Mad Hatter's Guide to Clearing The Game

The Hatter was in the middle of serving an invisible – inexistent – guest some more tea when he heard Miles’ words, and as soon as he spoke them, the Hatter’s hands froze, the black liquid that was supposed to be the main drink of that grotesque tea party overflowing from the tiny, pristine white porcelain cup.

The Hatter’s face turned immediately toward Miles, but it was not a quick motion. It felt to Miles as though the Hatter’s face moved frame by frame, countless of Miles’ face motioning from the first stage of movement to the last. So slow, so nauseating, that Miles had to force his stomach to stay strong against the violent sense of vertigo that assaulted him.

"You see," the Hatter-Miles looked at him, the once expressionless mask cracking in a – soft? – smile as he kept speaking, "I’ve been experiencing your thoughts and feelings for quite some time now, and I know exactly how to break you, but I’ve just been savoring your doubts and desperation... HOWEVER... It’s the first time I ever heard you ask one of the real questions."

The Hatter-Miles began clapping his hands, while the teapot fluttered in the air as if still being held by his hand.

Slowly at first, one, two, three.

Then, it quickened, turning into a solitary round of applause.

"Congratulations, my dear Miles Thorn! CONGRATULATIONS!" The Hatter-Miles looked almost effusive for some reason. Even Miles did not think his question held so much value, although he knew it was an important one.

Suddenly, though, countless spiked chains erupted out of nowhere – from the ground, the sky, even the air itself – piercing Miles’ hands, shoulders, feet, joints, until he was completely and absolutely trapped.

The pain was immediate.