The Hatter

A dark, dirty face looked down upon me; ears long, absurdly wide open, sparkling eagle eyes. Grim and gruesome, with a sly smile protruding to ears completed his morbid and disturbing look. He was wearing a very peculiar checkered, old-fashioned 3-piece suit, which was as dirty as his disproportionate physiognomy. A long-dead tulip was comfortably poking out his top front pocket. Pockets, he had them plenty around his suit, all manually sewed on to make the task of safe-keeping a myriad of his belongings (whatever they may be) more manageable.
The cane he found below a bridge, something that used to be a piece of fine craftsmanship a long time ago. Now it degraded into what one might call a brittle prehistoric rod of trash. Nonetheless, he never let go of it, always seeking its help in slowly and carefully displacing his long, slim body from one place to another, his abnormally long feet flying off the ground almost mechanically. Now he used it to stomp on my foot painfully.

He glared at me, as if interrogating me of a crime I did not commit. “After you" - he said politely, with a tone of contempt, a lightning spark dashing through his eyes. He was master of only one expression, the sly smile never left his face; he was unreadable, you could not understand his motives or earn insight into what he wanted, what was in it for him. He was morbid. He was macabre. He was magnificent.

He was The Hatter

The Hatter

$root - whoami
morbid maniac

// Go back in time


// To the future

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