entranceway | text, also accepting action

[Lapis isn't the kind of person who immediately responds to being trapped in a strange place by posting to its social media. Right now she's had time to acquaint herself with the situation, i.e. freak out, i.e. find a couple helpful pamphlets, poke her head inside the mansion, and then spend some time trying very hard to leave. This is just as well since everyone's already had enough of drowning for a while.

It's only after she's exhausted herself that her attention wanders to the little device waiting patiently for her, as if it knew she'd have to give up. It'd probably look smug if it could. Just in case it might actually be worthwhile somehow she even scans the recent posts, but of course there are no answers she would want. So that's what she's supposed to do, huh? Sit tight, make herself at home, and join in the hopeless little community of fellow prisoners? Lapis almost chucks the thing off the roof; she doesn't want Wonderland's garbage. And yet, here it is.

...Not that much of that matters to the audience. In text, after all, nobody can tell how much lid someone's flipping.]

I know it's too much to hope for, but you're absolutely sure this isn't some kind of personal nightmare I'm having?
It'd be a first considering I don't sleep, but the mirror thing is pretty suspect.
Your ocean is broken, by the way.

[She's sprawled out on the roof if you'd rather stumble upon her in person. Hopefully not literally.]