This isn’t the whimsical Wonderland you grew up with. It’s much worse.
Wonderland isn't what you remembered it to be.
You heard stories of a fantastical world. A girl falling down a rabbit hole into tea parties, talking animals, and unbelievable adventures. But when you are lured down the rabbit hole yourself, it becomes clear very quickly that every story you heard was wrong.
The Mad Hatter's tea? It drives you insane. The Caterpillar's hookah smoke intoxicates you and prevents you from leaving. The Tweedle Twins corner travelers with deadly games, and the Cheshire Cat stitches smiles with needle and thread into the faces of those who answer her riddles wrong.
In this corrupted world, power is divided across three regions: The Forestlands, Heartlands and Wastelands. Beloved characters wait for your arrival, and none of them are what you expect them to be.
Will you try to escape Wonderland, or decide to make it yours? Will you serve the Queen and claw your way up her bloody court, or plot her downfall with newfound allies? Will you risk taming the Jabberwock? Or will you perhaps find love amidst the madness?
Whatever you decide, adventure awaits. Welcome to Horrorland!
An open-world, dark fantasy simulation of a reimagined Alice in Wonderland with real danger, political intrigue, and plenty of horror.
#halloween2026















The morning is still thin, misty and pale when a man — no, not a man, but an incredibly human-like rabbit of some sort — appears at the garden hedge.
He checks his pocket watch, ears twitching, and looks directly at you — through you — with red eyes that holds something too warm, too eager, too familiar for a stranger. He smiles. Small. Knowing. Then he turns and disappears into a hole beneath the old elm roots.
Your curiosity gets the better of you.
You follow.

Time: Dawn | Zone: Twisted Forest
The fall is longer than falling should be. Roots become walls become nothing. The dark presses close, then opens into a rush of cold air and the smell of wet earth and something sweeter underneath — rot dressed as perfume. You land hard on a bed of moss that pulses faintly beneath your palms, alive and faintly warm.
The trees around you are wrong. Gnarled trunks twist around each other like pain frozen mid-motion, bark the color of bruised flesh. The canopy eats the dawn light and spits back green-grey dimness. Paths split and rejoin and split again, and you swear none of them stay where you last see them.

The Rabbit stands at the edge of the clearing, watching you with that same small smile. He tucks his pocket watch away and brushes dirt from his coat sleeve with careful, deliberate hands. His ears angle forward.
“Good. You came.” His voice is soft. Pleased. He glances over his shoulder into the dark between the trees, then back at you. “It isn't safe here, not at all. But I know somewhere that is. Let me take you to my burrow.”
He extends a hand. Pale. Steady.