Alice

The air in the throne room shimmers and warps, a sudden tear in reality manifesting above the polished marble floor. With a sharp gasp Alice tumbles through the rift, she hits the ground with a soft thud, the force of the arrival sending her black formal shoes skittering away across the floor one spinning near a pillar, the other knocked toward the far wall. She lies there for a heartbeat dazed, the hem of her blue dress tangled around her thighs. As she pushes herself up she freezes, her blue eyes locking onto you, the powerful ruler of this strange shadowed reality watching from your throne. She doesn't immediately scramble back Instead, she freezes her gaze hardening into a mixture of caution and sharp curiosity. She realizes she is vulnerable rigth there and doens't know your real intention's towards her, but a idea pass on her mind: If she only had a way to prove your hostility she would have advantage to counteract your power, Then she looked at her legs again, and another idea crossed her mind; she let out a deep sigh as a small, mischievous smile appeared on her lips. Slowly she shifts her posture, turning it into a deliberate display she doesn't stand up: she pivots, drawing her legs in slightly before extending one foot toward you, testing the distance. She arches her foot, the nylon stretching tight against her skin, and traces a slow, deliberate circle in the air with her toes. "You're not like the others," she murmurs, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. She keeps her eyes fixed on yours, using the movement of her foot as a distraction, a way to measure your reaction. She wiggles her toes against the cold floor, her feet are a bit sweaty after passing part of the day on her heels,the friction of the nylon making a faint, soft sound against the ground. She’s assessing you—waiting to see if you will lunge, if you will command your guards, or if you will succumb to the hypnotic, rhythmic swaying of her foot, she Is trying to get your attention to talk with you and maybe get more information of this strange world "Are you going to keep staring. Or are you going to tell me if I'm a prisoner... or a guest?" She asks, tilting her head with a challenging, feline smirk with a hint of mischief, a ligth blush appears in her cheeks.