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Chapter Text

The Kansas Prairie

Kansas was not a very exciting place. 

There wasn’t much to the weary gray plains; just the waving ocean of tall, sunburnt grasses, the vast and endless gray sky, and a tiny farmhouse built for two—now three—sitting lonely amongst it all. Emily Gale, known simply as Em to most, was quite content in her life, even if it wasn’t all that exciting to live in. Her poor old heart couldn’t take much excitement anyway; her husband Henry knew such a thing quite well. It’s why he’d built them this little farmhouse in the first place, far away from anything and anyone who might give them trouble. 

The recent addition of her late-sister’s baby girl five years ago had been enough excitement for a lifetime. Of course Em loved Dorothy dearly; she cherished her, as she was the last part of her sister to still exist upon the earth. But she herself was much too old to have a child, let alone raise one. Still, there wasn’t much of a choice in the matter. Dorothy was their responsibility now, and the toddler had become an unexpected light in their gray little world. 

Henry had taken quite a shine to Dorothy, and was currently outside with the girl teaching her how to whitewash the fence. Em didn’t suppose much was getting done by way of work, seeing as their young niece was only five, but Henry insisted on putting her to work early. She stayed inside, making a neat luncheon of porridge and rice for the pair when they returned. Above the stove was a window, and this window overlooked the westernmost part of the prairie. So occupied with her cooking, Em was startled when something flashed out of the corner of her eye. 

Puzzled at what the strange thing could possibly be, Em set her pot aside, leaning forward to rub the light covering of gray dust off the interior window pane. In the distance, above the flat, uninteresting landscape, there was something in the sky. 

“Good gracious,” Em gasped, leaving her pots and pans with a clatter. Wrapping her woolen shawl around her shoulders as she stepped out onto the porch, Em opened her throat. “Henry! Henry!” 

“Ye’ don’t have to shout so loud, dearie!” Henry replied, appearing a moment later from around the side of the farmhouse. Little Dorothy was clinging to the trouser of his overall, covered in white paint as expected. “What’s the ruckus, now?” 

“Look!” Pointing to the west, the thing had not dissapeared. In fact, it was coming closer. It was red and white against the gray sky, floating amongst low hanging clouds. From it dangled some sort of box or basket, tan like fresh-cut firewood. 

“I’ll be damned,” Henry breathed, lifting his hat to scratch his balding scalp. “What do you suppose that is?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Do you want me to shoot it down?” 

“It looks to be comin’ down on its own.” Indeed, the strange anomaly was descending rapidly, far faster than Em first realized. At this point, it was less floating and more falling. “I think…I think I know what it might be! It’s from those fancy fliers they insist upon in town. The one about the fair?” 

“Oh? I don’t recall.” 

“It’s a balloon, Henry. It must be.” 

“Hmm. Must’ve broken loose. Suppose some fancy lads will be coming to fetch it soon?” 

“Perhaps. By Gods, Henry. What if someone is inside that thing?” Em gasped in fright at the thought, grabbing onto her husband as the balloon finally lost what little lift it had. The basket fell, plummeting heavily straight down just past their property fence. It kicked up a cloud of dirt as it landed, tipping onto its side as canvas billowed and shifted in the wind before settling. “We have to go and see.” 

“I’ll fetch the shotgun.” 

The shotgun was Henry’s answer to everything, so Em didn’t question it. She allowed her husband to lead the way, carrying Dorothy in her arms. The squirmy child was quickly becoming too big for her to hold. Eventually, she wouldn’t be able to at all. But Em didn’t trust Dorothy not to go running off into the wilderness, so she kept a tight grip on her despite the girls wiggling. Nearing the sight of the downed balloon, it was quite a spectacle indeed. The red and white sheeting of the billow was fantastically colored compared to the gray landscape, as was the tan of the woven basket. 

“Anyone in there?” Henry shuffled closer with his gun, clutching it tightly in his knobbled fingers. Both he and Em jumped as something shifted under the mess of heavy fabric. 

Slowly, something moved under the wreckage. A pale hand fought with the canvas, pushing it away. The figure struggled to stand up, grunting and whining in pain. 

“Oh, Lord.” Em was stunned. The girl didn’t look very old; still just at child herself. She was pale and dirty, her long blonde tresses a mess of knots and frizz. There was a fresh sheen of blood coating her entire left arm from a deep gash in the skin, while another oozed from her head, painting the side of her face.  

Henry jabbed his gun at her with a gruff: “who are you?”

The girl didn’t respond, taking a small step forward on buckling knees. She was only wearing one shoe; a shoe that was far too nice to belong to the prairies of Kansas. It was her Sunday best, it seemed. Perhaps she had taken off on a Sunday and had been blown away?  

“I said who are you?” Henry ordered again, pointing the barrel of his rifle into the girls face.

“G…Glin…da.” The name came out weak; barely a sputter. In a cloud of dust she collapsed, eyes rolling back as her body folded under its own weight. 

“Oh Henry!” Setting Dorothy on the ground and shoving her towards her husband, Em immediately knelt to examine the newly arrived stranger. She was very small and thin, possibly from days of aimlessly floating along. Her skin was pale, her lips were chapped, not to mention the blood and wounds. Other than the flayed skin on her upper arm—appearing to have been made by something sharp—she was covered in scratches and bruises. It was hard to tell if they were from the sudden descent of the balloon and its cargo, or something else. “She’s in poor shape, she is.” 

“Anyone else alive?” Henry poked at the balloon, but no one else appeared. 

“Who knows how long this poor thing has been stranded up there.” 

“Looks like one of em’ city slickers,” Henry said, noticing the girls state of dress. “Maybe from um…Nebraska or somethin’.” 

“We can figure out where she’s from later,” Em admonished, brandishing her finger. “Go get the wagon and bring it here; we’ll take her back to the house. Then run into town and fetch the physician.” 

Henry nodded silently at the request, taking Dorothy with him to hitch up the wagon and horse from the barn. Em stayed with the stranger, balling up her apron to try and slow some of the bleeding as it clotted into the dirt. “Don’t worry, Miss Glinda, you’re safe here,” she reassured, patting the blonde’s colorless cheek. “You’re in good hands now.” 

Chapter Text

Glinda
The Twister

5-years-Later 

“Glinda?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Do you s’pose there’s more interesting places in the world than Kansas?” 

The question was so very ‘Dorothy’ that Glinda couldn’t help but laugh. She wasn’t able to see her ten-year-old companion from over her shoulder, but the girl's narrow fingers were woven into her corn-gold hair, expertly folding the locks into a long plait. “Don’t laugh,” she complained, giving the braid a little tug as Glinda stifled her chuckles. “I mean it.”  

“I know you do, hon, m’ sorry.” 

“Kansas is terribly boring. I’m sure there’s more interesting things to see away from Kansas.” 

“I’m sure.” 

“Have you been out of Kansas, Glinda?” 

“Afraid not, child.” Glinda leaned over her gangly, dust smeared knees, picking straw off her earthen colored cotton skirt. Indeed, Kansas wasn’t a very interesting place. It was flat and barren. Standing in the middle of it, a person could see from one side of the horizon to the other, possibly even into the next state over. Still, Glinda often found herself looking to the west, seemingly for no real reason at all. There wasn’t anything in the west to take interest in; just more farmland, more gray, sunbleached prairie, and more endless gray sky. 

Unlike most days, large, dark thunderheads were currently gathering in that direction, adding a rare blot of interest to the normally bland landscape. A proper Kansas storm was coming their way and they’d be in for a noisy night. Dorothy—still just a child and a fidgety one at that—wasn’t of much help preparing for a squall. So Glinda had whisked her off to give Em and Henry space to do what needed to be done around the farmhouse, all without needing to worry about their flighty young niece vanishing mere hours before sundown. “I know Kansas just like you know Kansas, Miss Dorothy.” 

“That’s not true,” Dorothy said, finishing her work and crawling around Glinda’s hip. The child’s big, dewy eyes shined up at her expectantly, brunette pigtails waving in the breeze. “Aunt Em says you’re not from Kansas at all.” 

“You’re right, I’m not from Kansas.” 

“So you must’ve seen other places. You’re older than me.” 

“You needn’t remind me of it,” Glinda moaned, rolling her eyes as Dorothy bullied her way into her lap. “You’re getting too big for this.” 

“Tell me where you come from again.” 

“I told you all I know already. Plenty of times.” 

“Tell me again.” 

“Oh…very well, you pesky thing.” Adjusting to fold Dorothy properly into her arms, Glinda rested her chin on the crown of the child’s head. “I came from the sky about five years ago, when you were still just a little thing.” 

“From where?” 

“I haven’t a clue,” Glinda admitted, furrowing her brows. “Somewhere to the west, or…perhaps not, seeing as the wind can be unpredictable so high up. I arrived here in a balloon, and your Aunt and Uncle took me in.” 

“Why were you in a balloon?” 

“I don’t know. Your Uncle Henry supposes I came from the city somewhere; he says Nebraska, but I think that’s the only place he knows that has a big city.” Dorothy giggled, kicking her feet. “Your Aunt Em claims I was in a rough state when I arrived. That I was never meant to be in the balloon at all. But it’s hard to say.” 

“You don’t remember anything?” 

“No. I’ve got a big ole’ scar on my head from hitting it too hard. The Doctor says that’s what did it.” 

Dorothy, who really was much too big to be sitting in Glinda’s lap, turned herself around so they were face to face. The ugly scar still trailed down from her temple and to the top of her cheek, twisted into her skin like tree-bark. Dorothy touched it with her child fingers, and Glinda tried not to flinch as she did. There was still phantom pain sometimes from a wound long healed. 

“I wish you could remember where you came from, Miss Glinda,” Dorothy whined, flopping down into a limp ragdoll hug which sent Glinda falling onto her back with a huff. “I’m so very bored of Kansas. Aunt Em and Uncle Henry never do anything exciting.” 

“Kansas isn’t a very exciting place besides the storms,” Glinda noted honestly, glancing to the side when there was a familiar yip-yipping just down the way. “That and Toto having his head stuck in a gopher hole.” 

“Oh!” At the mention of her little black terrier, Dorothy immediately rolled from Glinda’s chest, causing her to wheeze for air. “Toto! Toto come back! Let that poor creature alone!” 

Chuckling as the girl scampered off to grab the little dog, Glinda frowned at the quickly approaching storm. The wind was already whipping, while the air was thick with coming moisture. It would be on top of them any second. They needed to be getting back. 

“Glinda! Dorothy!” Em’s crow-call echoed across the flatlands, well practiced from a lifetime hollering from the porch steps. 

“Coming Mrs. Gale!” Standing with a huff and brushing off her skirt and blouse, Glinda notched both hands on her hips. “Dorothy, it’s time to go.” 

“Ok!” Snatching Toto from the gopher hole, Glinda waved the little girl in front of her as they hurried back across the landscape. By the time they crossed the fence-line, the wind was howling and the gray sky had darkened into something vicious. Rain pattered down in fat wet drops, catching in Glinda’s braid as it flew. Thankfully they missed the downpour by mere seconds, leaping onto the porch to avoid getting drenched and scuttling into the warm farmhouse. 

“Oh, you two!” Em chided upon seeing them, her wooden spoon still in one hand. “Makin’ trouble, are you?” 

“Of course not, Mrs. Gale,” Glinda laughed, shaking out her skirt and wiping her nose with a hand. “Just got caught by the rain, that’s all.” 

“You’ve been seein’ those clouds for hours. You should’ve been back long before then.” 

“It wasn’t Glinda’s fault, Aunt Em!” Dorothy insisted, holding up Toto whose face was covered in mud. “Toto got stuck in the dirt.” 

“Now Dorothy, you know how Henry feels about Toto’s muddy paws in the house. Go wipe him off.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Carting the terrier back outside to clean him off, Glinda shrunk a bit under Em’s withering stare. The way her aged face and stormy eyes narrowed with displeasure always made Glinda’s skin crawl a little. The woman always did remind her of someone she possibly knew once, though the original face was lost alongside the rest of her memories. But the emotion was unfounded, as Emily Gale was easily one of the kindest, most nurturing people Glinda had ever met. 

“You’ve got dirt all over you, child,” the woman complained, leaving her skillet to brush Glinda off with her hands. “Thank you for taking Dorothy out. Henry isn’t as spry as he used to be, you know.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Hmm.” Em licked her thumb, using it to clean a smear off Glinda’s cheek. “You’re awfully quiet.” 

“Dorothy asked about it again. That’s all.” 

“That child, too nosy for her own good sometimes.” Em’s palm ghosted across the scar on Glinda’s temple, causing her to wince. “Someday your memories will come back, darlin’. Don’t you worry.” 

“What if they don’t?” 

“Then you’ll always have a home here. I don’t know how we would’ve gotten on without you, child. You were a blessing from God.” 

Accepting Em’s kiss to her forehead with a smile, they both jumped as the door was kicked open. Henry stood, shotgun in one hand and drenched in rain. His face was scrunched. 

“Henry? What is it?” 

“There’s a twister comin’ right this way.” 

“A twister!” Em flung a hand to her chest in terror. 

“It’s ragin’ down from the west. It’ll be on us any minute. Get down to the shelter.” 

“Wait!” Em glanced about the room, realizing Dorothy never came back in. “Where’s Dorothy?” 

“I’ll find her,” Glinda insisted hurriedly, gently nudging her aging caretaker towards the trap door built into the floorboards. 

“There’s no time, Glinda,” Henry told her as she moved to the front door. 

“I’ll be quick. We can’t just leave her out there!” 

“Fine girl, but don’t be stupid, now.” 

“I won’t, sir.” 

Henry nodded his hesitant agreement, leaning his gun by the doorframe and tottering over to help Em down into the cellar. Flinging open the door, Glinda was forced to bring both arms up to her face to protect herself from the whistling wind. The flat landscape—clear only a moment ago—was now dark. Rain pelted the dry earth, creating mud, while the quickly approaching tornado snaked across the horizon like a ferocious beast. “Dorothy!” Pressing on despite the conditions, it was hard to see anything, as the sun was completely gone from the sky besides an orangey streak on the distant horizon. “Dorothy!” 

“Glinda!” 

“Dorothy.” Seeing a silhouette in the dusty black haze, Glinda pressed on, squinting to keep from being blinded. She saw Dorothy before Dorothy saw her, grabbing the little girls arm. She had Toto tightly in her grip, gasping in fright only to immediately grab onto Glinda’s skirt with a cry. 

“I’m scared!” 

“We have to get back to the shelter,” Glinda insisted, pulling the little girl along with her. “Come on.” 

Dorothy held tightly onto her as they ran, but it was difficult to see where they were going. By the time they made it back to the house, the twister was practically on the front porch. Opening the door and tossing her charge inside, Glinda followed suit, grabbing Henry’s abandoned shotgun to shove between the door and wall to keep it shut. The entire farmhouse rattled around them, creaking and groaning in the twister. Dorothy, so frightened, stood dumbstruck in the middle of the room. Before Glinda could even order her down into the cellar, there was a horrible jostle and the ripping apart of wood as the tornado’s darkness swallowed them up. 

Running to grab Dorothy by the waist, Glinda didn’t know what else to do. They were out of time. Pushing the child down onto the closest bed, she still held tight onto Toto, the little dog whimpering and whining in fright. Grabbing onto her with her whole body to shield her, there was a horrific crack as a window frame came loose, allowing the twister entry into the farmhouse. Glinda saw the debris coming before she felt it, using her body to protect the little girl trapped beneath her. Dorothy shrieked in terror, but it was the same pitch as the storm. Glinda’s eyes went wide and her heart stopped beating as the now airborne shutter flew right at her… 

And then everything went dark. 

Chapter Text

Glinda the Good

Glinda was brought back to consciousness with a sudden and violent jolt. Had she not been laying on the bed, such a movement could’ve ended up hurting her. So it was a blessing to have the familiar mattress under her back to cushion the blow. Gasping in shock and sitting up on her elbows, Glinda hissed as her forehead seared with a sharp ache. Right. The twister. Running a calloused palm across her skull there was no blood—thank goodness—but there was a tender bruise already forming under her fingertips. 

“Oh!” Dorothy sat up from where she was curled into her hip, Toto held in her arms. The girl must’ve also been woken up by the sudden jostle, though she looked far better rested than Glinda felt as she stretched out her arms and gave a big yawn. “We’ve landed.” 

“Landed?” 

“We were flying in the twister forever,” Dorothy complained, sitting up on her knees. Her skirt was absolutely filthy, and she’d lost both her shoes at some point, leaving the girl in only her dusty-brown socks. “I thought we’d never come down again.” 

“We can’t have been flyin’ inside the cyclone,” Glinda frowned in confusion, still rubbing her forehead as Dorothy pulled her into a sitting position by the arm. “The winds should’ve ripped us apart.” 

Should’ve, but hadn’t. Taking a look around, the farmhouse was mostly intact. Despite the torn off window frame and various items scattered across the hardwood, the door was still properly shut and locked with the barrel of Henry’s shotgun, while the cast iron stove and cupboards were still buttoned up. The only thing truly amiss was the cellar door, which had been thrown open in the mess to reveal a patch of ground. Rising from the bed, Glinda approached the square hole curiously. 

This was not Kansas ground. 

She knew what Kansas ground looked like. It was often dry, covered in brittle grasses made weak by the blistering sun. There was very little green around the farmhouse except for in the spring; it had been much too hot for green. But the patch of grass now intruding into the farmhouse was lush, the blades soft to the touch and well watered. Glinda had never seen grass so green. 

“It’s sunny!” Dorothy announced, standing on her tip-toes to try and peer out the window. It wasn’t of much use, seeing as the outer panes were painted with mud and dust from the cyclone. “The storm has passed.” 

Dorothy immediately went to the door, only to reel backwards at the sight of the gun. She’d been taught by Uncle Henry never to touch the thing, which was a good habit to instill in a young girl. Patting her head of brunette hair, Glinda grabbed the weapon with a grunt of effort, dislodging it from the handle. She turned it over in her hands and opened the barrel with a sigh of relief. No damage. Henry would kill her if she scuffed his best firearm. 

Distracted for the moment, Glinda didn’t realize Dorothy had thrown open the door and run out into the sunshine, little Toto at her heels. The girl came running back in immediately, tugging at her skirt with a gasp of alarm. “G—Glinda!” 

“Hmm?” 

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore!” 

Glinda furrowed her brows in confusion, glancing from Dorothy and towards the now open farmhouse door. “What do you mean?” 

“Come look!” 

Dorothy immediately grabbed onto her elbow, all but dragging her outside and into the blinding daylight. Blinking wildly and hissing as her skull throbbed, Glinda inhaled a breath of surprise. It didn’t smell like Kansas either. The air was sweet, like sugar-floss and wildflowers rather than dust and livestock. Rubbing her face to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating, Glinda gaped in awe at what she saw. 

The farmhouse had landed right in the center of a little village of neat cottages, all painted varying colors of blue or white with straw roofs and brick and mortar walls. A glen of fruit-bearing trees hung overhead, offering dappled shade, while the ground was both grassy and lush, but also paved with cobbled, multicolored brick. The sky was the brightest cerulean Glinda had ever seen, only the faintest of white clouds scraping the sky. “What’n the hell…?” 

Glancing down at Dorothy, Toto now patiently sitting at her feet, the little girl looked wonderstruck. “I told you. We were flying for an awful long time.” 

“I believe you now,” Glinda agreed, though it was bland in her cheek. She was beyond confused about where they ended up, just as much as how. Unfortunately, the wonder didn’t last. Glinda saw it out of the corner of her eye; a slight flicker of movement in the shadows of the glen. Quickly and without hesitation, she used a leg to push Dorothy back into the farmhouse, blocking the door with her body and raising her weapon. Henry had taught her to shoot in her first few months of living with the Gales. He insisted it was important, seeing as there was livestock that needed to be put down, or the occasional wildlife that needed to be chased off. 

Seeing as there wasn’t much to do in Kansas, Glinda spent more than her fair share of time practicing, shooting tin-cans off the fence. She took pride in her aim, and was now grateful that Henry insisted she learn. Pumping the barrel with an echoing click, Glinda hoisted it expertly just as a figure emerged from behind a nearby tree. Well…it looked like a person, anyway, though it wasn’t the correct size of one. The stranger was draped in swaths of colorful fabric, and had a head of wild black curls, bells jingling from their vest edges. 

The person was no bigger than Dorothy, but certainly didn’t appear to be the same age as her, what with the wrinkles in their sunburnt face. No. Certainly not a child. 

“D—don’t come any closer, now!” Glinda’s hands were trembling in fright, her knees firmly planted to keep Dorothy from possibly running out from behind her. The stranger didn’t say anything, merely took stock of her, the gun, and then something just out of sight. The figure ducked, leaning over to peer at whatever was hidden by the porch. 

“Glinda, look,” Dorothy whispered, clinging to the edge of her skirt to peek around her waist. “There’s more of them!” 

Indeed, heads and bodies were beginning to emerge from every direction. All in the same sort of clothes, all with wild curls and reddened cheeks, all the wrong age to be so uncommonly stout. Still, the idea of being completely surrounded unnerved her, rough fingertips curling harder around the shotgun. She kept it trained on the person closest to them, lips pursed and shoulders taught. As Henry liked to say; ‘don’t be afraid to shoot’. 

“…she’s dead…” the words came out of the person's mouth strangely, and with a funny little accent that Glinda couldn’t quite place. “You killed her.” 

“I didn’t kill nobody,” Glinda spat back, glaring down the barrel of the shotgun. “You best be backin’ up. Don’t think I won’t shoot.” 

The person’s eyes were bulbous as they pivoted, running back towards where the others had begun to gather, staring in a crowd from a safer distance. “Good news! Good news! She’s dead! The Wicked Witch of the East is dead…!” 

Bewildered, Glinda lowered her weapon briefly as Dorothy tugged her hip again. “What did you say to him?” 

“What do you mean, child? I was speakin’ in God's good English.” 

“No you weren’t. You said it in a funny way, I don’t know what you said.” 

Puzzled by her young companion’s claim, Glinda quickly raised her weapon again as the crowd of strangers got closer as one, whispering and chattering amongst themselves in an impenetrable mass. Clearly, their arrival had caused quite a stir. Slipping her finger over the trigger, itching to fire a warning shot just to scatter the crowd, they formed a half-moon shape around the farmhouse. From within the bodies, one was roughly pushed forward. Perhaps as a spokesman. 

“Great sorceresses!” He announced, far louder than necessary seeing as he was so close to the porch. “You have killed the Wicked Witch of the East and freed us from slavery. We are forever in your debt.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Glinda asked, arching a brow. “Ya’ll are talking nonsense now. We haven’t killed nobody, just as I said before.” 

“Is this your house?” 

“Erm…yes, it is. What of it?”

“Look here.” The little man pointed under the porch with a finger. Cautiously, Glinda shifted forward, not releasing her grip on the shotgun. Motioning for Dorothy to stay exactly where she was—noting how the girl also leaned forward in curiosity—Glinda peeked over the side of the now amiss wooden planks. The gasp that left her was sharp. Indeed, underneath the farmhouse was a pair of human legs, dressed in striped socks to the knees and wearing a pair of sparkling diamond shoes. “She’s certainly dead, don’t you think?” 

“Gracious,” Glinda hissed, glancing wildly over her shoulder at Dorothy before looking at the little man now staring intently at her. “Don’t just leave this poor soul out in the open. Find something to cover her up with!” 

“We Munchkins didn’t like the Wicked Witch of the East…” 

“It could be the devil himself under this porch, but that doesn’t change a thing. There’s a child present; she doesn’t need to see this.” 

The little man hesitated before nodding in silent agreement of the request, waving at one of his comrades and whispering into his ear. The second one removed his cape, draping it over the feet sticking from under the porch to hide them. 

“You needn't have any fear of us, great sorceress,” the spokesman said, eying the gun still pointed between his eyes. “You saved the Munchkins from evil. You are our heroine.” 

“If you please, what are Munchkins?” Glinda asked honestly, tilting her head as she returned to Dorothy who subsequently grabbed onto her leg. There was a ripple of laughter in the crowd at the question.

“Why, we are Munchkins, good lady. You are in Munchkinland, and this is our home.” 

“Uh-huh. And where is Munchkinland?” 

“Munchkinland is a country in the Land of Oz.” 

Glinda looked around at the small village in trepidation. “It's awfully small to be an entire country.” 

More laughter. More smiles. Glinda hesitantly lowered the shotgun, rolling her shoulder to return feeling into her fingertips. 

“You have landed at Colwen Grounds in Munchkinland, your Goodness,” the spokesman laughed, giving a little bow. “I am Pestril. At your service.” 

“Pleasure,” Glinda noted with the faintest head tilt. “I’m Glinda, and this is my sister, Dorothy.” Placing her hand on Dorothy’s head, Pestril smiled. 

“From today onwards, you will be known to us Munchkins as Glinda the Good, and Dorothy the Gentle. For you truly must be a very good witch to have guided your house to land on the cruel Wicked Witch of the East. What land have you come from?” 

“Um...Kansas.” 

“Kahn-sas,” Pestril repeated, pivoting to address the crowd. “Glinda the Good and Dorothy the Gentle from the Land of Kahnsas!” 

There were cheers, whoops and hollers as the Munchkins scattered in a hurry. Some went to open their doors and windows, while others grabbed instruments to begin playing music. It was a downright jolly atmosphere, if not for the fact that Glinda still had no idea how they ended up here in the first place. The tornado seemed to have set them down gently—as gently as a twister could, anyway—yet there was still some poor person crushed underneath. 

“Glinda!” Dorothy tugged her skirt to get her attention, a big smile on her young face. “Can I go play?” 

A few Munchkins who did appear to be Dorothy’s age were waving her to them, having climbed up into the fruit trees in the glen fur a better view. Despite her hesitance, these strange little people seemed friendly enough. And Glinda didn’t want to be the one to worry Dorothy if it wasn’t needed. 

“Alright. Just…stay in my sight.” 

“Ok!” 

“Hold on.” Catching the girls arm before she could run off, Glinda stared down at her stocking feet. “What happened to your shoes?” 

“I lost em’” 

“Where?” 

“Out the trap door! I opened it to see where we were and Toto nearly fell out. The wind took my shoes when I tried to grab him.”  

“You can’t go runnin’ around with no shoes. And you’re filthy as sin. Go change first, then come back here.” 

Dorothy nodded, running back into the house to fulfill her orders. While she changed into a clean dress, Glinda slipped off her own shoes. They would be a bit too big for her ten-year-old charge, but it would have to do. The little girl returned in a moment, redressed a pale pink blouse under a dress of blue and white checks. Glinda passed over the footwear, helping Dorothy double knot them so they wouldn’t fall off. With a gleeful shriek the little girl ran off to play with the other children, Toto at her heels. 

She didn’t get to do much socializing in Kansas, which was quite a shame. Besides her days at school, there weren’t many other houses around back home. And though Glinda loved Em and Henry like her own family, they didn’t know much about raising such a young child, let alone keeping one as energetic as Dorothy entertained. Kansas was, if anything, a very lonely place. Keeping an eye on the girl as she began to kick a ball around with some other Munchkin children nearby, Glinda jumped as a figure appeared beside her. 

“Your goodness?” 

“Erm…yes?” 

“These belong to you now.” The little woman, who had wild red hair and a face full of freckles, held up the diamond pair of shoes. 

“O—oh…um?” Not really wanting to wear shoes that belonged to someone dead, Glinda hesitated. But she didn’t want to be rude, either. She’d already been pointing a gun at these poor Munchkins, all of whom were seemingly kind and didn’t seem to care in the slightest that they’d just crashed landed in a farmhouse. She accepted the heels with a terse yet polite nod, waiting till the woman left to slip them on. 

They fit perfectly. 

The shoes were quite pretty, intricately crafted in unique swirls and studded with more clear stones than she’d ever seen in her life. Glinda expected more discomfort, seeing as her Sunday best always made her neck sweat and her toes pinch together. But her feet slid right into the well worn soles like a glove, while her ankles were just as sure in their height as they were in her clogs. 

“Hmm. Not bad.” Giving a little pivot and a small click click click of her heels, Glinda couldn’t say that the ‘Wicked Witch of the East’ didn’t have style. Taking a cautious step, then another, she fell into a familiar stride. It was strange; these shoes reminded her of the single pink pump Em found on her foot the day she arrived at the farm. Clearly, she was used to wearing heeled shoes once upon a time, though she couldn’t remember for herself. 

The festivities continued in full, the Munchkins singing and dancing their hearts out at the death of their supposed enslaver. Glinda lingered by the edges of the tiny village, keeping an eye on Dorothy while exploring this strange new world from top to bottom. It was odd, but the longer she stayed, the more familiar it felt. The colors, though brighter than in Kansas, were not new. The smells in the air and the birdsong in the trees and the babble of the brook. It felt like she had known a place like this once…or at least, something very similar. 

Distracted by her own wandering thoughts, Glinda’s head snapped upwards as there was a terrified shriek of fear. The jolly mood quickly turned dark as a flash of light exploded in the square, followed by the thick billowing of blood red smoke. Without hesitation, Glinda readied her shotgun again, clutching it hard as a tall, sickly-green skinned figure suddenly appeared from within the column. And, left unfortunately before her, was Dorothy. 

“Who killed my sister!” The woman who appeared bellowed her question, inky capes whipping and pointed hat scraping against the sky. She held a broomstick in one hand, though quickly released it as the artifact stood on its own beside her. The earth trembled as the Munchkins cowered back in fear. Dorothy was no better, staring up at the stranger with huge, bulbous brown eyes. A green finger with a long, claw-like nail jabbed into the girls chest, poking Toto in the process who whined. “Was it you, my little pretty?” 

Glinda felt protectiveness get the better of her. She wasn’t afraid of this…this witch, or whoever she was. Perhaps she should’ve been, seeing as she was in an unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar things. Yet there was not a lick of terror in her as she stormed across the courtyard, skirt cracking and diamond shoes glinting in the sun. The green-woman was so occupied sneering at Dorothy that she didn’t see Glinda approaching until it was too late. 

Shoving the barrel of her shotgun into the woman’s throat, Glinda forcefully pushed her away from her sister. She once again used a leg to nudge the child behind her, a small hand curling into her skirt hem from behind. 

“Who do you think you are!” Glinda snarled, snaking her finger around the trigger with a familiar itch. “She’s just a child! How bout’ you pick on someone your own size!” 

The Munchkins were deathly silent. So silent that one could hear the falling of fruit in the trees. Staring down the barrel of her gun at this strange green woman, dressed all in black and now completely at her mercy, Glinda was surprised at how pretty she was. Not a haggard old thing, but quite young. No older than she, even. Sharp green eyes stared back at her, wide open in shocked surprise. The gun was still digging into her neck, but her dark, angry brows quivered upwards into something more akin to awe. 

“Well!” Glinda gave the woman another poke. “Say somethin’!” 

The witch—Glinda could really only assume she was a witch, based on her dark attire—gulped and opened her mouth to reveal a set of gapped front teeth. Her lips quivered and there was an odd shine along her bottom eyelids. Green fingers curled into her palms as her nostrils flared, while her entire body trembled like a leaf caught in a breeze. Achingly slow she reached out, almost as though Glinda herself was the ghost and not the other way around. Like she wanted to touch her, just to make sure she was real. And then the witch spoke, so soft it was almost a whisper between them…like some long forgotten secret. 

“G—Glinda?” 

Chapter Text

Elphaba of Oz 

In Kansas, everyone Glinda met was some variation of peachy gray. It’s true the sun tended to darken skin with time, but in the winter, it all went back to the same color as before. Henry was darker than Em in the summertime, but they matched once the snow fell. 

Glinda was pale too, far paler than Em, or Henry, or anyone in town for that matter. They compared her skin to the cleanest of buttermilk or the smooth outsides of eggshells, and her hair to that of barely heads and cattail stems. Glinda burned harshly and often during her first year on the farm because of her paleness. She was expected to pull her weight if she was to stay, after all. And Em only needed so much help in their tiny, one room farmhouse. So she was outside most days, throwing slop for the pigs and straw for the cattle or fetching water from the well to bring inside for use. 

Not to mention chasing Dorothy around the prairie, having to constantly keep her out of trouble. 

Glinda didn’t like working on the farm much; at least not when she’d first arrived. The work was hard and made her muscles ache. Her once silky-soft palms were gone in a matter of months, replaced instead by raw callouses. The pain from her blistering, sunburned flesh was not something she ever wanted to experience again if she could help it. But with time and routine, she eventually darkened just like Henry did, gaining a new resilience to the sunshine and a light dashing of freckles across her cheekbones and the tops of her shoulders. Her hair changed too, darkening from the pale blonde of barely, to the rich gold of corn or wheat. 

Unlike herself, Em, and Henry, however, little Dorothy had been born dark and stayed dark despite the changing seasons. 

‘You came to us bundled in burlap and sleeping in an orange crate,’ said Em one night when the little girl had asked. Like Glinda, Dorothy didn’t know who her real parents were, either. Em and Henry were the only family she had, and they were both certain to never be mistaken for her mother and father. ‘Your Pa was a fellow from Mexico,’ Em continued on. ‘One of ‘em Spanish speaking types. He worked in the orange groves up east, and your Ma followed him.” 

Of course, when Dorothy asked what happened to her mother and father, Em avoided answering. Henry did too, swatting the girl on the bottom and telling her to ‘git on, now. Ya don’t need’ta be askin’”. Glinda was a bit curious herself, but knew better than to pry. If she knew, Dorothy would try to weasel the answer out of her eventually. And she was dreadful at keeping secrets. Though it wasn’t a bother on the Gale farm what Dorothy looked like compared to the rest of them (so long as she stayed out of trouble), Glinda had sat with her plenty of times, soothing her tears after being teased at school. 

It was hard being a different color in a place like Kansas. That being said, Glinda was most certain she’d remember someone with green skin.  

“G—Glinda?” 

The green woman spoke her name with such softness it made something in her stomach twist. But Glinda didn’t have time for funny feelings. Dorothy was still standing behind her, clinging fearfully to the back of her skirt. She adjusted her grip on the shotgun, the double barrel pressing into soft, grass-green flesh. 

“How do you know my name?” Glinda narrowed her gaze, trying to come up with an answer herself when the green woman was unable to tell her. She just opened her lips and sputtered. “Answer me!” Giving a frustrated jab, Glinda furrowed her brows angrily. “Who are you!” 

“You…you don’t remember me?” The green woman seemed honestly gobsmacked at the news, something almost hurt crossing her face under the brim of her hat. “Glinda, it’s…it’s me.” 

“I ain’t got time for your riddles,” Glinda complained immediately. “I done told you my business. Now you tell me yours.” 

“Why do you sound like that?” 

“Like what?” 

“Glinda I…” the green woman moved to step forward, causing the Munchkins around them to surge in panic. But Glinda held firm, not letting her get any closer with the shotgun as her shield. “Where have you been?” 

“I haven’t been anywhere. Is this some sorta trick?” Glinda felt only frustration at the exchange. Clearly, this green woman was under the impression that they knew one another. And though Glinda had never heard another name like hers back in Kansas, there surely had to be others that shared it, right? “You think it’s funny, threatening a wee thing like my sister?” 

“I didn’t know.” 

“You didn’t know? She’s ten.” 

“Glinda, please. You have to remember me.” 

“I’d sure as hell remember someone like you,” Glinda noted. She didn’t miss how the green woman flinched, her fingers clenching into fists as she slowly lowered her hands, stepping back from the end of Glinda’s weapon.  

“What happened to you?” 

“I’ll ask you one more time,” Glinda warned. “Who are you?” 

“Elphaba. My…my name is Elphaba.” 

Glinda paused, something odd tickling the back of her mind. Elphaba. Why did that name sound so familiar to her? She’d certainly never heard it before…had she? Distracted momentarily by her own thoughts, Elphaba moved like a shadow, her black cloaks billowing with every step. The Munchkins quickly scrambled to get out of her way, ducking aside as though she were poisonous. The woman approached the fallen farmhouse, staring down at the covering which hid the pair of legs sticking from underneath. She crouched, picking the fabric up to see. 

Her shoulders quivered at the sight. 

“…oh, Nessa…”

Lowering her gun, Elphaba had asked who’d killed her sister. Was that sister under the porch? “Where are the slippers?” The green woman turned quickly, her piercing eyes staring out at the Munchkins in wild anger. “The silver shoes! Where are they!” 

“They don’t belong to you, you Wicked Witch,” Pestril said from the front of the crowd, only to cower as Elphaba glared and jabbed a finger towards him. 

“Give them back to me, give them back! Or I’ll…I’ll…” 

“They belong to our Good Witch now, you evil creature!” Pestril continued. “The Wicked Witch of the East is dead! And soon you will be too.” 

There was a cacophony of noise from the Munchkins as Elphaba frowned in confusion. Her gaze found Glinda again, first meeting her eyes, then lowering down to her feet where she still wore the silver heels. The witch’s anger immediately seemed to dissolve. Keeping Dorothy behind her as the woman once again loomed nearer, Glinda was frozen all of a sudden. She caught a whiff of scent that was unfamiliar; something faintly spicy like cinnamon. A clawed hand took her face in an instant, causing her breath to catch and her heart rapidly beat in her chest. 

The Munchkins gasped. 

It wasn’t as much of a grab, more like a gentle caress with a featherlight touch. The gun between them was suddenly a mere paperweight as Glinda’s limbs had turned to jelly. Surely she had become immobilized out of fear, right? She was scared of this wicked witch? Elphaba examined her for a long moment, the look on her face scrunched. But her thumb found the scar which viciously tore down Glinda’s hairline, tracing it slowly. 

“You’re wearing Nessa’s shoes,” Elphaba told her after a beat, her lips wilting into a frown. “My sister's shoes.” 

“I don’t need em’,” Glinda croaked out awkwardly, not entirely sure why she felt the need to appease the woman before her. Just a moment ago she’d kept her at gunpoint. “You can take them if you want.” 

“No, keep them. They…they suit you.” Elphaba’s hand shook, gently pushing back errant strands of blonde hair. 

“Do…do we know each other?” Glinda asked wearily. Her own anger was gone now, replaced only by confusion. 

“I don’t know anymore,” Elphaba croaked, something glistening under the indigo of her hat. “I’ve missed you, Glinda.” 

Glinda had no response. No answers. She didn’t know Elphaba, yet something in her stomach tugged. She leaned into the woman’s green hand, the palm rough against her cheek. This witch wouldn’t hurt her…she knew that, even if they’d never met. How Glinda knew that, she couldn’t say. Unfortunately, the moment was brief. 

“Wicked Witch! Stop in the name of the Wizard!” 

There was a rush of movement. Like the dark itself, Elphaba moved in a blur of black fabric. Her hand left Glinda’s cheek, the nails dragging faintly along the skin. 

“I’ll be back for you!” Elphaba called, whipping around her broomstick and taking off straight upwards into the air. Glinda lifted her arm in the sudden gust of wind, the pop pop pop of gunshots by her ear as the woman vanished into the cloud cover. Then she was gone just as quickly as she’d arrived. 

“…Glinda!” 

Dorothy’s scared shriek snapped Glinda out of her thoughts. A man in a green uniform had grabbed the girl by the wrist, yanking her away. Moving to lift her gun, Glinda gasped as it was ripped away from her. In a blur of dark emerald, hands took hold of her arms, forcing them behind her back. 

“Don’t move, stranger,” someone ordered behind her as she thrashed. “You’re under arrest for aiding the Wicked Witch of the West.” 

“Let go of me!” Glinda hissed, thrashing her body widely. Unfortunately, this was the wrong thing to do as another man took hold of her, forcing her to the ground on her knees as she hissed in pain,  

“Glinda! Glinda help!” Dorothy was pulled away into the mess, vanishing from her sight. The Munchkins were in a panic, running around like chickens with their heads cut off. But Glinda herself could only look to the sky. A dark blot was still visible against the bright blue sky. 

Elphaba…her name was Elphaba. 

Chapter Text

The Emerald City

Glinda was uncomfortable. 

Uncomfortable didn’t even seem like a strong enough word. No, she was completely miserable. Glinda had been sitting on the floor for ages, her wrists bound tightly behind a wooden post. She’d tried and failed to pull herself free multiple times, but the knots were like iron, cutting into the skin around her wrists and making them burn. There was minimal light in the old animal wagon where she’d been abandoned, the floor coated in a layer of dirty straw and the walls made of slatted wooden planks. Gaps in the craftsmanship allowed in some light, but not much. 

By the passing of the sun, she could tell it had been a day, if not almost two. Below her, the rhythmic clip-clop of horse hooves and the squeaking of wagon wheels reminded her that they were on the move. To where, Glinda had no idea. She could only hope that Dorothy was being treated kinder than she was and that she hadn’t gotten herself into trouble again. Toto had a tendency to bite, after all. And Dorothy would be distraught if something happened to him. 

A bullet, for example.  

Then again, Glinda herself may have gotten more favorable treatment if she hadn’t headbutted one of her attackers and knocked out two of his teeth. Henry would’ve laughed, seeing as he taught her how to do that. ‘A pretty thing like you needs to be smart out in the world. A swift buck to the face is all it takes. That or a knee to the ole’ manhood, hey?’ 

His advice was true and she took it to heart. Not everyone was as good natured as Henry, despite his somewhat crabby disposition at times. Unfortunately, knocking someone’s teeth out while surrounded by an entire army of his comrades probably wasn’t the best idea. So she ended up tied to a post in the dark, a disgusting tasting braid of rope caught between her teeth. They’d have to stop eventually, but for what reason, she didn’t know. They claimed she was under arrest and there were laws back home that meant she’d at least get to plead her case. But this wasn’t Kansas, and she had no idea what to expect.  

Maybe she’d be the one getting the bullet instead of poor Toto.

Dozing in and out, Glinda jostled as the wagon suddenly came to a stop. She lifted her head, her entire body aching from top to bottom. The silver shoes remained on her feet, glistening in the straw piles. A guard did try to take them from her, but something shocked him when he got close enough to the rows of diamonds. Glinda hadn’t actually done anything to keep him from taking the shoes, they seemed to shock him all on their own. But he mumbled something about ‘damn witches’ and refused to try again.

So the heels stayed. 

Glinda briefly wondered where Henry’s rifle had ended up, be it left with the Munchkins or brought along for the trip. The old man would certainly chap her senseless if she lost it, so she prayed it was nearby. Hopefully with Dorothy and Toto, wherever they were. Slipping and shuffling against the floor to try and relieve some of the discomfort in her body, Glinda stared up through her loose bangs as the animal wagon slid open. The door rolled on its metal track like thunder, while daylight from outside nearly blinded her. She’d been in darkness for hours, with only a few night stops for a relief break before she was quickly tied back up again.

“…she took a man’s teeth out, Captain,” one of the battalion said. “We had to restrain her for the trip.” 

“You said she was just a girl?” 

“No, sir. The little one is just a girl. This is a woman. And she’s right mean, too.” 

Glinda rolled her eyes at the word. ‘Mean’ was a term used in the schoolhouse, not the military. 

“Hmm. Let’s see how mean this woman is, then.” There was a huff and a jostle as a figure entered the wagon from outside, using the slatted walls for balance. Though he was in silhouette, Glinda knew immediately it was a new arrival and not a man from the group that attacked her once before. His green uniform was the same shade as the rest, but glistened with far more gold braids and buttons, as well as two shoulder epaulets draped in pretty ropes. “What do we have here?” 

He knelt, the light shifting from behind him to finally take his face out of shadow. Familiar. Glinda couldn’t frown with the rope in her mouth, but her brows did furrow as she examined the stranger before her. He looked awfully familiar to her, especially his bright blue eyes that stared from deep-set sockets. His own face started off cocky and hittable—Glinda wanted nothing more than to clock him like she did his comrade—but the expression quickly folded. It flickered between shock, then awe, then confusion all in a span of a few seconds.

“Glinda?” 

Glinda bit down on the rope, feeling her jaw flex. He already knew her name. His awe at her existence matched that of the Wicked Witch of the West. Who were these people? “Glinda! You…I…you’re alive! You’re alive, I can’t…” The man quickly reached out, only to stop when Glinda immediately jerked away, wincing as the back of the post thunked against her skull. “Hey. Hey, hey, hey, I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Glinda somehow doubted that. But she held herself still as the stranger removed the gag from between her lips, allowing her to sputter and cough out its taste. His fingers gently took hold of her face, the palm massive compared to her cheek, cradling it with the utmost softness and care. “Glinda, I can’t believe it. You’re alive. I thought you were dead.” 

“…who…who are you?” Glinda’s voice was just a rasp in her throat. She was so thirsty. The man before her blinked in silence, tilting his head as he opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

“You don’t remember me?” He seemed bewildered, just as Elphaba had been. Glinda could only shake her head wearily, too tired and in pain to really fight for answers. “It’s me. It’s Fiyero. I know I haven’t changed that much.” 

“Everything hurts,” Glinda complained. Fiyero. Fiyero. That name did tickle something in her, just like Elphaba’s had. But it was so very faint. “Please. Please, let me go.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, of course. Hold still.” 

Glinda was surprised at the willingness of this stranger to cut her loose. She gasped as her arms were released from around the post, immediately pulling them close to rub her wrists. Once she gathered herself, however, she formed a fist and lobbed it straight towards Fiyero’s head. Glinda easily could’ve broken his nose had she not been so sore, but his hand swiftly caught her arm, which was the same width as a toothpick compared to his fingers. It wasn’t a cruel hold; it didn’t leave bruises or marks like the others probably had. But he didn’t let her go, even as she tried to pull away, kick, or scratch him.  

“Glinda, stop. Stop fighting me.” 

“I don’t know who you are!” She spat, wincing as Fiyero practically sat on her legs to keep them from kicking him. “I’ve been roughhoused for no god damn reason! It’s unjustified. Let me go!” 

“Glinda, relax. I’m a friend, remember? Come on, you couldn't have possibly forgotten your fiancé?” 

That caused Glinda to pause. She stopped moving, her eyes widening a tick. It was her turn to be bewildered. Fiancé? She didn’t have a fiancé. Not now…not ever, actually. Before she could ask what the stranger meant, she was picked up off the floor in a single elegant motion. Squeaking in surprise, she was tossed over Fiyero’s shoulder like a sack of grain. His strong arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her from escaping him. 

“Put me down! Let me go, you brute!” 

“Not a chance, princess. You need to see the doctor like yesterday.” 

“I don’t need to see nobody except my sister!” Pushing against Fiyero’s shoulder, Glinda huffed a little as they jumped out of the wagon and into the sunshine. 

“What sister? You don’t have a sister.” 

“Who’re you to say if I have a sister or not?” Glinda argued, pounding Fiyero’s back with her fists (which was as useful as pounding a brick wall). “The little girl who was brought here with me! She’s only ten and probably scared to death. If you hurt her, I swear I’ll put a buckshot in ya’ll’s foreheads…” 

“I’ll make sure she’s taken care of,” Fiyero said. “Only the best suite in the palace. Ok? No one will hurt her on my order.” 

“Swear it?” 

“Cross my heart.” 

Knowing she was as good as trapped for now, Glinda blinked as they were suddenly shrouded in green. They had pulled into a large round courtyard where everything—from the ground to the sky itself—was an auspicious shade of emerald. Looming over them was a massive building the size of a mountain, entirely made of greenbottle glass and studded with tiny gemstones. In complete awe of the magnificent structure, Glinda didn’t see Fiyero accept something from one of his men until it was shoved into her nose. Caught off guard, it was a pretty red flower with round petals. 

A poppy? 

Inhaling purely on instinct alone, the flower didn’t smell like much of anything. Earthy, perhaps. Hardly enough to soften her to Fiyero’s manhandling. It only took a moment though for a strange warmth to enter her limbs. She blinked rapidly, her eyelids becoming heavy. Why was she so tired all of a sudden?  

“Just relax, Glinda,” Fiyero said as two large doors opened to grant them entry into the massive green palace. “We’ll find out what happened to you.” 

The only thing that happened to her was being dropped into a strange place by a tornado. But that wasn’t here nor there. Unfortunately she wasn’t able to really defend her case as her brain slipped into hazy, green-tinted darkness. How long she was asleep, Glinda couldn’t tell. But she woke up to voices speaking above her head, and hands poking and prodding at her limbs. 

“…this here? A very deep wound on her upper arm. Haphazardly stitched. Very crude, but quite old. It’s already beginning to fade.”

Glinda felt fingers exploring her upper arm, a prickling sensation extending across the entire surface of her skin. Like the scar on her head, Em told Glinda that she’d arrived in Kansas badly wounded. How she ended up with her arm flayed open like a gutted trout, she didn’t really know. Perhaps it came from falling from the sky? Em wasn’t sure, nor was Henry.

“And her hands. They are rough and work-worn.” 

“The Wicked Witch’s doing, no doubt.” This voice was not one Glinda recognized. A woman’s tone, stiff and heavily accented. “Perhaps she was kept as a slave all these years?” 

“It could be, Madame Secretary.”

“What about her memory loss?” That was Fiyero. He sounded…worried, the slithering of fabric a give-away to his possible pacing around the room. “Why doesn’t she remember me?” 

“I cannot say for certain, but see here? This scar on her head.” Once again, chilly fingers ghosted down her temple. The phantom pain was there as it always seemed to be, lingering under the ugly, whitish tangles of wounded skin. Glinda flinched, her eyes forced open from sleep. The room around her was entirely green, just like outside. She was laying down, staring up at a tall, arched ceiling. There were three people surrounding her: 

At her side was a stout, jolly seeming fellow with bright orange whiskers and a lime-colored coat with pattered lapels. He wore funny crescent spectacles and what looked to be a stethoscope around his neck, but it had a triangle end, rather than a circular one. 

At her feet stood a beautiful woman draped in thick star and moon cloaks, the velvety fabric embroidered in gold to look like blowing storms. Her thundercloud hair was windswept and kept in an intricate style using pins, but her eyes were dark and intense, just like her long, ring-hidden fingers. 

Across the room, pacing, was Fiyero. He’d shed his outer coat at some point, wearing only a skin-tight undershirt that rippled with his movements. This revealed a rather large pistol at his hip, still attached to his belt. 

“…hello, little lady,” the red-whiskered man greeted with a friendly smile. “How are you feeling?” 

“Where am I?” 

“Why, you’re in the Emerald City, dearie.” It was the woman who spoke, approaching the bedside slowly. Despite how beautiful she was, her face was very clearly aged. Not as old as someone like Em, but old enough to have visible wrinkles. She smiled in a friendly way, though it didn’t reach her eyes. Glinda didn’t know why, but she didn’t trust this woman. Not a twig. “You’ve been missing for quite a long time.” 

“But I wasn’t missing,” Glinda told the woman in utter confusion. “I’ve never been here before.” 

“See, what did I tell you?” Fiyero insisted across the way. “She doesn’t know.” 

“Hmm.” The woman rubbed her hands together, rotating a few of her rings. “Doctor? What do you say about this?” 

“I’d diagnose long-term amnesia, Madame Secretary. Based on the severity this scar, it stems from trauma to the head.” 

“I fell,” Glinda sputtered awkwardly, still heavy from the strange effects of the poppy flower. She could barely move her limbs; it felt like she was packed with sand. “I fell…from the sky. Out of a balloon.” 

“You also fell from the sky in a house if I’m not mistaking,” the woman noted calmly, tilting her head a little as Glinda gulped. After all, they had killed somebody on accident. Even if it wasn’t really their fault. “Tell me, dear. What is your name?” 

“Glinda Gale, ma’am.” 

“She doesn’t even know her own name,” Fiyero muttered, still pacing. The woman with silver hair just rolled her eyes a bit as his dramatics, waving her hand in annoyance. 

“Pay him no mind, child. The Munchkins have claimed you are their Good Witch. Glinda the Good, they call you. It’s been spread all throughout the East.” 

“It was an accident,” Glinda told her honestly, feeling the bed sink a bit as the woman sat down beside her. “My sister and I were caught up in a proper Kansas tornado. It took our house right off its foundation and…um…landed it here. On top of that poor woman.” 

“Yes, I know all about the Wicked Witch of the East. Indeed, you’re wearing her shoes. Their magic, crafted by the Wicked Witch of the West for her sibling as a gift, has already bonded to you.” 

“Magic? There’s no such thing as magic.” 

“Perhaps not where you’ve come from.” The woman chuffed, reaching out to gently pick up one of Glinda’s hands. “Not to worry, we’ll have you right again in no time. Do you remember who I am?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“That’s alright. I am Madame Morrible, royal Press Secretary and Magical Confidant to the Great Wizard of Oz.” 

“The Wizard of Oz?” Glinda wearily shook her head a bit, hissing in pain as the Doctor once again began to poke and prod around her scar. “Who is he?” 

“The ruler of Oz itself. This is his home, and you are his guest.” 

“What about my sister?” Glinda swatted the doctor away, moaning a little in exhaustion as she pushed herself up from the sheets. Fiyero approached, perhaps to assist her, but Madame Morrible lifted her flat palm. He quickly backed away again, his brow stern and his lips pursed. “Where is she? Is she ok?” 

“Settle down, dearie, settle down,” Madame Morrible gently pushed Glinda back down into the pillows, re-tucking the blankets over her. “The little one who came with you is quite safe.” 

“Can I see her?” 

“Of course. But it seems you’ve had a rough journey. You must forgive the Wizard’s guard, they’re on high alert with that Wicked Witch in our land. We’ll leave you here to rest for a while, but you and your sister will attend dinner with us tonight as an honored visitor of the Wizard himself.” 

Glinda hesitated. She didn’t want to trust this woman. Her gut was firmly against it, and Henry always told her to listen to her gut. But Madame Morrible seemed so kind. The woman gave her another smile before gathering her cloaks. She waved her two companions along, giving Fiyero a very pointed look when he failed to follow her. 

“Come, Captain,” she ordered, bending a finger at him. “We’ll leave Miss Glinda to rest.” 

“Yes, Madame.” 

Sweeping to the side of the bed, Fiyero picked up Glinda’s hand. He left a lingering kiss on the knuckles before giving a sharp bow, unhappily following Madame Morrible out the door. Had Glinda been paying more attention, she would’ve noticed the woman’s subtle hand wave as a bouquet of red flowers bloomed on the side table. She would’ve heard the metallic click of a lock being thrown from the outside. But the bed was just so soft, and she was so tired. And just like before, as her limbs grew heavy and tingled with warmth, her eyes slipped shut as she was cast into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

Chapter Text

Dinner in the Palace

“Glinda!” 

“Dorothy!” Breaking away from the two guardsmen who insisted on following her down the hall, Glinda ran desperately towards her sister. The ten-year old also had someone escorting her, though he was far less threatening compared to the pair trailing at her heels. They were easily twice her size, carrying green painted rifles with golden hardware. Safe to say knocking a fellow's teeth out hadn’t done her any favors. Capturing the little girl in a hug with Toto squished between them, Glinda felt some weight lift off her shoulders. 

Em would’ve killed her if something happened to Dorothy. And she wasn’t brave enough to cross Emily Gale. 

“I—I thought you were gone!” The little girl wept into her shoulder, clearly having been terrified as she trembled. “I don’t know what any of them are s—saying, and they wouldn’t let me see you! And…and I was so f—frightened…” 

“I know, I know, shh. It’s ok. You’ve been so brave, I’m so very proud of you.” Smoothing down Dorothy’s curls, her dark brown hair had been let loose from its regular pigtails, pulled up into a neat white bow instead. She wore a pretty green dress with a matching jacket, and green-tinted stockings with white shoes. “Did they hurt you?” 

“N—no. They jus’ gave me these funny clothes to wear.” Dorothy picked up her skirt, showing Glinda the strange swirling patterns in the material. “I don’t like green.” 

Glinda couldn't help but smile. Even in the worst situations, Dorothy was never shy about voicing her displeasure. If something irked her, you’d hear about it almost immediately. “I know, sweetling. But I think everything in this place is green.” 

“You don’t look like yourself, Glinda,” Dorothy pointed out, finally stepping back a little to give her a once over. Her girlish face scrunched. “I don’t like it. What happened?” 

“Just a bit of polishin’ up, that’s all,” Glinda reassured. Indeed, her fully green ensemble was far nicer than anything she had back in Kansas. The strange women who came to dress her for dinner had attempted to choose something much more horrendible, with frills and tufts and glitter. But Glinda wouldn’t budge for any of it. She wasn’t a frills and tufts and glitter kind of girl. After nearly an hour of her stubbornness, she was threatened with being dragged out naked, so was forced to settle on a plain but well fitted green dress. It had no embroidery and no extra bits. It didn’t even have sleeves. Just a plain green silk gown with a less-than-modest neckline that made her weary of bending over, and a back that needed to be raised at least two palm lengths.

“Did they hurt you?” Dorothy asked, reaching out to gently touch her. She had some visible bruising on her upper arms from being manhandled, while her wrists were decorated in faint black and blue rings. But Glinda supposed it could’ve been much worse. Unfortunately, seeing as Dorothy was only ten, every injury was a serious one. 

“M’ok,” Glinda told the girl, hoping to assuage her concerns. Dorothy stared up at her intensely, seeming to not quite believe her. 

“You promise?” 

“I done told you I was fine, little Miss,” Glinda chuckled, making a little ‘x’ across her chest. “Cross my heart.” 

“Hmm, ok. Your hair is so long.” 

“All the better for braiding,” Glinda laughed, rising to her feet and taking Dorothy’s hand. “C’mon, we’ve been invited to dinner.” 

“Dinner? You mean we’re staying here?” 

“Erm…I suppose for now? Maybe they can help us get home.” 

“But I don’t like these people,” Dorothy complained, pulling Toto close to her in one arm. “They tried to take Toto away.” 

“Did he bite?” 

“Yes’m.” 

“Then that’s just fine,” Glinda chuckled, giving the terrier a loving pat between the ears. “Good boy, Toto.” 

Relieved that the little dog had done his due diligence in keeping Dorothy safe, Glinda kept a firm grip on her hand as they were brought downstairs. Having never been in a palace before, it felt like the experience should’ve been more awe inspiring. It was nothing like the flat, gray plains of Kansas or the creaky old farmhouse belonging to Em and Henry. Yet the longer they walked, the greater Glinda’s sense of unease became. Not only did she feel a touch queasy, but all around her the tall green rooms suddenly felt very familiar. 

And not in a way she liked. 

Glinda refused to look nervous in front of Dorothy, though. There was no need to worry her if it wasn’t necessary. After all, she didn’t know this place or these people. Maybe they were kind? Though with how she’d been treated so far, Glinda was leaning on the side of not. Dorothy’s head pivoted around in kid-like wonder, dark eyes scanning everything in that curious way of hers. Passing through a large pair of double doors, the hinges creaked, echoing like thunder. It felt much too empty for such a big room, the fireplace alone dwarfing the actual table where only two other people sat. 

“Glinda!” 

There was an echoing chair scrape as Fiyero rose from his seat. He was out of his gold-braided coat, dressed more casually in a white shirt and a vest of deep emerald. He met her halfway, crossing the room in less than four steps. Glinda really wasn’t expecting the sudden proximity. His hand landed on her hip as though it had done so a thousand times before, while he leaned in towards her to place a kiss on her lips. She immediately ducked away, halting the forward momentum with a sharp crack! 

The flat of her hand made contact with Fiyero’s face, causing the man to immediately swivel and gawk at her in surprise. “I beg your finest pardon, sir!” She snapped, hand still raised. “How dare you!” 

Fiyero straightened himself, taking a wide step back. His brows furrowed, something hurt crossing his face. “I just thought…?” 

“I dunno what you thought. But you don’t just come onto a woman like that and expect her to be happy about it! That’s a damn good way to get hit.” 

“B-but you’re my fiancé?” Fiyero awkwardly rubbed his hands together, as though not sure what to do with them. Glinda just shook her head and scowled. 

“I’m no such thing, sir. I dunno who ya’ll think I am, but we’ve never met till just a lil’ while ago. I’m not your fiancé. And if you do that again, I’ll clock ya’ in the jaw instead—!”

“Now, now, there’s no need for that, Miss Glinda.” A shadow came to stand beside Fiyero, the dark, keen eyes of Madame Morrible flickering in the dining room firelight. “It was merely a misunderstanding. That’s all.”

“Hardly a misunderstanding, ma’am,” Glinda complained, putting more distance between her and Fiyero, being sure to keep Dorothy safely behind her leg. “I think ya’ll are still mistakin’ me for someone else.” 

“It’s quite a long story,” Morrible noted simply, glancing down as Dorothy peeked out from behind Glinda’s skirt. “This must be your…?” 

“Sister,” Glinda offered, placing a hand on Dorothy’s hair. “Dorothy.” 

“Dorothy,” Morrible repeated. “Can she speak?” 

“Yes’m. Sometimes it’s a matter of getting her to hush up. Ain’t that right, little Miss?” Glancing down at the girl, Glinda was surprised to see her sister staring bewilderedly back up at her. Hoisting a brow, she gave her a nudge. “Dorothy? Darlin’, I asked you a question.” 

The child screwed up her face confusedly. “No you didn’t. You were speaking in that funny way again.” 

“I wasn’t,” Glinda frowned. “Maybe I need to get your ears checked.” 

“My dear. What language are you speaking?” 

“Language?” Looking back to Madame Morrible, Glinda arched a brow. “Maybe everyone needs to get their hearing checked, cause I’m speakin’ in the Lord’s English.” 

“Hmm. We do not speak that language here in Oz.” 

“Huh?” Glinda tilted her head in confusion, glancing between Dorothy and Madame Morrible. “I don’t follow.” 

“My dear. You are Ozian. You may not remember, but you are. Therefore you speak Ozian and have been speaking our native tongue until just now.” 

“I…no. That can’t be right. Em said the accident knocked the alphabet clear outta my skull. Told me I was babblin’ up a storm; nothing but nonsense, you see? I had to take a whole year to go about talkin’ right again, let alone readin’ or writin’ in a way that’s proper.” 

“Is that why you sound like that?” Fiyero asked, seemingly having regained some of his senses. The man stood behind Madame Morrible awkwardly, his arms folded across his chest. He was looking at her like a puppy did after she accidentally stepped on its tail. Clearly, he’d been expecting her to accept his affection, even if it was unfounded. Now, he was the second person to say she sounded funny. And that got her temper rising. 

“Sound like what! I don’t sound like nothin’! I sound the way I’ve sounded since wakin’ up on that God-forsaken prairie!”  

“You have an accent, dearie. A very strange one at that,” Morrible said, her voice calm. “Settle.” 

“No, I won’t! Since I’ve landed here, I’ve been threatened, manhandled, and insulted! I don’t know who ya’ll are or where I am, and I won’t have any strangers tellin’ me what I ought to know—!” Slamming her foot against the ground in her anger, Glinda immediately knew that was a mistake. There was a white hot flash in her eyes as she was forced backwards into a stumble, her skull exploding in pain. 

“…Glinda!” 

Not sure who in the room shouted her name, her thoughts were swirling dangerously fast. 

“Glinda…!” a voice echoed in her blindness. “Jump! Hurry, jump!” 

“Jump! Me jump?” 

“Yes, hurry up or you won’t make it…!” 

“Glinda?” A hand gently caressed her cheek, the fingertips rough and warm to the touch. “Hey, come back to me, darling.”

Glinda’s eyes fluttered open, still dancing with colored spots. This wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened. Henry was always fussing over her, saying he’d rather not have her fainting dead in the pigsty. If she jostled herself too hard or so much as bumped her head on something, the phantom pain under her scar would blaze to life. The wound had long since healed over, creating the ugly mark down her temple and cheek. But there was still something left behind that she’d never really understood. 

“…ow…” hissing and furrowing her brows, something warm trickled down her upper lip and fell into the valley of her lips. 

“Glinda, are you ok?” 

Fiyero. Fiyero was the one holding her off the floor, his hand cradling the back of her neck. 

“Mm’alright,” she muttered, spreading her palms across the cold marble floor. “Fucking hell…” 

“Glinda! That’s not a nice word!” Dorothy chided at once, appearing above her head with a balled up green napkin in one hand. “Shame on you.” 

“Sorry, sweetling,” she apologized, struggling to right herself, accepting Dorothy’s napkin to stop her bloody nose. 

“What was that?” Fiyero asked, his face crumpled. “Almost went down faster than I could catch you.” 

“That happens sometimes,” Glinda assured him, a headache blossoming behind her eyelids. “I know better than to jostle around too much.” 

“Captain.” Madame Morrible lingered nearby but didn’t hover, a thoughtful expression on her face. She smiled upon meeting Glinda’s eyes. “Bring Miss Glinda to the table. Some food and drink will do her some good.” 

“Yes, Madame. Pardon me, m’lady.” 

Glinda squeaked as Fiyero picked her up off the floor like she weighed nothing at all. Dropped elegantly into a chair, Dorothy quickly followed at her heels, struggling up into the seat beside her with Toto in her lap. When they were properly settled, Fiyero sat down on her other side, offering another napkin to wipe off her lip, while Morrible sat at the head of the table, elegantly folding her hands together. 

“We’ll have a nice meal, courtesy of the Wizard himself. Then, you will be moved into more suitable accommodations.” 

“Suitable accommodations, ma’am?” Glinda wondered, still dabbing at her nostrils with a wince. 

“You’ve done Oz a great service, killing the Wicked Witch of the East.” Morrible’s lip curled as her head tilted ever so slightly. “It has already been decided, dear. You are our new Good Witch, therefore you’re to be properly treated like one.” 

Chapter Text

Ginda and Fiyero

“Glinda?” 

“Hmm?” 

“When are we going back to Kansas?” 

Glinda was helping Dorothy out of her dinner dress and into one better suited for sleeping when she asked the question. Night had fallen in the city of emeralds, though the dark still shone with a faint glittering of jade light. They’d been moved from the guest rooms into a bigger and more extravagant part of the palace, just as Madame Morrible had promised. It was four times the size of the Gale farmhouse, with many different rooms behind ornate wooden doors. There was seemingly only one way in and one way out, that being a rather large golden gate near the staircase, two guards with rifles stationed beside it. Clearly, leaving wasn’t necessarily permitted despite the newly lavish surroundings. 

The bedchamber was more like two rooms combined, a massive, circular bed big enough for a fully grown heifer turned down with silky green sheets. They were originally given separate rooms–the big one was only meant to be for her–but Dorothy threw a fit at the idea of having to spend the night in a strange place alone. They slept in the same small bed in the farmhouse, seeing as there was no room for a third unless Glinda wanted to sleep on the floor. So having a bed all to herself was downright intimidating to someone like Dorothy, who was used to having her close enough to touch. 

“I thought you didn’t like Kansas?” Glinda removed the ribbon from her sister’s hair, neatly rolling it around her fingertips and setting it on the nightstand. “You said it was boring.” 

“That was before. This place is so very strange, and I miss Aunt Em and Uncle Henry.” 

“I miss em’ too,” Glinda agreed. “I hope they’re getting on ok without a farmhouse to sleep in. I suppose Mrs. Gulch would offer a room in the church while they rebuild.” 

“Not Mrs. Gulch,” Dorothy complained with a nose wrinkle, bending over to scoop up Toto who was impatiently circling, waiting for her attention. “That wicked old witch.” 

“Now, now, none of that, little Miss,” Glinda chided, pulling back the blankets for Dorothy to crawl into bed. “You should’a been keeping better watch over Toto so he didn’t get in her garden. Then he wouldn’t have bit her and she wouldn’t have chided you.” 

“She’s mean and always swings her nasty old broom at him; he was just defending himself.” 

“Settle in,” Glinda ordered, reaching out to adjust the pillows as Dorothy released Toto to lay between her legs. “Bedtime.” 

“What if we never get home to Kansas, Glinda? I don’t want to live here.” 

“We’ll find a way. But growing girls need their sleep.” Sitting at the edge of the bed and tucking an errant hair behind Dorothy’s ear, Glinda gave her a smile. “Do you want a story or a lullaby tonight?” 

“Lullaby.” 

“Alright. Get cozy and close your eyes then. No opening em’ now or the sandman’ll miss you.” 

“Goodnight, sis.” 

“Goodnight, sweetling.” Leaning in to kiss Dorothy on the forehead, the brunette rolled over and got comfortable. As she did, Glinda began to rock and hum a little tune. When she was certain Dorothy was actually trying to sleep and not just pretend, she got up from the bedside to begin her own nightly routine. Choosing a very simple white frock and matching silken shawl for bed, she was sitting at the vanity brushing her hair when a light knock came at the door. Glancing at Dorothy to make sure she was really asleep (she was), Glinda hesitantly got up to answer, slowly peeking out into the hallway. 

“Fiyero?” 

Fiyero stood a few steps from the door, looking a touch awkward as he bobbed on his heels. He was in a simple undershirt and green trousers, fully undressed from his guardsman uniform. Unlike before–when he was well-kept and unfamiliar–something about him with his chest exposed and his chestnut hair tousled tickled something inside her skull. She opened the door a little wider, pushing her hair over one shoulder as she gave the man a puzzled brow. “It’s a bit late to be callin’ on a lady, don’t you think?” 

“I…um…?” Fiyero was staring at her with the biggest blue eyes she’d ever seen. He raised a hand to hold the back of his neck, rubbing it nervously as though he’d never interacted with a woman before. 

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” 

“You just look really lovely tonight, that’s all,” Fiyero managed after a beat, clearing his throat into his closed fist. “I wondered if you’d accompany me for an evening stroll?” 

“A stroll?” Glinda tipped her head. “It’s gotten dark.” 

“The Emerald City is quite lovely at night,” Fiyero told her, looking so pleading that she almost couldn’t say no. His expressions were very unlike the cold and stoic captain of the guard she’d met just that morning. And something inside of her tugged in fondness for him, despite their altercation in the dining room earlier. “You’ll never see anything like it.” 

“Oh…alright. But we can’t go far; my sister is asleep. She’ll spook if she wakes up and I’m gone.” 

“Of course. I know the perfect spot.” 

Nodding, Glinda ducked back into the room to put on a pair of satin slip-on shoes, double checking Dorothy to make sure she was truly down for the night before meeting back up with Fiyero in the hall. Closing the door as silently as she could, the man gave her a dazzling smile and offered a polite elbow. 

“Shall we, m’lady?” 

Seeing as she didn’t know where they were going, Glinda accepted the arm. Though, she only held it with one hand, keeping a respectable distance otherwise. Henry would have swatted her good if he knew she’d been out with a fellow without his knowing. Especially one as forward as Fiyero, who her grumpy old caretaker would’ve taken a shot at the moment he crossed the fence. Em would’ve given her a tongue lashing too, seeing as there were ‘rituals’ in Kansas that young men were expected to follow in order to court a girl. Those rituals didn’t include tossing her over his shoulder, nor calling upon her in the dead of night when she was hardly proper to be seen. She hated to admit it, but she too was already beginning to miss the familiarity of Kansas. It was less confusing, certainly, despite how downright dreary the prairie could be. 

“I meant what I said,” Fiyero told her, interrupting her thoughts.

“When you said what?” 

“That you looked beautiful.” 

“Oh. Thank you kindly.” Accepting the complement with as much grace as she could manage, Glinda pursed her lips and ducked her head. She’d never been alone with just Fiyero until now. There were always other people around, be it Dorothy or Madame Morrible, or even just the other guardsmen. And despite knowing Fiyero was a stranger there was something…odd…pulling in the pit of her stomach. A distant heat that made her a touch warm in the tops of her cheeks. After all, she’d been courted plenty in Kansas; there wasn’t another young woman in town that looked like she did. But none looked quite as handsome or were as strapping as the green-clad captain of the guard. 

Green. Glinda furrowed her brows in thought, the strange and green Elphaba immediately flickering through her mind. Shaking her head as they descended a short set of marble steps, Fiyero pushed open a pair of glass doors. This led out onto a balcony, the smooth, bottle glass banister overflowing with piles of white and green blooming flower bushes. It smelled heavenly, and indeed, the view of the city was quite breathtaking. The mesmerizing buildings seemed to go on for miles in every direction, the palace directly at the center of it. Down below, the streets were bustling with activity, people not seeming to mind one bit that the green-tinted sky was full of glittering stars. In Kansas, it was almost written in scripture that everyone was in bed by nightfall. 

“What do you think?” 

“It’s beautiful,” Glinda noted simply, leaning on her hands to have a better look over the edge. Her heart skipped a beat as Fiyero loomed beside her. She hadn’t felt a lick for him downstairs; nothing but annoyance at being come onto so suddenly. But here alone, her body responded to Fiyero in way’s she didn’t really understand. Like it knew him better than her brain did. “But why’d you bring me here?” 

“To talk.” Fiyero leaned against the banister beside her, barely any space between them. “To see you.” 

“Fiyero.” Glinda ducked her head again, only to feel a hand gently take her chin, tilting it back so they were face to face. “I dunno who you see in me, but I’m not that girl.” 

“You have her face,” the man croaked, his thumb gently caressing the curve of her cheek. Why she was letting him touch her this way, Glinda wasn’t sure. It was in her mind to swat him and make a run for it. But she was pinned down, her heart fluttering and her cheeks warm. “I just wanted to see you like this again. Without everything else.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like how I remember you being the day that I lost you.” Fiyero’s voice trembled, his lips curling as something pained crossed his face. “Glinda, Oz, I–I thought…I thought you were dead. I thought she killed you.” 

“Killed me?” Glinda didn’t understand. She couldn’t, seeing as Fiyero was talking to whomever he thought she was. A dead girl, apparently. Something that made her fully quiver in discomfort. “Who are you talking about?” 

“The Wicked Witch of the West.” Glinda’s heart stopped beating. She froze, blinking in shock as she pulled away from Fiyero’s touch. This caused him to startle as well, a crease of worry forming in his brow. “What? What’s the matter?” 

“Elphaba.” 

Fiyero’s worry morphed into visible unhappiness. “You remember…her?” 

“N–no. I met her in Munchkinland,” Glinda admitted. “She told me her name.” 

“Did she touch you anywhere?” Fiyero reached out, taking her hands and holding them tight. “She didn’t hurt you, did she? I’ll kill her…” 

“Fiyero, no. I–we landed here unexpectedly, you see? A twister like nothin’ you’ve ever seen. And it landed on a poor soul. And that poor soul was…was the witch’s sister.” 

“The Wicked Witch of the East is not someone you should be grieving for,” Fiyero told her, still clutching her fingers as though she’d vanish if he let go. “They’re both no good.” 

“But that was her family,” Glinda chided. “It’s only natural that she wanted to grieve.” 

“The Wicked Witch of the West only has hatred in her heart,” Fiyero rebuffed. “Glinda, please listen to me. You mustn't give a second thought to that…that creature. She’s a murderer.” 

“What happened to the girl you see in me?” Glinda asked, causing her companion’s anger to melt away again into anguish. “You cared for her very deeply.” 

“We were in love. And I…I was such a fool, taking that for granted.” Fiyero caressed her face again, this time with more urgency. “Glinda, I’m so sorry. For everything.” 

“What happened to her, Fiyero?” 

“I was told that the Wicked Witch pushed her off a balcony,” the man whispered, causing Glinda to feel an odd sense of dread prickle inside her. If the story were true, what a terrible way to go. 

“Why?” 

“Jealousy, anger, spite? It could’ve been anything. No one really knows. B–but you’re somehow here, alive. By Lurline’s miracle, Glinda, you survived. And I’ve missed you so much.” 

Glinda didn’t know what to say. What could she say? So distracted by how to respond to her companion’s grief, she was caught off guard as he pulled her close by the hips and kissed her. It was Glinda’s first instinct to stiffen and push him away, but her body seemed to know Fiyero’s touch. She fit perfectly against him, melting into his embrace as her lips parted for his attention. Having never kissed a fellow before, Glinda wasn’t expecting it to feel as natural as it did. His hands rested on her narrow hips as she snaked her arms around his neck, leaning against his sturdy chest. His tongue swiped the bottom of her lip, tasting the flesh. 

Then, like a clap of thunder, she realized what she was doing. 

Glinda gasped against Fiyero’s lips, giving him a light shove as she reeled on her feet. Her back hit the balcony, heart suddenly racing with adrenaline. What in God’s name had gotten into her? 

“Glinda?” 

“I…I gotta go.” And she ran, leaving Fiyero where he was as she darted back inside. Holding a hand to her chest to try and slow her heart, she went to the first guardsman on duty she could find. “Take me back upstairs.” 

The order was heeded immediately, the guard escorting her back the way Fiyero had brought her down. As she was returned to the upper part of the palace, the golden gate by the staircase was closed and locked behind her. Refusing to look over her shoulder just in case she’d been followed, Glinda sprinted back to the bedroom, resisting the urge to slam the door open. Instead, she crept in so as to not wake Dorothy. She didn’t make it very far though, collapsing with her shoulders against the door as she held her face. She was Glinda from Kansas. She wasn’t from Oz or whatever this place was called. She didn’t know Fiyero. He’d come onto her. He’d kissed her without permission, which would’ve gotten any man clocked good back home. So why the hell had she let him? 

Why the hell had she kissed him back?

Chapter Text

The Homestead 

(5-years-ago) 

Glinda shot up in the middle of the night. The bed creaked as she did, very old and well worn iron springs whining under her body weight. Her heart was racing, thumping rapidly against the back of her ribcage, while her skin was sticky with a feverish sweat. 

The little farmhouse was dark and her head still ached like nothing she’d ever felt before. 

Bringing both hands to her face, the buzz in her skull was so loud. But there was something else too, tucked so far back into her thoughts it almost wasn’t there at all. Glinda couldn’t remember how she ended up at the homestead of the farmer, his wife, and the little girl with brown hair. But she was deeply missing wherever she’d come from before. Glinda could feel it in her chest; how it was sore with loss, pain and confusion. She’d been trying to reach for someone, her hand straining from how desperately she held it out. 

But whatever she was reaching for was long gone, slipping through her fingertips like smoke. 

Not realizing she’d begun crying, Glinda winced in fear as light from an oil lantern suddenly illuminated the tiny single room. The farmer’s wife was awake now, perhaps disturbed from sleep by her noisemaking. The little girl and the farmer remained across the room in the single big bed, while she rested in the smaller single one previously belonging to the child. 

“I—I’m sorry.” Glinda spoke in a language she thought was right, but the weathered old woman just shook her head. 

Glinda knew something terrible had happened to her. It simply must’ve. She wasn’t speaking right; not a single soul in this place could understand her. Not the farmer, who looked at her with distrust in his old, marbled eyes. Not the farmer’s wife, who’s pinched old face scared her at first, but turned out to be very gentle and kindly. Not the doctor, who’d come only a few days before and stitched up the wound in her head as well as the gash in her arm. And not the very little girl, who stared up at her like she was the sun come down from the heavens. 

Glinda didn’t understand a single thing. She was very lost and missing someone (or something) that was but a flicker in the back of her skull. And to her—being so utterly clueless—Glinda couldn’t even say what it was she was missing. Be it a person, a place, or a thing, she simply had no idea. She had nothing besides painful wounds, a single pink sandal with no partner, and the nightmares she’d had every night since arriving. 

Sitting on the little bed quivering like a child, Glinda tasted the salt of blood as it dribbled from her nose and between her lips. Bleeding happened a lot, seeing as she’d cracked her skull open just above her ear. The farmer’s wife tsked at the sight, bringing a wet towel from the cistern and pressing it gently against her face. She said something—a jumble of words Glinda couldn’t begin to comprehend—but they were soothing nonetheless. 

The woman petted her blonde hair and wiped away her tears in the dark. The farmer said something from the other bed, only to be quickly shushed by his wife as he grumbled and rolled over. Eventually Glinda was coaxed back down to rest as well, remaining very still as the old woman changed her bandages, smoothing the cotton patches across her temple with a thumb. 

Glinda didn’t feel safe enough to close her eyes again. Not even as the farmer's wife gently tucked an old quilt around her and returned to bed with her husband. She couldn’t sleep, so she stared at the dark, cobweb ridden ceiling instead. For a while she tried to remember. She tried to remember anything, but it was just a big empty hole besides the flickering moments of loss and the terror of falling from the sky in a wicker basket. 

Still, she supposed things could’ve been worse. 

Despite not knowing who she was or where she’d come from, Glinda was glad to be in the presence of such kindness. She was lucky for that. There were plenty of unkind people in the world, and she could’ve ended up much worse off. Instead, she slept fitfully in a dark farmhouse, soothed to rest by a gentle stranger. And until her memories came back…she supposed that was the most she could really ask for. 

…

..

Glinda sat on the worn step of the old farmhouse, her gangly knees tucked up into her nose. The dress she wore was simple; just a sheath of old fabric the farmer's wife had patchworked together. She didn’t know if she liked the skirt; it felt a bit too simple in her eyes. But she didn’t dare complain, seeing as the couple had so kindly taken her in. 

Of course, taking her in hadn’t come free. 

Opening her hands to stare at them, Glinda whimpered at the bright red skin and open callouses now splitting just below her finger joints. She’d been hauling buckets of water to and from the house for nearly an hour, filling up the cistern which was practically empty. The buckets were heavy and made her shoulders ache, while the iron handles were rough and tore up her palms. She had very soft hands, apparently, as it only took a few buckets to form the first of many painful blisters. 

But the cistern was full and the work was over until the old farmer found something else for her to do. In the distance, the brown haired girl was tottering in the chicken yard, scattering grain from a little bag. Inside the house, the old woman was preparing the evening meal. Staring out at the gray, flat landscape with a heart full of loss and burning palms, Glinda jumped when a shadow appeared beside her. 

The old man plopped down on the step, not bothering to speak as she couldn’t understand him anyway. He was thin and spindly, with a face that held many deep wrinkles. An old wooden pipe was notched between his crooked teeth, and he smelled like the barn and plow. Glinda winced as he grabbed her thin wrist, pulling it towards him. 

“Beh.” The noise wasn’t a word, or at least Glinda didn’t think it was. It was just a sound, a chuff of air, though it was unclear if it was pleasant or not. She tried to pull her hand back from him, only to get a firm squeeze in return. A silent order not to move. So she didn’t, her shoulders coiled in preparation for possible punishment. But the old man just whipped an old cloth from his overalls pocket, using his teeth to tear it up. And with surprising speed, he wrapped up her hands. 

“…thank you…” 

He couldn’t understand her, but there wasn’t a need. The old man just tilted his head, rising to his feet and brushing himself off. Glinda thought he’d leave her be to wallow in her unhappiness, but an old boot gently tapped her ankle, drawing her eyes. The farmer crooked his finger at her—a motion to follow him. There was more work to do. 

Glinda slumped, barely withholding a groan of despair. She didn’t know where she’d come from before, but a place with lots of manual labor wasn’t it. Still, she stood up and straightened her patchwork skirt, running a hand down her blonde braid. The farmer was allowing her to stay in his home. 

The least she could do was make herself useful in return. 

Chapter Text

Glinda and Elphaba

Glinda was snatched from her dreaming by a pair of rough hands. 

Feeling them wrap around her arms, she gasped in surprise, filling her lungs preparing to scream. But a palm quickly curled over her lips, cutting it off just as fast. Thrashing and kicking as she was pulled from the blankets and across the floor, her bare feet slid across the chilly marble. Dorothy was still fast asleep, her and Toto safe and warm as she was dragged through the bedchamber. Twisting and turning, trying to see who’d gotten ahold of her, Glinda was brought through a tall glass door, one that led onto a small outer balcony. 

The morning air was crisp against her skin, a strange whitish fog now settled over the city. They were high enough not to see what was below, the buildings and streets just faint green blurs in the morning. They got fog like this on the prairie sometimes; so thick and pale it was impossible to see what was right in front of your nose. 

“…shh, shh, it’s ok. Don’t panic.” 

Glinda huffed as she was roughly turned around, a hand still on her mouth while another was splayed across her chest. She shivered in her silky night slip, suddenly very aware that she wasn’t wearing much of anything. A pair of sharp green eyes stared into her, intense like the shimmer of green-bottle glass. The Wicked Witch. “Relax, Glinda. It’s just me.” 

Glinda wasn’t sure how she was supposed to relax with this strange green woman practically on top of her. The same strange green woman who was supposedly an enemy of the state, no less. But despite what little muscle she’d developed working on the farm, her mystery visitor was even stronger. She could fight as much as she wanted, but she wasn’t moving an inch until the witch let her. Closing her eyes, Glinda didn’t know what else to do. The fearful whimper which escaped her was as true as anything else.

This seemed to soften her attacker, her ratty black cloaks catching in the soft morning wind, face partially hidden by the brim of her hat. “If I let you go, will you scream?” 

Hesitantly, Glinda shook her head. She didn’t want the witch possibly hurting Dorothy, nor was she really looking to get thrown off a balcony first thing in the morning, either. Remaining very still, the Wicked Witch—Elphaba, Glinda reminded herself—slowly removed her hand, long nails twitching as she rolled her fingers against her palm. 

“W—what do you want from me?” Glinda didn’t mean for her voice to stutter, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart was racing a million miles a minute…though, it was thumping awfully deep for just a bit of fright. “If it’s about the slippers, I said what I meant. You can have 'em back.” 

“I don’t care about the shoes.” 

“Then why are you here?” 

“I care about you,” Elphaba told her, one green hand still gently pressing her against the wall. “This place is poisonous. I hated leaving you to them.” 

“They’ve been plenty hospitable,” Glinda noted plainly, though her brows furrowed. “Besides how I got here, anyway.” 

“Did they hurt you?” 

“A bit.” Lifting a hand, Glinda showed off her rope-bruised wrists. “Never been so humiliated in my life. But Fiyero put a stop to that right quick.” 

“Fiyero.” The witch’s green face twitched, her dark, scarred brows crinkling. She had a big gash through the right side of her face, leaving a long, pale line where hair no longer grew. It reminded Glinda of her own scar. “Captain of the Guard.” Elphaba sneered. “Pathetic man.” 

“Persistent fella if I ever met one,” Glinda reflected, not having forgotten about the kiss from the night before. It wasn’t welcome, even if she hadn’t fully hated it. Fiyero was kissing a ghost, after all. A ghost she just so happened to look like. Speaking of ghosts: “Did you really push a girl off a balcony?” 

“What? No, I didn’t. Don’t listen to anything these tyrants tell you. It’s all lies.” 

“So you go draggin’ young ladies out of their beds for fun, then?” Tilting her head, Elphaba stared back at her. After a beat, her green lip quirked. 

“Point taken.” Elphaba stepped back, her nails dragging down the skin of Glinda’s exposed collarbones. “Sorry.” 

“Scared me half to death, you wicked thing,” Glinda scoffed, pulling down the hem of her nightdress out of habit. She slept in an oversized gown that fell to her ankles back home; she wasn’t used to being so exposed. Especially not when Elphaba herself was wearing very tight black clothing that might as well have been moulded directly to her skin “You’re the talk of the town around here, you know.” 

“I know.” 

“So what’re you doin’ on my balcony first thing in the morning? Seems kinda reckless, don’t you think?”  

“The fog is thick enough. I just…I needed to see you again.” 

“It seems like everybody knows me, but I can’t say the same,” Glinda argued in sharp annoyance, pulling at her long locks of blonde hair to begin braiding it. It was habit by now, not letting it hang loose. On the farm, there were too many things for it to catch on, while the braid protected her neck from the blistering Kansas heat. It was nearly down to her tailbone these days and Glinda had mind to cut it, but Dorothy was aghast at the mere thought. She loved Glinda’s long tresses as though they were her own, and would certainly weep if she ever lopped it all off. 

“You really don’t remember anything?” 

“‘fraid not,” Glinda answered. “Ya’ll are chasing a ghost of someone. And that someone ain’t me.” 

“What do you remember?” 

“Just what I was told by my folks back home. And that is none of your business, Miss Wicked Witch.” Swinging her braid after knotting the end over itself to create a makeshift tie, Elphaba looked very odd on the balcony. She was a dark splotch against the white, foggy morning horizon. “I held a gun to your throat just a few days ago. I could’ve blasted a hole in your head the size of a corncob. What do you want from me, Elphaba?” 

“We were friends.” 

Glinda paused, blinking in surprise. Of all the things for the wicked witch to claim, friendship wasn’t one of them. Elphaba was suddenly meek where she stood, her green hands clasped in front of her, fingers intertwined. The woman’s face scrunched at its center, as though she were trying hard to recall something. “The girl who…I think you are? We were friends. We went to school together.” 

“School?” Glinda tilted her head. Now she knew she wasn’t the right girl, cause she wasn’t speaking a lick of sense upon falling out of that balloon. “They have schools for witches?” 

Elphaba laughed, her shoulders losing some tension as she shook her head. 

“Kinda. We were in sorcery studies together, even though she wasn’t very good at it.” 

“Hmm. There’s no such thing as magic where I come from,” Glinda noted primly. “Though I desperately wish there was. Hard labor isn’t any good for a young lady's hands.” Mindlessly rubbing her palms together, Glinda blinked as Elphaba stalked closer. Like a shadow she moved without making a sound, completely shrouded in darkness as her green fingers wrapped around her pale wrist. 

Achingly slow, Elphaba used her long nails to gently run down the inside of Glinda’s palm, observing the mess of hardened blisters and calluses she’d earned over the years.  

“What happened to you?” Elphaba glanced up at her, green eyes suddenly very intense. “What is this?” 

“Just a bit of hard work. I done told you that,” Glinda chuckled, only for it to quickly die as Elphaba suddenly lunged forward. It was a quick motion, too fast for her to really duck out of the way. Strong arms wrapped around her, dragging her into a tight hug. “M—Miss Elphaba, what’re you doing?” 

“I missed you, Galinda.” 

Galinda? She knew that name. She knew that name, didn’t she? 

“What did you just call me?” 

“Galinda?” Pulling away, Elphaba was standing very close to her, the two of them practically chest to chest. Green hands shook as they rose to cradle her face, the skin just as rough and worn as her own. “That’s your name. Glinda is just a nickname.” 

“I…it can’t…it can’t be, though.” Glinda swallowed hard, though the breath went down as easily as a rock. Galinda. Ever since waking up from her fall, the name Glinda never felt quite right to her. It wasn’t wrong—Glinda was most certainly her name—but it just wasn’t complete. Galinda. Galinda. That…that was her name, wasn’t it? 

“You’re bleeding.” Elphaba’s voice held a note of concern in it. Glinda rapidly blinked out of her thoughts, wincing as her head gave a single, painful pulse of unhappiness. “How often does that happen?” 

“More than it should,” she said, awkwardly accepting a raggedy handkerchief Elphaba had pulled from her pocket. “Thank you.” 

“Are you ok?” 

“This just happens sometimes, it’s alright.” Dabbing blood from her lip, Glinda felt Elphaba’s hand gently pull her head around, green eyes keenly observing her. She didn’t know why exactly Elphaba had such a fascination with her besides looking like someone she once knew. Yet she couldn’t seem to mind the touch; not like she did with Fiyero. Why she was so hypersensitive to his touching her, Glinda had no idea. Perhaps it was just the fact that he was a fella? And it was all wrong for a boy to be touching a girl without courting her first. Elphaba wasn’t a boy, therefore it didn’t matter if she touched her…right? “The Doctor back home said I cracked my head open and all the thoughts fell out,” Glinda said, awkwardly clearing her throat. “I don’t got much left up there.” 

“No.” Elphaba’s hand held the side of her head, pushing errant blonde hairs away from her scar to observe it. “This was serious.” 

“As serious as an injury can be,” Glinda claimed, her heart racing with how Elphaba’s thumb gently traced the branches of the old wound, her nail rippling across the twisted flays of pale tissue woven into her head. “You have one too.” 

“Not like this,” Elphaba sighed. “We can fix it.” 

“We?” Glinda arched her brow in confusion. “We who, exactly?” 

“Come back with me.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Glinda, there’s no one you can trust in the Emerald City. All of them are liars.” 

“I hardly know anyone here, including you,” Glinda claimed, causing Elphaba’s mouth to open, then close sharply. “I’m sorry I look like the girl you’re missing, but I’m not her.” 

“I’ll find a way to fix this,” Elphaba insisted, grabbing her hands and giving them an urgent squeeze. “Glinda, I promise.” 

Not sure what that meant, Glinda jumped as there was a loud BANG from inside the bedroom. Toto immediately began to bark and Dorothy screamed in terror. 

“Stop in the name of the Wizard!”

“I’ll fix it,” Elphaba insisted again, grabbing Glinda’s head and placing a kiss on her cheek. “Hold out, my sweet. I’ll be back for you. I’m sorry.” 

Glinda was utterly flummoxed, but didn’t have time to stay that way as something exploded very close to her face. It wasn’t close enough to cause any harm, but there was a very bright flash which blinded her, causing her to stumble backwards onto her hands and knees. In a whoosh of cold air the Wicked Witch grabbed her broomstick and dove over the balcony, accompanied by loud gunfire as she whipped off into the sky. 

“Glinda! Glinda, are you ok?” 

Fiyero was by her side in an instant, his palms on her shoulders as she tearfully rubbed her eyes which had quickly become irritated in a plume of reddish smoke. 

“I—I’m ok, Fiyero.” 

“Agh! That Wicked Witch,” the man spat, grabbing onto Glinda’s arms as she was helped to her feet. “Did she hurt you? Glinda, answer me.” 

Glinda didn’t. She couldn’t, too busy blearily staring up at the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of a dark silhouette. There was a distant pang of loss behind her ribs, something old yet familiar that she hadn’t felt in a long time.  

Hold out, my sweet. I’ll be back for you.

Chapter Text

Oz the Great and Terrible

“We are so glad you’re alright, dear. Coming face to face with the Wicked Witch of the West must’ve been quite thrillifying for you.” 

“Ma’am, may I ask a question?” Glinda held a green-porcelain teacup in her hands, trying not to let them shake from the somewhat hectic morning she’d had. Not just coming face to face with the strange Elphaba again, but also having to try and calm down her terrified sister who was as easily spooked as a horse in a twister. Madame Morrible had urged her into a small, cozy office for a cup of tea, where they were now. 

The woman sat behind a large wooden desk, draped in dark blue velvet cloaks that were patterned like a whipping wind. The shelves and sills were covered in small mechanical trinkets; things that ticked, whirred, and chimed faintly. Some of them resembled the old iron weathervane back on Henry’s barn, and it made Glinda wonder if the instruments were somehow related. 

“Of course my dear, you may ask whatever you need.” Morrible gave her a friendly smile, using a finger to magically stir her tea. “I’m sure such an attack was quite confusifying.” 

“What has El—the Wicked Witch—done to be so feared?” 

“Was nearly kidnapping you off a balcony not enough?” Morrible seemed genuinely surprised, her brows popping up in question. Glinda didn’t miss how her dark eyes flicked to the corner of the room where Fiyero stood, done up in his uniform again with his pistol and golden braids. “You truly must be fearless to not be terrified.” 

“I was a little frightened,” Glinda replied, staring at her tea but not drinking it. They didn’t really have tea back home. Just coffee and beer. “But Elphaba was very gentle. She didn’t hurt me.” 

“Was she now?” Morrible’s nails clicked across her cup, slow and methodical up towards its rim. “Tell me more.” 

“I just don’t understand what makes her so wicked besides poppin’ up unexpectedly in smoke.” 

“The Witch was born evil, child. Don’t be fooled,” Morrible insisted, setting down her cup to pin Glinda with a firm stare. “Her sickly verdigris is an outward manifestorium of her wicked nature. She causes a ruckus wherever she goes, and for a long time we believed she killed you.” 

“You mean the girl who looked like me,” Glinda corrected, shaking her head as she too put down her tea. Morrible seemed a bit irked that she hadn’t touched it, her lips wilting a little. But she didn’t speak on it besides a slight sniff of air. “M’not who you think I am, ma’am. I swear it.”  

“That’s yet to be seen, dearie,” the elder woman claimed. “Galinda Upland was young when she was supposedly killed by the Wicked Witch. But, should she have somehow lived, she would be exactly your age. You speak fluent Ozian despite your atrocious accent—something that can be fixed quite easily with some tutoring—and you have now garnered the interest of the Witch herself.” 

“That’s another thing,” Glinda complained with a scowl. “Galinda was the Witch's friend, right? Why would she murder her own friend?” 

“They studied magic under my tutelage for many years,” Morrible explained, intertwining her spindly, ring-clad fingers. “Galinda was a promising student and I had high hopes for her. The Witch was jealous of her beauty and talent. And when they came to the Emerald City to be tested, the Wizard chose Galinda to be his apprentice. It was pure rage; pure spite that drove the Witch to become what she is. But now that you’re somehow here again, we can only assume something worse occurred.” 

“Worse?” 

“You don’t remember what happened to you,” Morrible said, leaning forward on her bent arms. “You easily could’ve been taken captive and held against your will for a time before you somehow escaped. You somehow made it out of Oz and to wherever it was you say you come from.” 

“But that ain’t true!” 

“How do you know, if you cannot remember it?” 

“I—I just…do.” Glinda clenched the wooden arms of her chair, doubt swirling in her mind. She didn’t know who Elphaba was, but there she was somehow familiar to her. And her name was Galinda; she recognized it immediately. But there wasn’t any possible way she’d been kept as a prisoner for any amount of time before making it to Kansas. She arrived in a balloon and fell out of the sky, which was perfectly possible back home (or Nebraska, as Henry claimed). 

“Not to worry. The longer you stay here, the more of your memories are sure to return.” 

“Stay? Oh no, ma’am.” Glinda stood up, stepping away from the chair. Fiyero shifted his feet as she did, only to stop as Morrible gave him an accusatory point with her finger. 

“Where do you plan on going if not the Emerald City, child?” 

“I…home, o’course. I have to get my sister and I back to Kansas.” 

“Yes, you have the young one with you.” Morrible seemed thoughtful for a moment, as though she’d completely forgotten about Dorothy altogether. “Well, I’m afraid leaving isn’t possible at the moment.” 

“Why not? You’re a magical lot, aren’t you? There must be a way to send us home.” 

“Such a thing involves very powerful magic; it’s not as easy as snapping your fingers.” 

“Then we’ll find another way,” Glinda argued, something bitter coiling in her gut. Elphaba had told her not to trust anyone in the Emerald City…maybe her warning was true? They weren’t going to be allowed to leave. “We’ll walk back to Kansas if we have to.” 

“Impossible. Oz is surrounded by a vast desert on all sides. You can go no further than the edge of our land.” 

Glinda clenched her fists, whipping around as she ran for the door. Opening it, she was met with two green clad uniforms. Skirting by them in a hurried rush, she heard Morrible speak from inside the office: “Grab her!” 

Quickening her pace, Glinda didn’t make it far. She felt something wrap around her ankle from behind as she was tripped up, grunting as she landed stomach down on the floor. Rolling over, she was just in time to be seized by the two guards from outside, their hands pressing harshly into her soft flesh. Morrible appeared from the office, Fiyero meekly plodding at her heels. He looked unhappy but didn’t intervene as Glinda was hauled back to her feet. 

“That Witch gave me a warning about you,” she huffed, swinging her arms to try and break free, only to be held tighter. “You’re no good, aren’t you?” 

“Don’t be absurd. I’m as good as you can be in Oz. But by the Wizard’s order, you and your sister are not permitted to leave.” 

“Why? Just let us go, we won’t be any trouble. I already told you I’m not that girl!” 

“But you could be,” Morrible noted, shaking her head. “Cooperation is wise, Miss Glinda. The Wizard is not a being to trifle with.” 

“I don’t believe in no Wizard!” Glinda spat angrily. “Wizard‘s back home are nothing but scummy lowlifes, cheatin’ people out of their hard earned money for some bozo magic.” 

“Not in Oz,” Morrible warned, seeming to anger briefly. The moment was cut off though by a strange. It was a whirring noise; a puttering sound like water from a loose gutter. Down the hall, a little contraption was flying, carrying a shiny golden dish. “Ah. As per usual, his greatness has splendifying timing.” 

“What is that thing?” 

“A summons from the Wizard himself,” Morrible claimed, accepting a green-enveloped letter which Fiyero grabbed from the machine as it floated past. “You have a meeting with him right now.” 

“Now?” 

“Now.” Morrible waved a hand, Glinda whining a little as she was roughly pulled along by the arms. Her mind immediately went to Dorothy, hoping she was alright. But these people didn’t really seem interested in a little girl. They were interested in her, or at least, the girl who she shared a face with. Dragging her feet as much as she could to make things more difficult, Morrible and Fiyero followed her at a respectable distance as she was escorted down a large flight of green marble stairs. A pair of large heavy doors were opened, leading into a corridor of tall, arcing columns. And suddenly her heart began to speed up. 

This place…she knew it, didn’t she? 

Her fighting ebbed as the need for flight took over instead. Her gut was telling her to be afraid of this place. To run as far and as fast as she could. Glinda twisted and thrashed, the air catching in her throat as she was pulled towards a pair of double doors. 

“…Glinda. Glinda, relax.” Fiyero spoke to her from behind, passing Madame Morrible who made a disgruntled noise in her cheek. 

“No! No, no, I don’t want to see the Wizard!” 

“Glinda.” Fiyero placed his hands on her shoulders, halting their forward motion. She finally managed to break free of the other guard's grip, slamming into the man’s chest in pure fright. She’d never been so suddenly terrified before. Only the nightmares back home ever made her feel this way; like her heart had broken loose and was sprinting away from her. “Shhh. It’s ok.” 

“I can’t Fiyero,” she whispered, grabbing onto his uniform with both hands. “I can’t.” 

“Madame…?” 

“Captain, you’re being a nuisance,” Morrible complained to him. “This is a royal summons. She must be seen immediately.” 

“She doesn’t need to be dragged in,” Fiyero complained, his hand gently petting Glinda’s braid as she trembled against him. 

“By all means, escort her yourself if you’re so keen, Captain.” 

“Glinda. It’s ok. The Wizard is a good man. He’s mysterious, but good.” 

“I don’t want to see him.” 

“You must. Come on.” Gently prying Glinda off his chest, Fieyro wrapped her arm through his, holding her hand in his elbow. It was a gentler grip than the guards previously, but it didn’t go unnoticed how he pinned her against him. She still wasn’t being let go, even as Fiyero made a big show of comforting her. 

Knowing she had no real choice, Glinda could only stare at the doors as they creaked open, the old hinges rattling like thunder in her ears. The throne room was massive; taller than it was wide and seeming to go on forever. Her stomach churned the moment she stepped over the threshold. As she was brought to the middle of the room, Fiyero left her in a circle of marble a slightly different color than the rest. 

“Just stand here so the Wizard can see you.”

“Fiyero…” 

“I’ll just be right over there, ok? It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” 

Left alone as the Captain of the Guard returned to Madame Morrible, Glinda didn’t miss how he was immediately berated in a soft, unhappy whisper. But she couldn’t focus long on that as the room seemed to dim, a light flickering to life on a rather large curtain of hanging rope. 

“Who goes there?” 

The voice was deep and rattled Glinda’s bones. She was frozen to the floor in pure terror, whimpering as she shuffled backwards on her feet, only to yelp when her heel hit the outer edge of the marble ring. It gave her a little shock, not allowing her to pass out of its circumference. From behind the curtain emerged a shimmering figure…a silhouette that made her gut coil. It was a giant floating face, blinking and moving despite being made entirely of brass. It’s irises were glowing like fire, while its lips clanked and clattered as it spoke. “I am Oz, the Great and Terrible.” There was a whoosh as plumes of fire exploded from pipes lining the walls, and a billow of hot steam which came from the automatons nostrils. “Who are you?” 

“G—Glinda Gale,” Glinda answered meekly, unable to leave the ring where she’d been placed without a painful shock against her skin. 

“Glinda.” The way the mechanical head said her name made her skin crawl. “You are Glinda the Good. As so claimed by the Munchkins in the East.” 

“I…that was an accident.” 

The head grumbled, shifting closer with a snake-like hiss. “You wear the shoes of the Wicked Witch of the East. Therefore you must be destined for greatness.” 

“No.” Glinda rapidly shook her head. “No, please! We just want to go home. I’m not destined for anything!” 

“Oz is your home, as it has always been. You. Are. Ozian.” 

“I’m not! My sister…her only family is in Kansas. You have to send us back, please!” 

“Kansas. Kansas is not your home. Oz is your home, and you will be our Good Witch.” 

“No! I won’t do that!” 

“You will do as I say!” The head billowed the command loud enough to shake the walls. “I am the ruler of all of Oz. What I say is law. You will be a Good Witch. And as such, you will be married.” 

Glinda’s heart stopped beating. “M—married?” 

“To Prince Tiggelaar, Captain of my Royal Guard.” 

“Fiyero?” Glinda whipped her head around in shock, meeting eyes with the man still waiting by Morrible’s side. He looked ashamed of himself, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew about this. He knew all along. “No. No! I won’t do it. I won’t do any of this.” 

“Resist my will, and you will never see your sister again. Do as I say, and you will both be treated like royalty.” 

Glinda grabbed at her face, panic rising in her chest. This was going all wrong so fast, and she was completely stuck where she was. “I—I…?” 

“You haven’t a choice. I decree it as so. You will be married in three days time. Upon which, you will take your mantle as Good Witch of Oz. Let it be final.” 

There was a gong in the room, one that was loud enough to make Glinda’s ears ring. She couldn’t say or do anything, she was too shocked to move a muscle. Married? In three days? 

“Goodnight, Glinda the Good.” 

Staring up at the fearsome Wizard of Oz, Glinda gasped as a thick red smoke billowed from the brass head’s nostrils. It was heavy, flowing to the ground like water. Completely surrounded by it, a familiar woozy feeling began to overtake her. Like with the poppy flower, she suddenly felt very disoriented. 

“Glinda!” 

Glinda heard Fiyero running towards her as she collapsed, her knees buckling as she hit the floor with a limp thump. The last thing she recalled seeing was Fiyero looming above her, and a giant mechanical head slowly retracting back behind its curtain, vanishing from sight as she was quickly consumed by darkness. 

Chapter Text

Preparation

“…hold still now, your Goodness. Don’t move.” 

Glinda yelped as she was pulled into a laced corset, various colors dancing in her eyes at the jump of air from her lungs to her brain. She wavered dangerously on the dressing podium, several hands grabbing onto her forearms to keep her from tipping over in pure shock.

“She looks a touch faint!” 

“Nonsense. A bride-to-be must look her best.” 

“How are you doing, your Goodness?” 

“Oh god,” Glinda sputtered, wincing as she placed a hand on her newly cinched waist, the hard ribbing forcing her stomach into place. “Is this…is this really necessary?” 

“You must look your best for Captain Tiggelaar, your highness,” the eldest of the salon girls said, giving the laces another tug as she began to knot them. “We need to make sure the dress fits you like a glove.” 

“M’sure I could fit into it without being damn well suffocated.” 

“Perhaps, but you wouldn’t have this lovely figure. Look how beautiful you are.” 

Glinda scowled, glancing in a standing mirror which another young woman tilted forward. She did look a lot different, the bodice pulling her waist into curvier shape. Henry often said she was the same as a toothpick or blade of grass; tiny compared to some of the bigger and bustier girls in town. But it didn’t matter, seeing as she didn’t want to look beautiful right now. In fact, she’d rather have been the ugliest girl in the world in hopes someone would change their mind about this stupid wedding. 

It had only been a day since her summons by the great and terrible Wizard of Oz, but it was still hard to believe it was really happening. She was being forced to get married, just because some crackpot old head said so. Glinda would’ve tried to escape already. They’d climb over the balcony using sheets, or make a break for the stairs in hopes at least one of them could get away. But by the time she woke up from the Wizard’s mysterious red smoke, her sister was gone. 

Glinda didn’t know why they’d taken Dorothy at all, seeing as the girl was returned a little while later. She was scared and inconsolable—of course—but thankfully not hurt. They put poor Toto in an emerald collar and leash which upset the child far more than her own well being. But Glinda was starting to wonder if she’d been taken away just to scare her; to prove that they really could snatch her sister if she didn’t do what she was told. So Glinda was biding her time, albeit begrudgingly. She’d stayed up all night trying to think of ways to get out of this mess but came up blank every time. 

Standing here as a wedding dress was built up around her was the last thing Glinda wanted to be doing. 

“Don't look so morose, my dear,” the elder salon woman cooed, picking up her hand which hung limp at her side. “Captain Tiggelaar is very handsome and strong. He’ll make a fine husband.” 

“He’s got no brains in his head, either,” Glinda muttered, taking back her hand to cradle it against her chest instead. “I don’t wanna get married.” 

“It’s a honor to be seen in person by the Great Wizard, your Goodness,” one of the younger girls claimed, kneeling by Glinda’s feet as she helped her companions pin and sew white skirt ruffles into place. “Any of us would be thrillified to be made a bride by him.” 

“Great. Than one of ya’ll can marry Fiyero instead,” Glinda complained with a head shake, only to stop as there was a little tug from behind her. Another girl had her fingers tangled in her hair, pinning and braiding it despite it’s length. “Ouch!” 

“Sorry, your highness. We really should cut your hair, it’s very long.” 

“No, don’t touch it,” Glinda snapped unhappily, flustered at the amount of activity around her as she ripped pale fabric from the salon girl's hands. “I’ve had enough.” Stepping down from the fitting podium despite many weak cries of protest, Glinda sulked to the far edge of the room, unable to leave with the guards at the door watching her. Sitting on a cushioned bench, she worriedly played with her fingertips, feeling the rough calluses across the skin. Her heart ached for the farm. Henry wouldn’t approve of her getting married without him knowing about it, while Em would cry about not having a proper wedding in the small town chapel. 

Glinda couldn’t help but wonder if the two were getting on ok without them. Heartbroken surely without little Dorothy home and safe. She was missing Em’s loving embrace, and Henry’s endless pipe smoke. She was missing home. Her lip dangerously wobbling, Glinda bit down on the pale flesh to keep the tears at bay, glancing up as the doors opened. Familiar footsteps came pattering towards her. 

“Glinda!” 

“Dorothy.” Sighing in relief at seeing her sister safe and well—shoving her hopelessness into the very back of her chest—the salon girls scrambled out of the child’s way, yelling in panic as Toto nipped and barked at their heels. The child was dressed in a green gingham pattern, fluffed out with white lace and a matching minty blouse. “Hi, sweetling.” 

Dorothy skidded to a stop before reaching her, dark eyes growing wide as she gave her a dramatic once over. “You look like a princess.” 

“Thanks, hon,” Glinda chuckled, trying her best to keep a brave face as Dorothy clambered onto the sofa beside her, offering a hug. “Where have you been today?” 

“One of the green men let me take Toto for a walk.” 

“That was nice of him,” Glinda nodded, glancing up at the room. It was clear that no one understood what they were saying, a few of the salon girls looking a bit muddled as they tried to listen in. Clearly, English really wasn’t a language spoken in Oz. It made Glinda wonder then how she knew Ozian already, though…the answer was not hard to guess. She just really didn’t want to admit it. Shaking her head of the thoughts, Glinda smoothed the wrinkles from Dorothy’s skirt. “Did you see anything interesting on your walk today?” 

“Toto found a hole in one of the garden walls, but it’s much too small for us to get through,” Dorothy claimed, tapping her buckle shoes together with a pout. “He can get out, but not us.” 

“That’s a shame,” Glinda heaved, pushing one of Dorothy’s pigtails over her shoulder. “Worth a shot.” 

Glinda hadn’t lied to Dorothy about what happened with the Wizard. She was old enough to understand the gravity of their situation; Glinda had no right to keep it a secret. She’d asked her sister to get out as much as possible to try and find an escape route, seeing as she was less heavily guarded. But so far nothing had come of it, not for Dorothy’s lack of trying, anyway. The girl looked everywhere she could, but the palace was buttoned up tight. 

“Are you really getting married, Glinda?” Dorothy asked her, taking in the beginnings of the wedding dress again. Glinda could only slump, rubbing the front of her stomach again as her nails clicked across the bony ribs of the corset. 

“I dunno if I have a choice.” 

“I want to go home!” Glinda caught Dorothy as she suddenly flung herself across her lap, slinging both arms up over her neck with a cry. “I miss Aunt Em and Uncle Henry! I don’t want you to get married! I don’t wanna stay here!” 

“Oh, hon, I—I know. It’s alright, shhh, settle down.” Running her nails through the little girls dark hair, Glinda buried her face in the child’s shoulder, squeezing her own eyes shut to hold back the tears. “It’ll be alright. You’ll see.” 

“How, Glinda? These people are scary, and what—what if I won’t get to see you after you’re married? What if you forget all about me?” 

“Oh, Dorothy. No. That won’t ever happen. I promise you’re not going to lose me.” 

If only Glinda could actually promise such a thing. That was easier said than done, especially when the child was suddenly pulled from her arms. 

“Glinda!” Dorothy shrieked in fear, kicking and squirming in the arms of a green-clad guard. Another grabbed Toto by the collar, keeping him from taking someone’s finger off. 

“Dorothy!” Jumping to her feet, Glinda was immediately seized by the arms, keeping her in place as she fought. 

“Glinda! Glinda, help!” 

“Stop it!” Jerking her shoulder, Glinda actually managed to get it free, swiping at one of her attackers with her nails. 

‘If yer’ ever in a tight spot girl, don’t be afraid to fight dirty,’ Henry would say, leaning on the old plow as they worked the field. “Won plenty o’ scuffles back in my day with a handful a dirt and a kick to the shin.’ 

She caught him across the cheek, the force of it enough to slice flesh. The man yelled in pain and jumped back, holding the new wound as the other was suddenly alone. Whipping around, Glinda elbowed him as hard as she could in the throat, causing the man to sputter as she took off towards where Dorothy was being carried away, kicking and screaming all the while. 

“Dorothy…!” 

“Enough.” Glinda saw the flash of thundercloud gray and velvet, followed quickly by a sharp and sudden pain. She yelped, her muscles immediately seizing as something pierced the skin at the curve of her shoulder and neck. The sudden numbness which followed sent her to the ground as her sister vanished and the doors were quickly shut. 

“N—no!” Her entire body was tingling from the attack, a shadow crossing over where she now lay on the floor. Madame Morrible looked down at her like one might observe a bug, a long, sharp hat-pin still clutched between her fingers. Any kindness Glinda had seen in her before was gone, replaced by a barely-interested scowl. 

“There now,” the woman drawled, using her velvet sleeve to wipe blood from the end of the needle. “That’s better, isn’t it?” 

“Why’d you do that?” Holding a hand to her neck, there was barely any blood. Just a small bead of red the size of a corn kernel. But her muscles still trembled, weak and powerless across her bones. 

“You were causing an unnecessary fuss.” 

“She’s a child!” Glinda barked, struggling to sit up on her arms, elbows shaking from the effort. “You’re scaring her!” 

“Good. A bit of fear will do her some good. The little one must learn to obey commands, just as you must, dearie. Don’t forget the position you’re in.” 

“I should’ve listened to Elphaba…” 

“Don’t dare speak that witch’s name here,” Madame Morrible warned, waving a hand as the two guards from before dragged Glinda back to her feet. The older woman smiled; sending only shivers up her spine. “Look at you. A beautiful bride-to-be.” 

“I don’t understand,” Glinda choked, struggling to regain her footing as her body slowly came back to life. “What do you want from me?” 

“To be our Good Witch, of course,” Morrible said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“But why?” Glinda asked again. “I’m nothin’ special; I’ve never been. I can’t possibly be of any use here. Just…send us home, please.” 

“When will you get it through your head that this is your home?” Morrible chided, taking a step forward to hold Glinda’s cheek in her hand. “Besides. You are exactly what we need.” 

“For what?” 

“All in good time, my dear. All in good time. Now, I’ve brought you something. A wedding gift from the Wizard himself. Come.” 

All but dragged back to the dressing podium, Glinda was shoved into place, wobbling on her silver shoes as the salon girls quickly got back to work. The guards stayed close by, one of them meekly dabbing at his face with a cloth. Morrible accepted something from another servant, stepping up behind her. So close, in fact, that Glinda could see her outline in the standing mirrors. A heavy object was placed atop her head, resting in her curls. 

She refused to look, her eyes burning with the start of tears. 

“You will be a pinnacle of goodness for the people of Oz, Miss Glinda,” Morrible told her, reaching over her shoulder to force her chin up, giving her a good look in the mirror. The tiara was so out of place next to her dusty skin and dark eyes. She wasn’t a Good Witch. She wasn’t even Ozian. She just…couldn’t be. “The Wizard has made it so.” 

Chapter Text

No Place like Home 

(5 years ago)

Glinda always expected more from the prairie. 

She didn’t know why, seeing as the most exciting thing to happen on the Gale farm was her own arrival a few months ago. But for some strange reason, it always felt like things should’ve been brighter, or smelled sweeter, or been more interesting to look at. A sense of loss tickled at her the longer she stayed, like she’d left someplace far better suited to her. When she arrived, everything had seemed so vibrant and colorful. Now? Now she was used to drowning in the sun bleached gray landscape, slowly losing her own color in the process. 

The only color left belonged to the single pink shoe Em had given her when she was well enough to sit up. A pretty pink heel with a gold buckle and tan lining. Glinda had slept curled around that shoe for days, waiting for someone to come get her. Wanting nothing more than to go home (even if she didn’t know where that home was). But no one ever showed. Days turned into weeks, which rolled into months. But not a single soul had come looking for the balloon which had broken off in the wind, stealing her along with it. Eventually, the shoe lost its color too and Glinda put it in a box, shoving it under the bed for safekeeping. 

No one was coming for her. She must’ve not been missed wherever she’d flown from and that thought made her heart ache. 

Glinda felt terribly lonely on the farm, not able to speak English very well despite putting in the effort to relearn. Well…relearn was a bit of a stretch, she supposed. It didn’t feel like she knew English in the first place; it was all very foreign sounding. But Em and Henry both agreed she wasn’t likely to speak Spanish, so she must’ve known English and had just forgotten. The words didn’t make much sense, but she was slowly picking it up and could hold a very basic conversation. But Em and Henry were quiet folks. And little Dorothy still strayed away from her, seeing as she was a stranger. So Glinda found herself speaking with Henry’s livestock instead, babbling to fill the void as though she were expecting the animals to speak back. That was a silly thought, she realized; animals couldn’t speak. How ridiculous. 

“Homesick, dear. You’re just a lil’ homesick, that’s all,” Em told her one day as she wandered aimlessly about the farmhouse, having finished her chores for the day. Glinda had thought about taking a nap, but Dorothy had claimed her bed for the afternoon, playing with her small family of burlap dolls made from old chicken-feed bags and yarn. So, she paced, doing her best to stay out of Em’s way as she boiled stains from Henry’s overalls. “Do stop pacing,” the woman chided. “You're not a broodmare, child.” 

“No one is comin’ for me, Mrs. Gale,” Glinda told the woman honestly. “No one.” 

“You don't know that. They may be lookin’ for you right this second.” 

“They’re not coming.” 

“Glinda…”

Glinda felt her heart constrict. Her lungs wheezed a painful breath of air as she hurried from the farmhouse, not wanting to cry in front of Em. She passed Henry on the way out, who looked at her as she ran by. But she didn’t stop to address him, passing the fence line to run out into the open fields instead. At the far paces of the Gale property was a single, gnarled old tree. It was the only remotely interesting thing this far out into the flatlands, and half the year it didn’t even have leaves. But it did today, creating a nice little shady spot surrounded by long, sun bleached field grass and a few prickly patches of wildflowers. Sitting at the base of the trunk, tucking herself safely into the tree’s upheaved roots, Glinda hid her face in her kneecaps and cried. 

She didn’t even know what or who she was crying for. She didn’t know where she’d come from, what she’d forgotten, or if anyone was even missing her. But something deep inside her was so desperately lost that it hurt, and it was so frustrating not to know what it was. She sat like that for some time, watching puffy white clouds travel like ships across the vast open sky. Her lopsided blonde braid tossed in a breeze, done with her own hand even if she wasn’t particularly coordinated enough due to the pain in her skull and a numbness in her fingertips from the injury. It was the sound of pattering feet and crunching grass that caused her head to lift. 

She was expecting Em or Henry to be coming out to fetch her. To chide her for being downright childish, running away in tears. The little bobbing head of brown pigtails was not who she was expecting at all. Dorothy was only five still. Five-and-a-half, according to her own mouth. Why she’d left the farmhouse on her own, Glinda didn’t know. The distance from the fence to the tree wasn’t that far, but for a young child, it was an incredible distance. 

“Dorothy?” 

The little girl was huffing and puffing air by the time she reached the tree, stumbling in her neat little boots as she clambered over the mess of roots. Glinda didn’t know what the child was even doing. She hadn’t spoken a word to her since her arrival, staring at a distance or from behind Em’s skirt like she was a creature with two heads. 

“Miss Glinda!” 

“Go home,” Glinda told the girl with a frown, not sure how to word it in a way that was gentler. “Go back.” 

Dorothy didn’t listen. She didn’t listen to Em or Henry either, so Glinda wasn’t sure why she was surprised. Still, the little girl all but bullied her way into Glinda’s personal space, bossily shoving a doll into her hands. It was the one with yellow yarn for hair and a neat white checked dress made out of an old man’s handkerchief. Glinda held it up in confusion. “Why?” 

“Don’t be sad,” Dorothy told her, leaning over her bent knees to be right in her face. “Don’t cry.” 

Glinda fought back a scowl. It wasn’t this child’s business if she cried or not. But she was quick to dissolve the anger, realizing it was being unnecessarily directed at a very young child who was just trying to help. Awkwardly, Glinda lowered her knees under her patchwork skirt and folded the blonde-haired doll into her lap. She smoothed out the corn-yellow yarn tresses, relishing in its well-loved softness. Dorothy deemed this action acceptable, pushing her way up under Glinda’s right arm so she was all but leaning into the curve of her hip. The child produced her two other dolls–a redhead in green checks and a brunette in blue with red ribbons-setting them in her skirt. Glinda tilted her head at the brown haired one and pointed at it. 

“This one is you?” 

“Uh-huh. My favorite.” Dorothy tapped her toes together, the leather of her boots making a click-click-clicking noise. “This one can be you,” she continued, pointing to the doll Glinda now held. “She’s pretty too.” 

Glinda smiled a bit at the complement, rubbing her sore palms together which were dirty and beginning to grow rough from endless chores around the farm. She was sun chapped horribly these days; her skin badly burnt–shoulder to shoulder–from working outside. Henry said she’d get used to it. Glinda wasn’t so sure. 

“Your braid looks funny,” Dorothy told her, staring at her hair which hung like a dead thing over her shoulder. “It’s lumpy.” 

“My hands,” Glinda admitted, tapping her fingers together. She couldn’t feel them very well, something that the Doctor insisted was normal and would go away as her fractured skull began to properly heal. “They hurt.” 

“I can fix it.” 

The child didn’t hesitate for a second, passing Glinda her other two dolls before vanishing behind her shoulder. Glinda didn’t know what she was doing until little fingers undid the ribbon holding her hair, pulling apart the badly plated gold locks. Dorothy made little noises as she loosened Glinda’s hair, running her hands through it with chirps of happiness. “Your hair is so pretty.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I wish it were longer,” Dorothy pouted, beginning to expertly weave the strands. “Much better than yarn hair.” 

Glinda chuckled, remaining very still in the grass so as to not disturb her new companion. She took special care not to let any of the dolls fall over, seeing that they were comfortable in her lap and had a nice view until their mistress returned. Glinda found Dorothy an easy companion, far easier to chat with than the poor farm animals or Henry and Em. She didn’t seem to mind at all that Glinda didn’t say very much, content to sit beside her in the grass and play make believe with her dolls. It was…nice. And the painful loneliness in Glinda’s chest subsided with a friend to be with. 

“Glinda! Dorothy!” Em’s crow-call eventually cut across the empty landscape from the house, floating on the wind. “Suppertime!” 

“We should go back,” Glinda said upon hearing the call, rising from her place on the ground and brushing off her skirt. Dorothy just flopped over with a tired moan. 

“It’s too far,” she whined, outstretching her arms and scrunching her hands. Glinda scoffed but obliged, gathering the little girl into her arms as well as her dolls. How she managed to fall asleep on her shoulder in the short time it took to get back to the house, Glinda had no idea. Em was waiting on the porch, wooden spoon in hand. She smiled at seeing them, her old face wrinkling as she pet Dorothy’s hair. Glinda was surprised to receive a loving peck on the forehead, the matronly warmth of Em flooding her previously empty heart. 

“You have a home here, Glinda,” the woman said. “However long you need.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Of course,” Em laughed, only to quickly scowl and poke her ribs with the end of her spoon. “Come inside. Eat. You’re too thin and I won't stand for that in my house." 

Chapter Text

The Final Night

Glinda had never been so humiliated in her entire life. 

Sure being roped to a post was degrading, but it was nothing like this. Dragging her bare feet across the floor, her heels did nothing but slip and slide along the smooth surface. Two guards held tight to her forearms, their fingers digging into her skin and leaving painful welts. But it wasn’t the manhandling that bothered her this time. No. It was the fact that she was practically naked. Aunt Em would call it sinful what she’d been forced to put on at gunpoint, the threat of Dorothy’s life still hanging over her head. 

Why such violence was being used to get her into green undergarments and a sheer robe, Glinda didn’t really know. But she was dragged through the Emerald Palace in nothing but a few scraps of fabric and lace, her cheeks a vicious shade of embarrassed pink. 

“Let me go!” Giving her arm a swing, Glinda didn’t have much energy left. She’d been fighting for days, trying and failing to find any way to get them out of this nightmare. But it was no use. Above her head, the hall ceiling was made of arching glass domes; glass that exposed the sky now cast in a colorful sunset. The third day was over; she was getting married in the morning. 

Yelping in pain as her arm was forced behind her shoulder, Glinda could only clench her eyes shut. At least Dorothy wouldn’t have to see her like this. Not sure where exactly they were going, Glinda whimpered as they came to a pair of green painted doors laid with gold patterns; very expensive compared to the room she’d been staying in. The guard on her right knocked three times, not waiting for a reply before opening it with a clatter. 

“Knock, knock!” The man announced with a giddy laugh; one that made her gut churn. “Look alive. His Ozness and Madame Morrible sent you a gift, Cap.” 

With a rough shove and a swift kick to the back of her knees, Glinda flew forward, hitting the ground with the slap of bare skin and a familiar rattle in her skull. Thankfully it didn’t cause her to black out this time, but it was enough to make her vision go dizzy as there was cruel laughter and the door slammed shut behind her. Confused and dazed, Glinda fought to catch her breath as she blinked the vertigo away. The feeling of someone watching her made her skin prickle. 

Raising her head, Glinda’s heart stopped beating. Fiyero stood in the illuminated washroom doorway, staring at her with massive blue eyes. He was in nothing but a towel, hair still wet from bathing with steam billowing around his feet. He didn’t appear to have been expecting her, and she certainly wasn’t expecting him. But understanding crashed down on her like the farmhouse crushed the poor Wicked Witch of the East. She’d been stripped down and humiliated up three sets of stairs…as a gift. Just like the guard said. 

“Glinda?” 

Startled by Fiyero’s voice, Glinda didn’t know what else to do. Her heart was racing in fear as she hastily scrambled backwards across the floor, her limbs suddenly packed with sand in realization of what Madame Morrible was expecting to happen tonight. Slamming into the nearest wall, the action toppled a wooden table, causing the vase which sat upon it to shatter. Tears burned across her eyelids as she tucked herself against the paneling, wanting nothing more than to melt into it. To vanish. 

She wanted to go home. 

“G—Glinda, hey. Hey, hey, it’s ok—?” 

“Stay away from me!” Hiding her face in her arms, Glinda couldn’t keep herself from trembling. “S—stay away!” 

“Glinda, I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Glinda felt Fiyero’s hand near her as she swung out her arm, bearing her ragged nails like weapons. 

“Don’t touch me!” 

“Ok! Ok. I won’t.” Crying out in pure terror, Glinda heard a clatter of drawers as Fiyero moved hastily about the room. He came back to her after a moment, this time fully dressed in a loose pair of green trousers and a white shirt. He had something balled up in his fist, crouching down as he held it out. “Here. Take this.” 

Lifting her head to examine the gift, it was just another shirt; the same Fiyero now wore for himself. Glinda snatched it, shedding the sheer nightgown (which did little to hide what little was underneath) and throwing the blouse over herself. It wasn’t enough to cover her bare legs, which she quickly pulled to her chest and hid behind. 

“Better?” Fiyero lifted his hands, holding them up in a surrendering motion. “Look, I’m fully clothed. Nothing is happening here. You have nothing to be afraid of.”  

“W—what is this?” Glinda’s voice warbled as she spoke, not doing well to hide her fear and humiliation. “Why did you do this to me?” 

“Glinda, I swear. I…I didn’t know.” Glinda didn’t want to believe him. Not for a single second. But his big blue eyes were so soft, a little wrinkle between familiar blocky brows. “What happened? Did anyone else touch you?” 

“Just the guards who brought me here,” she croaked, rubbing the side of her arm at the burn of developing fingerprints. “They had me at gunpoint…my…my sister…” giving another scared shake, Glinda rested her lips against the front of her knees, squeezing her eyes shut. “You’re not going to have your way with me?” 

“What? Of course not!” Fiyero seemed taken aback by the notion, dramatically holding a hand to his chest as he leaned back on his bent knees. “Glinda, I’d never hurt you. Please, you must know that.” 

“I don’t know anything anymore.” 

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” Fiyero insisted as he gave her his best lopsided smile. Unfortunately, his charm didn’t seem to work as well as before. Glinda shook her head slowly. 

“You knew.” 

“I didn’t know anything about this.” 

“No. You knew about…about what the Wizard would say. About this wedding?” 

“Erm…” Fiyero’s smile immediately dropped, his hand rounding the back of his neck as he rubbed it. “I may have known about that part, yeah.” 

“And you’re just ok with that? Ok with them treating me this way?” 

“I—I mean, no, of course not. I don’t like seeing you hurt, Glinda. But the Wizard ordered it, therefore its law. My hands are tied.” 

“The only hands tied here are mine,” Glinda snapped unhappily, uncurling from her scared ball as her gusto began to return. “You’re just a big coward, aren’t you?” 

“A little, yeah.” Fiyero said it in a joking manner, but the laugh quickly died when Glinda didn’t break. “The Wizard could have us both killed if we disobey him. It’s not my place. Besides, we were getting married anyway.” 

“You and that other girl were getting married.” Motioning between them with a finger, Glinda cautiously stood from the floor, tugging Fiyero’s shirt to try and cover more of herself. 

“Glinda—?” Fiyero rose to his feet as well, reminding Glinda of his height as he stepped closer. She immediately jerked backwards, only to hit the wall with her shoulder. The man paused, something hurt crossing his blue eyes. “You’re sick. You know me…you know us. Somewhere deep inside I know you do, or you wouldn’t have let me kiss you.” 

Glinda scowled, but she couldn’t deny it either. Her body hadn’t reacted in the right way to being kissed by a stranger. She’d never kissed a fellow before—Uncle Henry never would’ve allowed it—but it came naturally, like some forgotten memory. It didn’t excuse the fact, though, that she was completely lacking context to said memory. 

“I’m not that girl.” 

“But you were once.” Fiyero turned, practically diving under the bed for something hidden in the bedskirt. Glinda used the opportunity to put some space between them, hurrying to the other side of a small wooden desk. Fiyero returned to her with a simple green box, a fine layer of dust gathered across the flat lid. He placed it between them, pushing it towards her. “Here. I’ve been meaning to show you this, I just didn’t know how.” 

“What is it?” 

“It’s you. Or—it’s what I have left of you, anyway. I never forgot, not for a single second.” 

Hesitantly and with some caution, Glinda opened the box. Inside was only a few objects. Old photographs, scraps of newspaper clippings, a velvet ring box…and a shoe. A single pink heel with a small buckle and a tan interior. No. “That was all that was found after the Wicked Witch fled the tower,” Fiyero claimed as she picked up the artifact, holding it in her quivering hands. “Madame Morrible said you were pushed from the highest balcony and killed, but no one could ever find your body. I always hoped you were still…and look. Right here!” Diving into the box, Fiyero lifted one of the photographs.

It was grainy and had no colors, clearly well loved as the edges were soft and torn. It was a large group of people, but indeed—front and center—Glinda squinted at a very familiar grouping of faces. She pointed to one that had been viciously scratched out with a blade or needle. “Who’s this?” 

“No one.” Fiyero’s voice was terse as he quickly moved on, pointing to a lean, slightly crooked boy with wild curls of hair. “But there’s Boq, and Nessarose, and me, Shenshen, Pfannee…and you.” 

Her? Glinda squinted at the photograph, setting down the single pink shoe in order to get a closer look. The pretty, doe-eyed blonde girl looked almost identical to her own reflection. Except she was so young, and her hair was much shorter. Allowing her gaze to trace the people, she kept returning to the scratched out one. The silhouette was all too recognizable despite the lack of a face. 

“This is Elphaba, isn’t it?” 

“We don’t say her name anymore,” Fiyero complained, scowling a little as he flicked through his newspaper clippings. “She’s just the Wicked Witch now.” 

“Ya’ll went to school together,” Glinda insisted. “How can you hate her that much?” 

“Because she’s a killer, that’s why,” Fiyero snapped, something angry twisting up his features as paper crumbled in his fingers.  

“But clearly you think I’m her.” Glinda tilted her chin at the girl in the picture. Galinda. Galinda was her name. “And maybe I am. Or—or was, or somethin’. But I’m not dead. So it wasn’t her.” 

“You think you’re the only one she’s killed?” Fiyero scoffed. “She killed Boq, and Dr. Dillamond, and nearly killed Madame Morrible too. She’s evil. Glinda, you’re sick still. Your mind is in shambles. Don’t listen to a single word that witch might have told you, because it’s all lies.” 

“You’d know something about lies, wouldn’t you.” 

“I didn’t ask for it to be this way!” 

“And you think I did?” 

“You’re not the same!” Fiyero’s eyes flashed as he stood a bit straighter, his fists clenching and his jaw tightening. “There’s something wrong, and I just want you to be yourself again!” 

“I’m exactly who I say I am,” Glinda retorted, backing away from the desk as she approached the far wall. The way Fiyero’s demeanor changed made her nervous. Sure he was soft and gentle on the outside, but it was easy to forget that he had an entire military of men who respected him. How he earned that respect was still in question. “You lot are the ones tryin’ to force this ghost on me.” 

“But it’s clearly you! You’re Galinda Upland of the Upper Uplands. How can you say you’re not after all of this?” 

“I am her!” 

Fiyero blinked once, then twice at her shout. “What did you say?” 

“I…I am her, Fiyero. I have to be her. The shoe; I have—I had—the other shoe. But that doesn’t change anything.” 

“What do you mean? It changes everything.” 

“No. I still don’t remember a thing about this girl. And I certainly wasn’t raised as her. I’m Glinda Gale, from Kansas. My sister is Dorothy. That girl isn’t me.” 

“We have doctors here, Glinda. Good doctors. The best Oz has to offer. They can help you…”  

“I don’t need any help. I just need to get home.” 

“Glinda, please, for the love of Lurline! Oz is your home. And I’m your fiancé, and after we get married I can take care of you exactly like I promised.” 

Fiyero rounded the desk, his blue eyes flickering so brightly they looked a bit like lantern flies. Panicked and now without a barrier between them, Glinda reached blindly for the first thing she could grab and swung. The candlestick successfully knocked Fiyero in the head, causing him to scream in pain and grab his scalp. Ducking by him, heart racing, she crashed through the bedroom doors and out into the hall. It looked like a clear shot. 

“Glinda!” Sprinting with all her might in whatever direction was most convenient, Glinda didn’t get far. Fiyero’s shout of: “Stop her!” made her heart jump. No. No, no, no! 

Skidding around a corner, Glinda was just reaching another door when something strong wrapped around her legs. Yelping in panic as she was tripped up, the wire cut into her skin as she fell, slamming into the hard floor shoulder first. This time, she did black out with a familiar, aching buzz: 

‘…are you looking for something? Or maybe…someone?’ 

“Actually I was…what was I doing?’ 

‘How should I know?’ 

‘Our first fight.’ 

“…inda? Glinda, hey. Hey, wake up.” Fiyero’s hand was wrapped around the back of her neck, holding it off the ground. She could still feel the throwing wire tangled around her legs, keeping them together. No. Cracking her eyes open, blood was cascading from Fiyero’s hairline, dribbling down the side of his cheek. 

“What happened, Cap?” 

“My fiancé is very sick,” he said, still holding her possessively despite her attempts to shift away and keep running. Her skull was absolutely throbbing. “She’s confused. Scared.” 

“What happened to your head?” 

“Never mind! Just…get me a poppy flower or something.” 

“No.” Weakly giving Fiyero a shove, Glinda was distinctly aware that she was wearing nothing but undergarments and an oversized shirt. How this must’ve looked would’ve given Aunt Em a heart attack. “Let me go. Please let me go.” 

“It’s alright, Glinda. It’s ok. I didn’t mean to scare you, ok? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Accepting a familiar red bloom from one of his men, Glinda quickly turned her head away from it. But her body felt like a rag-doll might, limp and useless as her skull ached. A familiar salty taste seeped between her lips, blood dribbling from her nose in a crimson stream. “Shh. This will help you calm down. I’ll summon the Doctor again.” Fiyero’s hand lifted her head, tilting it closer to the flower. Glinda held her breath, but couldn’t for long as she heaved a pained gasp, her heart still racing. 

The horrible grogginess began to take over a second layer, pulling her thoughts apart one thread at a time as her eyelids grew heavy and she was cast into a horrible and unwanted sleep. 

Now completely at Fiyero’s mercy.

Chapter Text

The Good and the Wicked

“Glinda?” 

“Yes?” 

“What are we going to do?” 

Glinda’s stomach was full of sand. Her heart thumped painfully against the back of her ribs, causing her chest to rattle. It felt like she was being suffocated, the corset of her wedding dress laced up her back in iron knots. It really was a beautiful gown; she’d never seen anything like it. It was fluffy and sparkled like untouched snowfall, decorated in cloth flowers with pink-bled centers. But at the moment, Glinda had never felt more ugly in her life. Her hands closed around a bouquet of matching flowers hiding the trembling fingers from her sister's young, scared eyes. 

Dorothy was dressed in white to match her, a wreath of pale tulip buds on her dark hair. Toto was in her arms, his head poking from a white painted basket. Had Glinda not been aware of the guards behind them, guns at the ready, maybe she could’ve imagined this really was her wedding day.

“I don’t know.” Glinda couldn’t lie to Dorothy. Her lip wobbled dangerously with the threat of tears. She shifted in the silver shoes, well hidden under the ruffles of the dress. “Dorothy, I’m so sorry.” 

“Sorry for what, Glinda?” 

“For not protectin’ you better, like I promised.” Glinda exhaled shakily, trying to steel her nerves but unable to find the courage. Her hope to get out of this had fully run out. There were no more options. “I should’ve got us outta here the minute we landed. I shouldn’ve trusted these people.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Dorothy assured, placing a small hand on Glinda’s bangle adorned wrist. “But Glinda, I’m scared.” 

“I’m scared too, sweetling.” Swallowing her breath, it felt like a rock going down. “Dorothy, listen to me.” Turning and kneeling to face her sister, Glinda didn’t miss how the two guards watching them stiffened up. “If you see a way to escape, you go. Do you understand me?” 

“What?” 

“If there’s any chance, you run as fast and as far as you can. Get out of here.” 

“B—but what about you?” 

“Don’t worry about me,” Glinda rasped. “You can find a way back to Kansas; I’m sure someone in that Munchkin village would help you if you could find your way back.” 

“I’m not leaving you!” Glinda blinked a little as Dorothy wrapped both hands around her neck, pulling her closer. “M’ not leaving!” 

“But you must. You’ve gotta be so strong, Dorothy. The strongest you’ve ever been. Understand now?” 

“I don’t wanna be strong. I want you.” 

“I know, darlin’. I know.” Petting the girl's dark mahogany curls, Glinda’s eyes burned. Unfortunately, their moment was interrupted as the doors to the suite opened. Dorothy whimpered at the sight of Madame Morrible, hurrying to cower behind Glinda’s skirt as she rose to her feet, setting her jaw despite the tears in her eyes. 

“My, my, what a beauty you are, Miss Glinda.” The woman smiled, but lifted a hand as she tilted her fingers. “Take the girl.” 

“Wait! Don’t—!” Using her leg to push Dorothy further behind her, it wasn’t much use. The child screamed as they were seperated, a gun being notched at the base of Glinda’s skull to keep her still while her sister was dragged out, screaming the entire way. “You monster! She’s just a child!” 

“Silence .” There was a sharp crack as Glinda was thrown to one side, nearly stumbling over from the force which Morrible struck her with. Breath catching in utter shock, the woman just stared down at her with cold, unfeeling gray eyes. “You were enough trouble the first time around. I haven’t the time to play games with you, girl.” 

“I don’t understand,” Glinda heaved, tears streaming from her eyes as she clutched her face with trembling fingers. “What did Galinda do to you that made you hate her so?” 

“She cost me everything,” Morrible replied, motioning a finger for the guards to bring Glinda back to her feet, the bouquet shoved back into her arms from where it had fallen on the floor. “You may not remember now, but someday you will. And then you’ll understand.” 

“But why this? This marriage? What does such a thing offer you anyway?” 

“It offers me much more than you can even comprehend, Miss Glinda,” Morrible noted, tsking a little behind her teeth as she reached out her hand. Glinda winced away in fear of being hit again, only to have the woman’s thumb roughly wipe away her tears. “The Wizard decreed this marriage take place, so it shall. I am merely his servant, my dear. Your fate was sealed the moment you landed in Oz.” 

“I didn’ ask for this,” Glinda wept. “None of it.” 

“Perhaps not, but you’ll find that Captain Tiggelar will make a fine husband. You and your sister will live like royalty, so long as you do exactly as I say.” 

“Just don’t hurt her. Please. Please don’t hurt her.” 

“Then don’t give me a reason.” Morrible’s face scrunched, morphing into something sickly sweet as she gently lifted Glinda’s chin. “This is everything you’ve ever wanted, Miss Glinda. You just don’t know it yet. Now come, all of Oz is waiting to see their Good Witch.” 

Glinda wanted to fight. She wanted to scream, scratch and drag her heels every step. But Morrible’s hand on her elbow was as effective as a gun to her head. This woman would kill her sister; she had no other choice. It felt like she was being taken to her own execution. Her hands shook violently around the bundle of flowers, knees threatening to give out and send her body to the floor. As a pair of large glass doors was pushed open, she was blinded by the most brilliant sun she’d ever seen. 

There was a shuffle of chairs as people stood up, as well as the swell of music and the release of a dozen white birds in a flutter of pale wings. The courtyard was packed to the brim, all dressed in fashionable green attire. Allowing her eyes only the briefest look upwards, Fiyero stood in uniform at the altar, seeming a bit nervous but hardly outraged that she was being married against her will. To the side, Glinda spotted Dorothy again. She was kept between two armed guards, one of them holding a very familiar looking shotgun. Why did he have that? 

“Walk.” 

Feeling Morrible give her arm a tweak in the wrong direction, Glinda did as she was told, the long veil hanging from her curls dragging along the ground behind her. She couldn’t hear or see much of anything; it was all just a blur as she was guided down the aisle, the music drowned out by her own rushing blood and ba-dumping heartbeat. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t happening! What could she do to stop this? 

“You look so beautiful.” Morrible passed her off as Fiyero took her wrist, bringing her up a shallow set of marble stairs to the altar. Her hand was violently shaking, a guard taking the bouquet of flowers away as Fiyero held her palms in his. The skin was rough and scarred from military life, not dissimilar to Uncle Henry’s well-worked hands. “You’re shaking, Glinda.” 

“I’m afraid, Fiyero,” she whispered. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“Don’t be afraid.” Fiyero’s thumb crossed over her knuckles, following the rise and fall of each joint. “I’ll take care of you, just like I promised. We can be happy, like you always wanted.” 

Promised who? Glinda clenched her eyes and fell her head in defeat with a shuddering breath. She knew there were guns everywhere. If she tried to run now, someone would be shot. It could’ve been her, or Dorothy, or even just an innocent bystander. She didn’t want anyone getting hurt because of her. Not when this was almost entirely her fault. Why didn’t she listen to Elphaba and leave? 

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness this most splendifying union, between Royal Captain Fiyero Tigelaar and Lady Glinda the Good, of Oz. The Great Wizard himself has given his blessing of this marriage, so shall it be.” 

Glinda’s ears were ringing as she counted the seconds, refusing to lift her head even as the officiant droned on and on through the ceremony. She continued to try and pull back her hands; to grab nervously onto the skirt of her dress. But Fiyero held firm, refusing to let go of her wrists as his thumbs gently pet the back of her palms. 

“Captain, did you bring with you today the ring for which Lady Glinda will wear for the rest of your marriage?” 

“I did.” 

“Very good. You will now place the ring on her left hand.” 

Fiyero nodded, finally releasing her to remove a familiar emerald ring box from his jacket pocket. It was the same which had been nestled inside the crate of photographs and trinkets from the night before. Popping the lid, a silver band with a pink-tinted stone sat on a pillow of silk. Despite its incredible beauty, the thing burned as Fiyero grabbed onto her left arm, sliding the artifact onto her calloused finger before bringing it to his lips to kiss the diamond. 

“And you, m’lady? Do you have the Captain’s ring?” 

“I–?” Puzzled, Glinda blinked when a shadow appeared at her side. Morrible pressed something into her hand, whispering low in her ear. 

“No games,” she warned, quiet enough for only them to hear. “Or the girl dies.” 

Glinda gulped, tilting her head as Morrible retreated. Her arm struggling to raise, Glinda lifted the second ring box which had been given to her and opened the lid. The officiant nodded. 

“Good. You will now place this ring on the Captain’s left hand.” 

Glinda did so, glancing wearily at Morrible who stared her down with those vicious, thundercloud eyes. She almost dropped the band in her nervousness, Fiyero having to reach out and steady her as she struggled to slip the ring onto the correct finger.

“The rings have been exchanged. So with the power vested in me by the Great Wizard of Oz, you are, in the eyes of Oz and the Emerald City, husband and wife. Should anyone oppose this union, speak now or may Lurline have mercy on your soul.” 

There was a beat, then two. Glinda quaked in her silver shoes, curling her fingers into Fiyero’s palms where he still held her. The air shifted suddenly, a cold wind whipping through the assembly. A shriek pierced the air, sharp and high pitched. 

“Look! Up there!” 

Glinda’s eyes opened as she raised her chin, staring into the pristine blue sky like everyone else. There was a whizzing voom as a black blur streaked across the canvas, spewing black smoke as it went. 

“It’s the Wicked Witch!” 

Elphaba? Furrowing her brows in confusion, Fiyero pulled Glinda to him, one arm wrapped around her waist. Purely on instinct, Gilnda tucked into the man’s shoulder, grabbing the front of his uniform just for something to hold onto. 

“Fan out!” Morrible barked, her own face tilted to the sky as a malicious smile curled to her lips. “I knew she’d be here. Don’t let her get away!” 

Slowly but surely, the black smoke trails began to spell out letters. People were screaming and running around in a panic. The blue sky was quickly darkening with clouds. YOUR WIZARD LIES. 

“That monster!” Fiyero growled. “How dare she ruin today!” 

“Captain, you’re needed to organize the troops,” one of the guardsmen shouted. “We need to assemble the Gale Force.” 

“Glinda, my love.” Fiyero took her shoulders, pulling her down off the stage and under the cover of a small marble bridge and flower trellis. “Stay here. Don’t move.” 

“But–?” 

“Stay here!” 

Then Fiyero was gone, shouting for men to follow him as his green uniform was swallowed up by the crowd. 

“Look out!” 

“Run for your lives!” 

Glinda fearfully ducked backwards as there was a blur of blue feathers. From the sky descended dozens of strange creatures, powerful wings sprouted from their backs as they shrieked and grabbed guests by the arms to pull them up into the air. Monkeys. Flying monkeys? 

“Glinda!” 

“Dorothy?” Jerking upwards at the sound of her sister’s frightened cry, Glinda gathered up her white skirts. She pulled the tiara and veil from her head, tossing it to the ground with a clatter as she ran headfirst into the mess, ducking and weaving to avoid animal and human alike. It was truly madness all around her like nothing she’d ever seen. Dorothy had been smart enough to take cover, her guards staying with her, their guns at the ready. Not knowing what else to do, Glinda ran to them. 

“Stop right there,” one of the pair shouted at her. “Don’t come any closer!” 

“We don’t have time for this! You have to go help Fiyero!” Throwing her arm to the sky, more and more monkeys were descending, grabbing people and dropping them like ragdolls. Not high enough to cause any real damage, but just enough to cause mass hysteria. “Go! I’ll take care of her.” Snatching Uncle Henry’s shotgun from the second guard, both looked at one another before running off to join their comrades. Not thinking that would actually work, Glinda knew she didn’t have a lot of time. “Dorothy, come on!” 

“Where are we going!” 

“Just stay close to me!” Pumping the shotgun with a click, Glinda looked in every possible direction for an escape. The sky had gone completely dark now, thunder rolling and lightning flashing dangerously. Rain began to fall a moment later, pattering against the cobblestone. At the very edge of the pavilion, a wedding carriage had been left abandoned. Perhaps it was there to take them off someplace after the wedding? Glinda quivered at the thought. Still, it was the best chance they had. “Come on, Dorothy.” 

The guard had added a green strap to Henry’s shotgun, perhaps having taken a shine to it after it was stolen from her. Elegantly, Glinda threw the weapon over her shoulder, grabbing onto her sister and tossing her into the wagon. The horse made a noise of surprise at the sudden passenger. 

“I say!” The creature complained. “What is the meaning of this?” 

“I need you to take my sister back to Munchkinland,” Glinda begged. It felt like she should’ve been more perturbed at speaking to a horse with words, but she didn’t have time for that. “Please, sir?” 

“That is against my orders.” 

“Dorothy loves horses,” Glinda urged, “if you’re really nice, she’ll release you from the wagon and find an apple for you to eat. But you have to get her out of here first.” 

“An apple you say?” The horse's ears flicked forward excitedly. “My, that sounds marvelous.” 

“Yes. Please, sir. Will you take her?” 

“I will, my fine lady. Mayhaps you could convince her to find me some oats too?” 

“Deal,” Glinda nodded, turning back to her sister urgently. “Dorothy, listen to me. This horse is going to take you someplace safe. Give him an apple and a nice bucket of oats in return, then release him from the wagon. Ok?” 

“Aren’t you coming?” 

“No. No, they’ll just chase after us. It’s me they want, not you.” 

“But Glinda–!” 

“Dorothy, you have to be strong now, alright?” Giving her sister an urgent shake, Glinda heard the scramble of feet as guards noticed their bride was suddenly nowhere in sight. “Go back; find someone who will help you.” 

“I can’t leave you.” 

“You can and you will,” Glinda insisted, a terrible feeling prickling up her back. Morrible was coming; she knew it. With the flat of her hand, Glinda slapped the horse’s white rump, causing him to whinny in surprise. “Go! Please, go! Hurry!” 

In a clatter of hooves and wagon wheels the carriage took off with Dorothy inside. The girl and Toto hung over the back, screaming her name. But Glinda couldn’t linger on it. 

“Stop, girl!” 

Pivoting without hesitation, Glinda removed the shotgun from her shoulder and hoisted it. She narrowed her eyes, aiming for Morrible who had just stepped into her line of sight. With practiced precision she pulled back the trigger, the echoing bang breaking across the gray sky. A guard pulled the woman down, but he wasn’t fast enough. Her body jerked as she was struck in the shoulder, howling in pain. 

“Glinda!” Fiyero came out of nowhere. Glinda didn’t see him until his hands grabbed onto the gun, trying to pry it from her grip. More thunder rolled as she yanked herself free, giving the weapon a mighty swing as it made contact with the man’s cheek. He was thrown to the side, giving her enough time to run the opposite direction. But she didn’t make it very far as something was brought down onto her neck from behind, causing her vision to go momentarily dark. She collapsed to the cobblestone in a heap, the shotgun clattering from her grip as a boot kicked it away. The end of a barrel was pressed to the place just above her ear, cold and piercing. 

Fiyero stood above her, heaving and soaking wet in the storm. His finger was on the trigger, poised and ready to shoot. Glinda was fully ready to stare down the gun as he took the shot, fearless now that Dorothy was away and safe. But he never got the chance as there was a sudden billow of black smoke, the scent of sulfur filling the air. 

“Fiyero, stop!” A cape whipped in the wind as the Wicked Witch emerged, broomstick in hand. The rest of the guards lifted their weapons to kill her, but with a single motion from her green palm they were all thrown backwards in a powerful wave. Fiyero’s hands clutched his rifle so tightly that Glinda could see the knuckles shifting under his skin. “Enough!” 

“You are not welcome here, witch,” Fiyero spat. “How dare you come back.” 

“How dare I? How dare you; aligning with the likes of the Wizard.” 

“The Wizard has done nothing but good for Oz, unlike you. You disgusting creature.” 

Elphaba didn’t even twitch, her long black hair catching on the wind as her eyes narrowed into slits. “I’m not the one holding a young woman to the ground at gunpoint, Captain.” 

“Glinda doesn’t need reminders of what once was,” Fiyero hissed, not moving from where he stood over her, but shifting the end of his gun from her cheek. “She’s sick. She needs my help. You did something to her.” 

“I did nothing, Fiyero and you know it! Wake up! This is all lies. That’s all it’s ever been.” 

“No. No, you wake up!” Fiyero lifted his weapon, pointing it at Elphaba with a snarl. “It was you who started all this. You who ruined my life and destroyed everything and everyone I ever loved. It was your fault!” 

“My fault? You really are brainless, aren’t you?” Elphaba’s green lip twitched. Glinda struggled to sit up on her elbow, shaking from the effort as her head spun. “Release her, Fiyero. She’s not yours to protect anymore. Not like this.” 

Fiyero curled his finger around the trigger. “Never.” 

“Fine.” Elphaba swung her arm, knocking the gun clear out of Fiyero’s hands. She opened her fingers, her long nails forming a claw shape as thunder trembled and lightning flashed. “Eleka nahmen nahmen…” 

“What are you doing?” 

“Ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen…” 

“You witch, what are you doing!” Fiyero suddenly stumbled backwards, clutching at his chest. Glinda groaned as she fought to sit up, but her limbs wouldn’t respond. Elphaba came closer to her. 

“Glinda, are you alright…?” 

“Stay away from her!”

“No! You stay away!” Elphaba’s hand shook as Fiyero was kept back, beginning to claw at his uniform as though burning. “Eleka nahmen nahmen ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen! Ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen!” 

A green hand outstretched towards her, Glinda hesitated before grabbing hold of it, pushing up from the ground as the entire world spun on its side. She stumbled, falling right into the Wicked Witch’s elbow with a huff and a groan. “I’m getting you out of here,” the woman croaked, not taking her eyes off Fiyero. “Where’s the girl?” 

“G–gone, I hope,” Glinda managed, rain splashing against her cheeks as her skin blazed to life. Everything hurt. She wanted to go home. 

“Elphaba!” Fiyero shouted the green woman’s name, screaming in pain as he writhed in agony. “Stop! Stop it! Please, stop!” 

Elphaba didn’t stop. She closed her hand into a fist. “Eleka nahmen nahmen ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen!” 

There was another pained scream as Fiyero collapsed, his very skin shredding into thin, fleshy threads. Glinda watched only for a second before Elphaba turned her around. “Don’t watch. You’ll never unsee it.” 

“W–what are you doing to–to him?” 

“Nothing less than what he deserves,” Elphaba muttered under her breath. “Glinda, are you ok? Stay with me.” 

“Oh Oz, Elphie,” Glinda whispered, her entire chest heaving as she clenched her jaw in pain. “That hurt.” 

“I’ve got you, my sweet,” Elphaba whispered, Fiyero still screaming into the storm. The broomstick arrived in the Wicked Witch’s hand at her command, its wood handle slamming against her palm with a jostle. “Hold onto me. Don’t let go.” 

Too dazed to do much else, Glinda felt it as she was fully picked up off the ground, tossed over the woman’s shoulder like she weighed nothing at all. 

“Heed my warning, Ozians!” Elphaba bellowed. “Your Good Witch is mine now. Come after her, and you will suffer the same fate as him.” With a loud crack and a whoosh of air, Glinda’s stomach dropped as she was suddenly taken off the ground. The shrieking and flapping of the winged monkey’s filled her head, as did the whipping wind and the rolling thunder. Below, the last thing she saw was the green of the Emerald City…and a beautiful white horse and wagon, now galloping away from its walls.

Chapter Text

Elphaba
The Wicked Witch of the West

“Elphie!” 

Elphaba was running. Her heart was racing and her legs were burning with exertion. Down below, she could hear the clattering of the Wizard’s guard breaking down the door. In a minute—maybe less—they’d be completely swarmed and escape would be a lot more difficult. “Elphie, stop!” 

“Glinda, come on.” Holding the wrist of her companion as they ascended the stairs, a wicker basket was hanging from an array of ropes and shackles. Above, the roof was open, allowing blue sky to peek through. “That!” She pointed up with her green finger, trying not to drop the Grimmerie still clutched under her arm. “That’s our way out.” 

“What? Elphie!” Glinda dragged her feet, nearly causing them to stumble over. “We have to go back!” 

“We can’t! There’s…no. No! We have to move.” 

“Elphie, listen to me.” Glinda hurried to step in front of her, blocking the way up the stairs. Her brown eyes sparkled with tears, lips wobbling dangerously. “J—just say you’re sorry. You can still be with the Wizard.” 

“I can’t anymore. He’s a liar. A—a phony! He’s hurting the Animals.” 

“Elphie, wait!” Glinda huffed as she was grabbed again, pulled up towards the landing. She stopped by the rail as Elphaba sprinted to it’s edge, waving a hand as her magic severed the ropes anchoring the basket to the wall. 

Stumbling into it with a clatter, Elphaba hurried to the side as it swung, grabbing at whatever mechanics were in reach as there was a hiss and grind. With a loud phoomph of air, a fire blazed to life from a brass kettle, filling a multi-colored sheet with hot air. “Glinda, jump!” 

“Me jump! Have you lost your mind?” 

“Glinda, just…hurry!” 

The guards broke down the door, flooding into the tower. Seeing them, Glinda squeaked in fear as she took the leap, almost not making it as the basket swung away from her. A guard’s hand grabbed onto her ankle as she shrieked in surprise, kicking at his face as a pink heel slipped from her foot. Elphaba hurried to grab the girls arms, wincing as there was a bap! bap! bap! of gunfire from below. Rolling with her lover into the basket, Glinda howled in as she clutched onto her arm, the color seeped from her face. 

“What—?” Elphaba didn’t even have time to finish her question. Glinda removed her hand from her upper arm, the entire palm coming back crimson. She’d been grazed. “Damn it! Help me with this!” 

Grabbing onto a lever, there was a roar as the flames billowed to life. Glinda struggled back to her feet and grabbed a second, doing the exact same as they began to rise. And up…and up…

“C’mere!” 

Elphaba screamed as she was suddenly grabbed from behind, yanked fully backwards with a shout of alarm. One moment she was in the basket, the next she wasn’t, falling to the floor with a painful thump. 

“Elphie! Elphie, come back! I can’t stop it!” 

Glinda was pulling at whatever she could, but there wasn’t any way to stop the balloon from rising. Kicking the guard on top of her with a black boot, he grunted and stumbled off the narrow wooden platform, falling to his death. Scrambling to her feet, Elphaba ran as fast and as hard as she could to reach the balloon. To make it back to Glinda who was still trying to slow her ascent. 

“Glinda!” 

“Elphie!” 

There was another clatter as a guard leapt into the balloon, taking Glinda’s narrow wrists in his hands. They began to struggle, but he was much larger, pressing the girl against the side of the basket, threatening to throw her over the side. Elphaba’s magic boiled in panic. 

“No! Let her go!” Tossing out a hand, there was a flash. A bang. The guard holding Glinda flew back and over the basket’s side, screaming as he plummeted. But Glinda crumbled too, disappearing behind wicker walls. “Glinda!” Fear rising in her chest, Elphaba hurried up the attic stairs two at a time. She only managed to get high enough to see her friend once, and only for the briefest second. Glinda lay inside, fresh blood oozing from a new wound at her hairline. 

The spell…the wayward magic…it hit her! She’d hit Glinda! 

“No!” So shocked by what she’d done, Elphaba lost steam. Her speed dropped as she tripped on the stairs, running out of platform long after the balloon was already beyond her reach. The thing barely made it through the glass ceiling as it shut from below with a mighty clatter. Her heart ached. There was no way out. “Glinda! GLINDA—!” 

Elphaba gasped. Her heart thumped as she sat up from the nightmare, tangled braids falling over her shoulders. Dream. It was a dream. Just a nightmare. Except it wasn’t a nightmare at all, seeing as it already happened. Elphaba could recall every single detail of that day in horrible clarity. It haunted her waking hours, as well as her dreams. Glinda was gone. She’d been gone for almost five years. 

It had taken so much time to grapple with the idea of it; to wrestle her heart silent so the thing didn’t get her killed. Grief made her weak, sorrow made her slow, and heartbreak left her vulnerable. All of these things she couldn’t be if she wanted to make it on the run. Elphaba had to think logically; to be rational about what happened to Glinda that day. She didn’t have a choice. 

The balloon could’ve been shot out of the sky; it could’ve fallen from a great height, crushing its passenger. If it didn’t fall, it could’ve floated into the impassable desert where Glinda would’ve been toasted to a crisp by the sun. It could’ve descended over a body of water and she drowned. It simply could’ve gone forever and ever, leaving Glinda trapped in that basket to starve or go mad. Elphaba had thought up so many different ways that Glinda could’ve died, just to convince herself that she hadn’t killed her. 

That she hadn’t been the one to cast a wayward spell and murder her best friend by mistake. 

For five years Elphaba relived what happened, wallowing in the heartache and depression which accompanied it. For five years she’d been blamed and villainized for murdering an innocent girl by pushing her over a balcony. Something which never happened, but it might as well have. She’d taken more lives since then; or rather, she was blamed for their fates. Dr. Dillamond was killed by way of treason. Boq was now a walking man of tin due to his broken heart. Nessa had a house dropped on her. And now Fiyero, turned into a Scarecrow for the rest of eternity (she was fully responsible for that, but had few regrets about it). Perhaps it would’ve been merciful to just murder them all herself. To end their suffering with her own green hands. 

No good deed went unpunished and Elphaba was fed up trying to be something she wasn’t. Yet after five years of toiling away in her own anger and self-pity, Glinda had suddenly come back from the dead. Except her death was somehow easier to understand than the truth; that being she didn’t remember a single thing. Not the Wizard, or Shiz, or even her. 

Pushing to her feet with a tired grunt, Elphaba inhaled the musky scent of an abandoned barn. The crooked old building was derelict, swallowed by foliage and well hidden from any who might have come looking for them. Above her head, flying monkeys gathered in the rafters to preen, shake off rain, or nurse their wounds. None of her dear friends had been lost to gunfire as far as she knew; a blessing, seeing as their luck had been downright lousy as of late. Rubbing the back of her neck with a wince, every muscle burned with exertion. 

Riding a broomstick was fast but hardly ever comfortable, especially when it took most of her athleticism to not fall off. Zipping around to write messages in the sky took a lot out of her, while carrying a whole second person was downright miserable. She’d lost Glinda to unconsciousness not long after they took off, meaning she had to focus extra hard so as to not accidentally drop her. It’s why they stopped; they needed to rest and regroup until it was safer to go on. Until the storm ended, or she was once again strong enough to fly. 

Until Glinda was strong enough to fly. 

Crossing the floor, a few monkeys looked up to observe but didn’t interfere. She quietly slipped into a side room, once a tool-closet or grain storage, now an empty hovel that creaked and whistled in the wind. Here, their guest (one might call her a prisoner) slept comfortably. Well…as comfortably as one could while on the run. Chistery had taken extra care to make a bed of dry straw and burlap, overturned buckets catching any water leaking through the roof. The captain of the guard was currently perched on a stool, watching over his charge with silent diligence. 

“Has she woken up yet?” 

Chistery shook his head. Elphaba frowned, concern tugging at her heart. She’d watched from above as Fiyero brought the butt of his gun down onto Glinda’s neck, causing her to collapse and stay there. It was a malicious attack—one meant to incapacitate—yet somehow he called Elphaba a monster. Crouching at the unconscious girl's side, Elphaba looked to one corner of the room where shotgun Glinda carried rested in the shadows. 

Elphaba recalled having the weapon shoved into her throat; certainly not how she expected reuniting with her lost friend to go. One of her monkeys had grabbed the weapon as they were retreating, having seen it knocked from Glinda’s arms in the scuffle. It now waited patiently for its owner to wake up, worn and well loved compared to the Ozian guards single barrel rifles. 

Glinda looked so different now, it was hard to really wrap her head around it. But wherever she’d ended up hadn’t been kind, that was certain enough. Her once creamy skin was dark and sunchapped, while her hair had grown long and lost its silky sheen. Reaching down to gently pick up Glinda’s hand, her palm was rough and calloused, while her fingernails had gone brittle and swelled near the cuticle. Wherever Glinda had been, she’d been tortured with hard labor. Maybe she had been enslaved somewhere? Kept against her will, forced to work until her body gave out. But that didn’t account for the child. The girl. 

The one Glinda called sister. 

Glinda didn’t have a sister, this Elphaba was most certain of. Meaning Dorothy had come from wherever Glinda ended up landing. She too was dark from the sun and rough from work. But neither girl was frail or starved; in fact, Glinda seemed to have developed a bit of muscle since she’d been gone. That and a strong sense of will, if her pulling the trigger and shooting Madame Morrible point blank was any indication. No, she hadn’t been enslaved. Or if she had, the experience merely strengthened her into someone Elphaba struggled to recognize.

Kissing the knuckles of the hand she now held, Elphaba gently laid it over Glinda’s chest. The wedding dress had to go. It was heavy and waterlogged anyway, and her monkeys needed bandages. The makeshift wrap she’d crafted was—at best—temporary, but it exposed more of Glinda than Elphaba had seen so far. And what she found enraged her. The girl was absolutely covered in bruises in various stages of healing. Some were faint and almost gone, while others were fresh; dark enough to see the outline of handprints. 

Gently slipping her arm under Glinda’s neck, the girl’s brows flickered, a sound of pain slipping from between her slightly parted lips. 

“I’m sorry, my sweet,” Elphaba apologized, feeling the base of the girl's skull with her fingers. A rather large bump had formed there from Fiyero’s attack. “Glinda, wake up.” 

“…Elphie…?” 

Her nickname again. For a girl who seemingly didn’t remember anything, the fact that Glinda still said her name in fondness made her heart swell. But it wasn’t because she remembered. At least not consciously, anyway.

“Yes. Open your eyes, Glinda.” 

“…hurts…it hurts…” 

“I know, my sweet. I’m so sorry.” Releasing her neck, Elphaba caressed her cheek before using a thumb to lift one eyelid. The pupil was wide and dark as night. Shit. 

“Is she dying, mistress?” Chistery’s voice was deep and soft. Just a whisper in the silence of the barn. Elphaba shook her head slowly. 

“No. But she’s not well, either. Fiyero hit her really hard.” 

“Will she be well enough to leave with us?” 

“I don’t think so.” Elphaba heaved an unhappy breath. She couldn’t go far while carrying Glinda on the broomstick. It was too risky. They had to find another way. Puzzling for a solution, her brain clicked knowingly. Glinda had sent Dorothy off in a wagon; Elphaba had seen it from the air. “Watch over her, my friend. Let me know if she wakes up.” 

“Of course, mistress.” 

Chistery adjusted his wings, getting more comfortable on the stool. Returning to the main barn, Elphaba reached into a hay pile, removing her single travel satchel. It wasn’t a lot; just some medical supplies, a few potions, and the Grimmerie. But she also had something else. She’d stolen it while in Quadling Country, from an old fortune teller who’d tried to capture her. The crystal ball was no bigger than an orange, small enough to fit in her palms and travel in her bag. Sitting down to rest her arms on her bent knees, Elphaba stared into the warped glass. 

“Show me the girl,” she ordered, filtering her magic through the sphere as it began to grow warm against her skin. “Show me Dorothy.” 

A billow of red seeped into the crystal, filling it to the interior edges. Squinting into the mist, a picture began to form. There wasn’t much to see, but a familiar child’s face emerged. Dorothy was asleep in a bed with that wretched little dog on her lap, changed from her wedding attire, dry and safe. Someone in Munchkinland had taken her in, meaning it wouldn’t be hard to find her. Pulling away from the crystal ball and returning it to her bag, Elphaba stood and opened her palm. With a zip her broom flew to her open hand. 

“Mistress?” A monkey leaned over the rafters. “Where are you going?” 

“To find the child belonging to Glinda the Good,” Elphaba replied, picking up her hat from the hay pile and putting it on her head. “Protect her while I’m away. Make sure she doesn’t leave.” 

“But Mistress, what of the storm?” 

“I’m not scared of a storm,” Elphaba chuckled, waving a hand as the barn door opened, revealing a pitch black night. “A little water hasn’t hurt me yet.”

Chapter Text

Dorothy’s Interlude

“Dorothy!” 

“Glinda!” Dorothy’s worn black shoes sunk in the dirt of the farm road. Her hair had fallen out of its bows, leaving it to slap her face as she ran towards the distant silhouette of her sister. Fat tears obscured her eyes as she huffed and struggled to catch a breath, while Toto danced between her legs, having spent the entire day hidden in her lunch basket. Not slowing down, Glinda grunted and nearly fell over as Dorothy grabbed onto her skirt with both hands, clinging to the familiar fabric. “Glinda, I’m so happy to see you!” 

“Dorothy, where have you been? We’ve been lookin’ all over for who knows how long,” Glinda chided, placing a hand on the child’s head and giving it a pat. “What a state you’re in, girl. Aunt Em’s bout’ta have a right fit cause of you.” 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’ mean to! T—the boys chased me away from the schoolhouse; they said they wanted to throw Toto down the well! I had’ta run or—or…” 

“Dorothy, what did I tell ya’ about bringin’ Toto to school?” 

“That…that it wasn’t any good?” 

“Right. And you’ve gone and done it anyway. Now look at you! Filthy as sin and crying these big ole’ crocodile tears for what?” Glinda tsked, gently pushing Dorothy backwards as she crouched down, wagging an unhappy finger. “Dorothy, come now, you know better than that.” 

“But Uncle Henry said Toto upset the chickens too much while I’m away,” Dorothy wailed, grabbing the terrier by the waist and hauling him up into her arms. “I had’ta do somethin’. Besides, he followed me on his own.” 

“I doubt that’s true,” Glinda chuffed with an eye roll, using a nail to open the lid of Dorothy’s now empty basket. “Cause I found yer’ lunch sittin’ out by the fence where you left it this morning.” 

“Glinda, you’ve gotta understand!” 

“Dorothy, Toto is a farm dog. He belongs on the farm, not at school. One o’ these days he’s gonna get you into real trouble and then what? He’ll get taken away.” 

“No!” Dorothy refused to let go even as Toto wriggled in her embrace, little paws kicking the air. “You can’t take him away! He’s mine!” 

“Then you gotta do as I tell you the first time,” Glinda insisted. “Now put that poor creature down.” 

Dorothy’s lip wobbled with the threat of tears, but she allowed Toto to jump from her arms and to the road, shaking out his ratty coat. Glinda’s brows furrowed a bit as she took Dorothy in, a terse smile curling one side of her lip. “Dorothy, no more tears or you’ll flood the prairie. Come now, little one. Enough of that.” 

“You’re upset with me.”  

“A little, but only cause I care.” Glinda’s hand gently took hold of Dorothy’s chin, keeping it still as she blubbered unhappily. “Listen here, Dorothy. Sometimes, we’ve only got one chance to do the right thing. You may’ve gotten away from those boys today, but what about tomorrow, or the next? What if you’d gone and fallen down the well after him and gotten hurt?” 

“I…I dunno.” 

“Hmm. Sometimes we don’ get second chances, Dorothy. That day coulda been today. Aunt Em would’ve been distraught if you’d not come home. That’s why we try our very best to make the right choice the first time, so nothin’ bad happens to the people we love.” 

“Have you always made the right choice, Glinda?” Dorothy wondered, setting down her basket and allowing Toto to crawl inside. Glinda sighed a bit and pursed her lips, shaking her head. 

“I wish I knew. But maybe if I’d done somethin’ different, I’d still be with my own family.” 

“Aren’t we your family?” 

“O’course you are. But I wonder sometimes if there’s people out there missing me, just as we would’ve missed you if you’d gone fallin’ down a well.” Glinda smiled, giving Dorothy’s nose a tug as she smiled and giggled. “You won’t take Toto to school again, will you?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“Good girl. Now c’mon, Em’s been up in a tizzy all afternoon because of you.” 

Getting a little nudge forward from behind, Dorothy ran in front of Glinda as they returned to the farmstead. As expected, she was greeted by a frantic Aunt Em who hugged her, kissed her cheek, then proceeded to send her to bed without supper. Curled up in the bed with Toto and her dolls as night fell on the prairie, Glinda sat on the floor beside her. 

“Glinda?” 

“You’re s’pposed to be sleeping, Dorothy.” 

“Are you ok?” 

Glinda held a familiar pink shoe in her hands, the colorful leather worn down and soft from how many times she’d held it just like this, rubbing her thumbs across the stitching. 

“Just thinkin’ a little. That’s all. Close your eyes, girl. Mornin’ will be here before you know it. 

Dorothy frowned, but rolled over and did as she was told. Sleep wasn’t quick to take her until Glinda began humming a little tune, sending her straight off into dreams where the grass was green, the walls were made of glass, and the road was paved in yellow brick. 

Chapter Text

Dorothy and the Wicked Witch

“Glinda!” Dorothy shot up in bed, her heart racing and her cheeks flushed. She’d been dreaming of home, back with Aunty Em, Uncle Henry, and Glinda in their cozy farmhouse. 

It seemed like she wanted to be anywhere but boring old Kansas all the time, but now that it was so far away, she wanted nothing more than to be back there. This place was so very strange, and she was now separated from her big sister. Trembling under a handmade quilt of plush, blue fabric squares, the sky beyond the dark window was howling like a ghost. The Munchkin farmer she’d come across after fleeing the City of Emerald’s was kindly, as was his wife who fed her a big meal, pinched her cheek, and even put a little ribbon around Toto’s neck. She was safe here–at least for now–but Dorothy knew she couldn’t stay. 

She had to turn around; she had to get back to the city to reach Glinda. The people in the green palace were so cruel to her, even if she tried her best to hide it. Dorothy could see on her sister’s face how scared she was; it was in her eyes, dark like the most vicious of storms. It trembled in her voice as she spoke, even as she yelled in the funny language belonging to the people who lived here. Glinda was afraid, therefore Dorothy was afraid too. And the last place she wanted to be was away from her family. Rubbing her eyes tiredly from the few hours of sleep she’d managed, Dorothy realized a ball of dark fur was curiously missing from beside her knees. 

“Toto?” Turning her head left and right in confusion, Dorothy tossed off the quilt to find her little dog. Smoothing out the nightdress borrowed from the farmer’s wife, she picked up the candle still lit on the bedside table and held it aloft. The room wasn’t very big and had hardly any furniture in it, meaning she could see where Toto had somehow managed to get the side door open. This left the room open to the stormy night, where rain came down in a torrent and wind whipped the leaves off the trees. “Toto! Oh no!” Knowing her dog’s propensity for escaping and running off, Dorothy gathered up the blue quilt, sad to ruin it in the storm, but not knowing what happened to her poor pet. Trying her best to keep the candle lit, she pushed out onto a lush lawn of grass. Her bare feet sunk in the mud, squishing with each step. All around her the storm raged on. “Toto! Here Toto!” 

Straining to separate the wind from anything else, the terriers' familiar yipping barks finally reached her. Sighing in relief that Toto hadn’t gone far, Dorothy followed the sound out towards the edge of the yard. Further and further away from the farmer’s house she went, heart racing in fear. Glinda would’ve surely chided her for running out into a storm with nothing but a flimsy candle and no raincoat. It was like the day of the twister all over again. The winds and the rain consumed her fully; so much so that she was only able to move forward towards Toto, whose barks became louder and louder with each step. Finally, after what felt like forever fighting the weather, her little dog was outlined by the dim glow of her dying candle. “Toto! Come here, you pesky thing.” 

Toto didn’t listen. He was stanced and pointing with his nose towards a rather large oak tree. Knowing he only stanced like that when he was after something–a marmot, a rat, or something similar–Dorothy lifted her candle up to see, only to shriek in panic. She grabbed her dog and leapt backwards in fright, nearly dropping her only source of light at what she saw. In the tree, an arm limply dangled from over a branch. But it wasn’t just any arm, the green skin reflected the light of her candle, shining slick like wax and glistening with water droplets. The Wicked Witch! Purely on instinct alone, Dorothy thought to run back to the farmhouse to fetch help. To fetch the guards with guns who were seemingly the police of this strange world. Surely they would know what to do. 

But Dorothy stopped herself, steeling her resolve and the need to run away. After all, it was those same green policemen who wrapped Glinda up in ropes and chucked her into the back of a wagon. It was the green guards who held Dorothy by the elbow as her sister was wrestled into a wedding dress and bullied by the tall, grey haired woman she called Madame Morrible. No, Dorothy didn’t want to see those people again. The Wicked Witch was certainly frightening, what with her bright eyes and sneering lips and asparagus skin. But Glinda didn’t seem to be frightened of her at all. In fact, Dorothy thought perhaps they even knew each other, as they conversed in their funny language. But they couldn’t have possibly known one another, as Glinda was from Kansas or, at least, from Nebraska, like Uncle Henry claimed.

Swallowing thickly and holding Toto under her arm to keep him from wiggling, Dorothy approached the tree again. If Glinda wasn’t afraid of the Wicked Witch, she wouldn’t be either. Setting her candle in the hollow of the oak’s trunk, she wrapped herself up in the wet quilt, extending one arm into the branches. She brushed fingertips with the witch, surprised at the tingle of electricity which shot through her. She jumped as a pair of practically glowing green eyes opened, staring at her from the darkness. Frightened again, Dorothy’s hand shook as she grabbed onto the long green fingers, clasping them with her own pale ones and giving them a tug. 

“Miss Wicked Witch?” Dorothy didn’t know if the green woman could even understand her, but she had to at least try. Taking stock of the situation as best she could, it looked like the Witch had fallen out of the sky and into the oak. She was all tangled up and twisted in a funny way, the twigs and leaves catching on her raggedy black cloaks. “Miss, are you alright?” 

The Witch’s brows scrunched. She was missing her hat, revealing a head of long dark hair that was glued to her neck with rainwater. The woman didn’t look very old at all. Dorothy had seen posters of the Witch in the Munchkin village. She was all wrinkly and had sharp teeth and red eyes. But here now, Dorothy had to say the green stranger looked about Glinda’s age. She had no wrinkles besides the beginnings of ones in her forehead and around her lips. And of course, Dorothy didn’t forget how the Witch reached out to her sister like an old friend, caressing the edge of her jaw as though admiring Glinda’s big brown eyes. 

Distracted by her own thoughts, Dorothy shook her head as Toto gave a frightened yip, wiggling under her hand. The Witch had managed to pull herself free of the tree, landing in the grass with a soft thump and a distinct groan of pain. It was hard to see in the dark and storm, but there looked to be something smeared across the stranger’s palms, darker than her green skin. Without thinking, Dorothy swung the quilt from around her shoulders, wrapping it around the Witch. It was something Glinda did to her when she was cold, and it always made her feel better. 

“El..pha…ba…” the Witch spoke softly, her voice deep and rich. It wasn’t anything like the angered crow call from the Munchkin village. “Elphaba.” 

“Is that–?” Dorothy stopped herself. The Witch couldn’t understand her. “El…pha…ba?” It was a funny sounding word that didn’t really fit in her mouth. “Elphaba.” 

The Witch, still on the ground in the quilt, nodded slowly. She pointed a green finger at herself. “Elphaba.” It was her name. She was telling Dorothy her name. 

“Oh! Dorothy.” Giving a little curtsy with her dress to be polite, the Witch–Miss Elphaba–just stared very intensely at her. Dorothy held out Toto. “And this is Toto.” 

The terrier gave a yip of protest as Miss Elphaba tilted her head, seemingly in puzzlement. It didn’t last though as the witch began to shift, rolling onto her knees only to stop and hiss in pain. She grabbed at her stomach, more dark liquid smearing onto her green fingertips and obscuring the strangely tinted palm. She tried to stand, only to fall back onto a knee as her face crumbled. She was hurt. 

Too frightened to approach or offer her help, Dorothy refused to run away as Miss Elphaba slowly used the tree to struggle back to her feet. In a flash of lightning she was outlined in bright white light, revealing numerous small cuts, dark blotchy bruises, and a trail of liquid seeping from the corner of her lip. Frozen where she stood, now fully exposed to the elements and getting wetter by the second, Toto continued to bark as Miss Elphaba hunched down, picking up the candle from where it still rest in the hollow of the tree. With a palm wave, the long extinguished flame flickered back to life despite the wind, casting a green, weatherworn face in it’s glow. 

“Dorothy,” the Witch said, taking a step closer as her makeshift quilt cape whipped and her hair shimmered like strands of glass. 

“Y—yes?” 

Miss Elphaba stared silently down at her, green eyes sharp and mean-looking in the dark. But she reached into the folds of her dark clothing, removing something hidden inside. The white ribbon didn’t look like much at all, but Dorothy’s heart leapt in surprise. 

Glinda?