It was a truth generally agreed that the dead had rights, provided they did not exercise them.
England survived the zombie plague rampant during the Napoleonic wars and took its lessons to heart. The rabid dead fell to the torch and the musket; the rest submitted to treatment, regulation, and usefulness. A carefully administered fungal draught, plus an abundance of rules, let the Infected pass for civilized British subjects—so long as obedience holds.
Charles Dodgson is Infected, as well as a respected Oxford don of mathematics and fashionable photographer. On a supervised summer boat trip to entertain the daughters of Dean Henry Liddell, he begins a harmless nonsense tale: a story of White Rabbits and Red Queens, of croquet and crowns, and of a place called Underland—the homeland of the undead.
But nonsense has a way of saying what sense will not. As the story unfolds, it begins to mirror uncomfortable truths about authority, appetite, and the cost of keeping order. Certain rules start to look less like protection and more like permission for cruelty.
Alice Pleasance Liddell listens carefully. She asks questions. She notices when the answers do not fit. And in a world where obedience is prized above justice, curiosity can be a dangerous thing.
Step into Underland—but mind the rules.
