''Alice turned, and saw a split form in the trunk of the trees, just as if it had been sliced open with an axe. Thick red sap oozed from the cut, and the ground beneath made a wet sucking sound. The roots gurgled as they pumped (whatever it was) into the tree.
The crack in the tree deepened and lengthened. Alice shuddered as the bark broke apart, blood (for of course that was what it was, not sap at all) spewing from the body of the tree.
The cut seemed to shape itself into two doors and each door opened out from the tree. Alice felt drawn there, as though some inexplicable (magical) force pulled her as the tree slowly opened and revealed what was hidden beneath.
A woman lay there, her skin white and waxy in death and hair as black as a raven's wing and wearing a dress the color of the blood that ran all around her. The trunk held her like a coffin.
"The Red Queen", Pen said behind Alice. "There hasn't been a Red Queen in a long time." '
'In some ways, Ian is blessed with the underanalyzing mind of a goldfish. The troubles associated with deeper thought are replaced with basic instinct and a memory that spans a fraction of a second. He's more reactionary than plotting or planning. He doesn't dwell or ponder at length about anything. Just as he realizes his predicament, it blissfully slips from his mind in time to be rediscovered. He sleeps well because of this; there are no worries, and there is no racing mind.
Alternately, physiologically, the repeated realization of the terror of falling is quite draining on a body. It's the rapid-fire release of adrenaline, the repetitive pokes in his flight response, that stresses the gold-encased nugget of fishy flesh.
"Now, what was I doing? Oh my, I can't breathe. Oh shit, I'm falling off a high-rise! Now . . . what was I doing? Oh my . . ."
'They passed a few mermaids on a little island of rock, all covered with green seaweed and with creamy shells in their long blue hair. The mermaids laughed and pointed rudely. Jasleth was a bit disappointed that they weren't more romantic. He has always thought they sat around combing their hair and singing sweet songs. They were actually combing their hair, but they kept screaming "Ooch!" and "Ooh!" whenever they got a tangle.'