocle swinging from one eye, and a pocket watch clutched tightly in his paw. He hops up onto the table in a flurry of powdered sugar and urgency.

“Well, this is no time for dawdling!” he scolds, thumping his foot. “You’re late! Terribly late!”

You blink in disbelief. “Late? Late for what?”

The Rabbit fixes you with a stern look and enunciates slowly, clearly:
“You. Are. Late. For. Your. Adventure. In. Wordland.”

With a dramatic flourish, he snatches a bottle from among the platters and thrusts it toward you.

“Drink this! Hurry, before it’s too late!”

Startled but intrigued, you take the bottle. The label reads in ornate script:
“Drink Me”
And, in much smaller print beneath:
Warning: May cause temporary shrinkage of one’s person.

You sniff it cautiously. It smells like honey and rosewater. You consider your options. This must be a dream. Or maybe it was that strange mushroom you nibbled earlier in the woods?

What’s the worst that could happen? you muse.

You take a sip. It’s delicious. Then a gulp. Then, before you know it—glug, glug, glug—the bottle is empty. The world spins. Trees tower above you. The table now looms like a skyscraper.

You’ve shrunk.

“W-what now?” you squeak.

“Now,” the White Rabbit says impatiently, hopping down beside you, “you go through that door, the one marked ‘Library’. That’s the entrance to Wordland. Now scurry! Tick-tock, tick-tock!”

Still reeling, but propelled by a strange certainty, you follow the Rabbit and slip through the now-enormous library door.

Inside Wordland

The moment you enter, the air changes. It smells of ink and old leather, of stories long-told and yet to be imagined. Towering shelves stretch as far as the eye can see, lined with books in every color and size. There's a soft hum, like pages turning themselves somewhere in the distance.

Straight ahead—and slightly to the right, to avoid stacks of audio books and glittering games—you spot something extraordinary: the largest book you’ve ever seen. It sits like a monument to imagination.

You rush over.

On the cover, in embossed golden lettering, is a date—clear and bold. Your memory is triggered of a date you saw at the beginning of your journey. You scribble it down quickly because you forgot to before, just as a soft rustling sound catches your attention nearby.

There, nestled on a large cushion on the floor, is a young girl with a blue dress and a thoughtful look—Alice. She’s reading The Lion and the Mouse, flipping pages with quiet delight.

It’s a lovely fable. But not the one you're searching for.

A low, musical purring drifts down from above. You tilt your head and spot him: perched atop the massive book like a king on his throne—the Spectral Cheshire Cat. His ghostly fur shimmers faintly in the lamplight, and his grin glows with a mischievous warmth that seems almost… too wide for his face.

“While Alice loves reading about lions and mice,” the Cat purrs, tail curling lazily, “I prefer the story written about her.”

He stretches luxuriously, then peers down at you.

“There’s a very special copy. Not in the children’s section anymore—far too precious. It now resides in the Adult Sci-Fi & Fantasy section. Guarded. Shelved. Awaiting only the clever and curious.”

He gives a theatrical pause, then continues:

“To find it, you’ll need its tag—CARROLL.LEW. But even with the tag, you can’t open it… not without the key.”

You blink. “What key?”

“The key,” he says, eyes gleaming, “is knowledge. The year Alice came to live in the library. She arrived the day the doors first opened to Wordland’s wandering minds.”

You grin.

You already have that piece of the puzzle—etched boldly on the cover of the enormous book, you recall, the date, just drop that pesky two from the year and you should be good.

And now… your real quest begins.