Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?
The Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to
Alice: I don't much care where.
The Cat: Then it doesn't much matter which way you go.
Alice: …so long as I get somewhere.
The Cat: Oh, you're sure to do that, if only you walk
Tick, tock, goes the clock.
Oz looked at it balefully, idly tracing the new-found tattoo on his chest. When he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the invisible seconds of his life slowly ticking away like the constant noise of a cuckoo clock. He wondered what would happen if he cut his chest open and scratched it out. Probably nothing. Magic was above such trivial solutions.
Alice surveyed him from the rim of her cup of tea and snapped, "Stop looking so sad, peon."
Oz smiled widely, "Aw, are you worried?"
She flinched and set her cup down, "Of course not."
Oz's smile grew ten inches wider, "You were? Oh Alice, that's so sweet."
She threw a pillow at him, "Don't read anything into it, you buffoon."
He continued to smile at her and she softened slightly. He buttoned up his shirt again and said, "Ah well. It's no big deal."
"You strange boy," Alice muttered, "Your life is slowly fading away and it's nothing?"
"Well, we all have to die sometime, right?" Oz said wistfully, "At least I'll be young and pretty when I go!"
"Again with the nonsense," Alice frowned this time and flung her cup at him which victoriously hit his forehead, "Who said anything about dying?"
Oz blinked, "...Everyone did?"
"Well, we're not everyone," Alice reasoned, "Not every contractor has the fabulous bear-rabbit as their chain, right?"
"You'll only die when I tell you," Alice said bluntly, "So no thoughts on dying."
"You are too sweet," Oz said gently, getting up and handing her cup back. She took it gratefully and shot him a crescent grin. Oz just kept smiling back.
It was the one thing he knew how to do correctly.