The red haired gentleman wearing the Last Lance mask began speaking, again.  An exit to the conversation emerged from his mouth as he spoke.  He was smug, cheeky-- and something, however, that eerily reminded Esther of her dear brother.  Their height was even similar.  Esther's dark eyes studied the gentleman's mannerisms. He appeared so nonchalant about the whole ordeal; and his lack of respect for the [I]White Rabbit[/I] was intriguing. She straightened her positioning and drew in a small unnoticeable breath.  She could feel the heat of her lips against the mask becoming strangely consoling.

Her right hand reached for the black ribbon tying the venetian white, robin's mask around her face.  The ribbon was still secure.  She lowered her hand.  The last thing she wanted was for the [I]White Rabbit[/I] to be disappointed in her.  Her eyes looked away from the Last Lance and buried her concentration into small gravely shadows on the ground. Why did she want the [I]White Rabbit's[/I] approval so badly? A small quiver crawled around her spine, winding around her long, wiry, bone frame.  She gnawed at her lower lip, again.  Her gnawing was gentle and not so noticeable unless one was watching her intently.  The feeling bit her at the top of her neck and urged her to move.

She began walking towards the intricate table of drinks.  It was not the drinks she wanted, but the hallway beyond the ornate, wooden table was wear she wanted to wonder.  Besides, how could she trust the beverages? The platform heels carefully touched the floors of the [I]White Rabbit's[/I] Manor. Each step was taken slowly and delicately, as if one step too many may anger the whole manor and cause another strike against the wallpaper.

Her walking was probably deemed unusual to an outsider, but she was curious.  Curiosity was, after all, mankind's first passion.  Evidently, it would probably be the last, as well...

[I]Perhaps, I should open one of the doors,[/I] she thought to herself, [I]Just twist the knob and push it open...[/I]

As she approached the first door, the gas light flickered small but brilliant shadows onto her naked skin. She paused to admire the natural simplicity of the lamps. They were hauntingly beautiful with tiny details that only a true master of worth and honor could have upheld in his or her work.  Finally, her hand reached out, winding her fingers around the doorknob.  Before twisting she looked at the guests--perhaps to ponder whether being nosy was the right thing to do.