She'd seemed so stable. More together than Genevieve was, though she assumed herself to look far more nervous than she did. Genevieve found herself running over the conversation for any hint of cruelty or selfishness, wondering if she'd let herself be sucked into a diva's sphere by kind words. So easy to be overlooked, even more easy to be taken advantage of.

Such an odd disorder, though. To be always a child and never to grow up...well, she had that fantasy every once in a while. To be Alice, little Alice without responsibilities or concerns for the future. Alice did not pay taxes or get fired from work for being misled. But to be trapped as a child? That would warp one, wouldn't it?

Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days.

She went out on patrol with Jabberwock, and broke a few leg bones of people who had it coming, and managed to feel moderately better about herself. Waylon noticed something off about her, something wilder and fiercer about the Queen than usual, but didn't press it. She'd talk when she needed it. Thursday afternoon Genevieve was back at the coffee shop to both lament and comfort herself with the thought that she might not see Mary again anyway. Mary knew where to find her but not the reverse. Perhaps she wouldn't come back again.