The March Hare sat frozen, a piece of toast halfway to his mouth, eyes wide as the Hatter rearranged the entire table three times in a single second. The bread, the jam, the sleeping Dormouse—all of them were flickering in and out of place like a glitching dream.
"Why is he... so fast?" Alice whispered, shielding her eyes from the strobe-light effect of the Hatter’s movements. mad hatter sped up
Before she could blink, he had sprinted around the table, polished every spoon, knitted a scarf out of steam, and returned to his seat. He looked at his pocket watch, which was spinning so fast it was humming. The March Hare sat frozen, a piece of
"He drank the Quick-Silver Pekoe," the Hare muttered, not moving a muscle for fear of being decapitated by a flying saucer. "He’s living three Thursdays at once." so fast