He woke up in the middle of the night. In the otherworld this would seem odd, but now began occuring more and more often. He always seemed to have a slight sense of urgency, of importance, which was not a bad thing, just differant.
He quickly realised he was alone in the bed- she was missing. For a moment, he panicked. Then he heard an ominous crash of thunder, and looked to the outside. She sat on the window seat, staring out. She didn't realise he was awake.
So much had changed in such a short time. The infamous Wicked Witch of the West was dead. The Crown Prince of the Arjiki was dead. The Witch when a bucket of water had splashed her. The prince when he allowed himself to be a love-sick fool.
So much had happened. She always claimed to not believe in the Afterlife, and he susposed that this was some form of Afterlife, of Otherworld. Though the misfit lovers of Oz had died, their spirits now thrived. Gone was his title, his blue diamonds, her green skin, and pain. The only thing left was them.
He stood up behind her, wrapping his arms around her. She jumped at first, but then relaxed into his embrace. He touched the pale skin, so differant, yet it was still her.
"She died with a bucket of water. Imagine what this would have done to her." She gestured to the storm.
"And is that why you're afraid of all that water?" He asked. "It reminds you of death?"
"It reminds me of her." She said soberly. "That monster she let herself become. That witch."
"But it was not your fault- you had lost everything."
"Her sister, her love, her dreams, her sanity." She said. "But she still had her cause. She still had her son- your son."
They had a bond- that much was clear. They had died apart, yet still had found each other. And this time, no wife, no wizard, no pain ripped them apart. And she remembered it all. And the more she told him, the more he recalled, until it seemed like it happened a few years ago, not another lifetime ago.
"But you died. You didn't abandon anyone. You didn't choose to die." He said.
"She was ready to kill herself- She didn't care anymore." She still had her spark- life as a market owner's daughter in that little town in Kansas hadn't dulled it. It gave her strength- she didn't have all that pain anymore.
He kissed her hair. "I wish I had been there. I could have helped you. Somehow."
"But you died years before- and that was her fault, too."
"You tried to protect me- I didn't listen."
"She could have just left. Disapeared."
"I would have looked for you."
"Fool."
"I love you."
"Which still makes you a fool." She relented. "But I do love you. I always will."
"In this life I found you. And in the next, I will as well," He ran his hand over her bear arm. "Why do you always refer to yourself as her?"
"I am myself. When I speak of myself, your wife, I use me. But I'm not that Wicked Witch she became." She leaned her head back so he could kiss her lips. "But you- you're still the sweet, good, fool who loved her. You were never corrupted."
"I died young."
"You were freed. And I was freed from her." With that she pushed the window open, letting herself slip out the first story window, onto the soft grass below.
He smiled, seeing her laugh as she got soaked, the water running through her hair, soaking her to the bone in her thin nightgown. She was free of pain, free of Oz, free of the Wicked Witch of the West. Her spirit had broken through.