☕️ Alice’s Mad Tea Party Presents:
🫖 Alice Spills the Tea: Whispering Grove
Oh, darling, do you think I’m just a pinch of Alice with a dash of the Mad Hatter and a sprinkle of the Red Queen, do you? Well, surprise!—I'm far more than that. I am the Mad Mad Queen, the uncontested Empress of Chaos, the ruler of the most magnificent and scandalous tea parties you've never been invited to!
Queen of the Curious, the Chaotic, and the Completely Unhinged!
And speaking of unhinged, let me tell you another little gem that you’ll love—or loathe.
But first—are you sitting down? Or standing? Should you be standing? Perhaps, it would be best if you’re sirting down sipping some tea. That’s the proper posture for someone about to hear the kind of tale that might make your hair stand on end.
You Ready?
Let me spill that perfectly steeped tea for you...
Ah, I knew it! You’re already caught in my web of delightful madness, just the way I like it. Now, settle in, because this story’s going to twist and turn like the most absurdly tangled labyrinth you’ve ever been in. And trust me, you’ll want to stay in.
It all begins with a whisper...
A whisper that slithered its way into the ears of a curious soul—a brave (or perhaps foolish) wanderer. Let’s call him Finley. Oh, Finley. What a deliciously naïve little man. He had heard of the haunted Whispering Grove, an ancient place in 4EverMore where shadows spoke in riddles and secrets were buried beneath the roots of gnarled trees. But no one dared go there, because the last soul who ventured into the Grove… well, they were never seen again.
But Finley? Oh, he thought he was clever. He thought he could outwit the darkness.
Cue the dramatic music. DUN-DUN-DUNNNN.
So, he waltzed right in, thinking the whispering was just the wind. The wind. I can already feel your skepticism, darlings, and I’m here for it. But, the winds in Whispering Grove have a funny way of telling tales that are far more... alive than they should be.
Anyway, Finley wandered through the misty grove, ignoring the feeling in the pit of his stomach, that something was... watching. Ah yes, it was at the very heart of the grove that he found it. The old well. The one that no one dared approach, for it was said to be cursed. Oh, the stories it could tell—stories of betrayal, of promises made in desperation. Stories that could turn a soul into something far darker than human.
Now, what did Finley do, my dear? He threw a stone into the well, making a wish. Classic, right? We all know how that ends, don’t we?
As the stone hit the water, a sound emerged—not from the well, but from the air. A voice, soft at first, like a caress—"Now you’ve done it, Finley..."
Finley froze. Because how did the voice know his name? He’d never uttered it aloud. He backed away from the well, but there was no escaping it. The trees leaned in closer. The whispers grew louder. And there, emerging from the mist, was a figure—a tall woman, dressed in tattered white, her eyes as dark as the depths of the well. A ghost, yes, but not one that was quite... done.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” she said, her voice dripping with malice. "I’ve been waiting for someone to take my place."
Now, Finley, poor thing, thought she was just a figment of his overactive imagination. So, he did the obvious thing—he laughed nervously. “You're just a ghost, lady. I’m not scared of you!”
But when he turned to leave, the ground rumbled beneath his feet, and the trees parted to reveal a second figure—a man, just as tall, just as ethereal, and just as cursed as she. The Death Walker.
The ghost’s lips curled into a grin. “You’ll never leave here, Finley. You’ve just made a deal you don’t even understand yet.”
Wait for it.
You see, it turns out that the well wasn’t just a well. It was a prison. A prison for the souls of those who thought they could manipulate fate. But they didn’t just want to stay trapped inside. Oh no, no. They wanted a new host. They wanted Finley.
Finley screamed as the ground shifted beneath him, pulling him into the earth. And that, my dears, was the last time anyone saw him—or at least, saw him as he was. But, like all good things (or rather, bad things), he wasn't entirely lost. Oh, no. His body? His soul? A little mix of both? They became part of the Whispering Grove, their whispers joining the others, forever trapped, forever waiting for the next foolish soul to come along and make a wish.
Now, tell me, are you curious enough to pay a visit to the Whispering Grove? Or are you one of the sensible ones, who knows better than to meddle with ancient curses, restless spirits, and the occasional mischievous voice from an old well?
The truth is, darling, sometimes the whispers you hear aren’t just the wind.
So, don’t listen too closely…
That’s all for now. But don’t worry—I’ve got plenty more delicious little tales for you. There's Always More Tea To Spill.
