So I saw the movie... and wasn't so sure about the ending. So, naturally, I took to fanfiction!
(This is my project for Camp NaNoWriMo, so I'll probably be updating pretty frequently.)
Disclaimer: I do not own Oz the Great and Powerful or the quote from Lord Byron.
"Goddammit, Tip! You've been taking all day, and there's a rumor going around that there's going to be another search today!"
It is a beautiful day, as most days in the Emerald City usually are. The sky is a crisp, clear blue and the sun shines brightly overhead, beating down on the servants who are scattered about like ants. They are all busying themselves with work in different parts of the green orchard, picking apples and planting apples and making sure that the apples grow to their fullest capacity.
The child's head snaps up at the announcement, causing the tub of green apples to topple out of the child's hands. The child is quick to squat down to the ground in order to collect the apples, knowing that if any are ruined or missing, the child shall be whipped. In the process, the patched up hat that swallows up the child's head blows away, revealing long mahogany colored hair that appears red in the sunlight.
The girl abandons her previous task of gathering apples and hurries to adjust her disguise, knowing that girls weren't supposed to be working in the fields and that she could be severely punished if her secret was discovered. "Child, what are you doing?" The girl visibly relaxes when she realizes that it is Emma standing behind her, and not the overseer as she had thought. "I-I was trying to reach the higher apples and then my hat…" The girl trails off as the older woman grabs the hat and quickly adjusts the hat into place.
"The Witch shall arrive any minute!" Emma hisses, dragging the girl's arm behind her.
"So the overseer wasn't joking?" The girl deadpans. "This has to be the third search this week!"
Emma sighs, her age showing in her tired eyes. "Believe me child, I know. The Witch must have some feeling that there is magic in this area." She tugs on the girl's arm a little harder towards the bathhouse, oblivious to the way that the girl's eyes widen.
The couple hurry past all of the other pairs who are readying for the search, the adult servants helping the children clean themselves up. Emma doesn't stop until they have reached the corner of the bathhouse, where there are no other servants present. The girl looks both ways suspiciously out of habit before removing her hat. Her waves of hair topple down her shoulders as Emma begins to comb ringlets into submission.
"Your hair is even more wild than usual today," Emma starts, though there is no need to try and fill the silence that overcomes the pair. The bathhouse is filled with the sounds of children laughing, adults chattering, and babes crying. "Have you been brushing it before you go to sleep?"
The girl shrugs, too preoccupied with her thoughts to answer. "Would it really be so bad if the Witch took someone away?" The child blurts out as Emma weaves the girl's hair into a tight braid that wouldn't fall out of the hat.
The woman seems shocked, but it only lasts for a moment. She is used to the inquisitiveness of the child, and the odd questions that no other child would dare ask. "Well, there is no way of knowing what the Witch would do with you if she took you. Most folks like to say that drains the magic out of you with her wickedness." The woman answers, wiping the child's hands with a washcloth.
"Is it because she's scared?" The child pushes. Emma wasn't usually fond storytelling, and the girl decided to find out as much information as she could.
"What would she be scared of, child? She is the most powerful witch that there is." The woman scrubs harder at the child's hands.
The girl shrugged, pulling her hands out of the woman's grasp. "What if there is another witch, but one who hasn't practiced their abilities enough to be more powerful than her?"
Emma blinks at the girl before dunking the washcloth in the washbowl and running it over the girl's face. "Don't say such things. Your mother shall have my head." Emma whispers, terror clear in her voice, before turning away to help another child wash themselves.
The girl huffs before adjusting her hat onto her head. She could feel the familiar spark in her fingers, and takes a quick glance down at her finger tips, only to find that the red sparks were back. The girl sighs internally as she slides her hands under her legs in order to hide the sparks emitting from her fingers.
The sparks had been occurring in her fingers since she was eight years old. At first, they only came when she was angry or upset, but now she is able to control them a bit more. Clearly, she wasn't doing the best job at the moment.
The girl notices the line forming near the door, and groans before forcing herself onto her feet and walking out of the bathhouse through the backdoor, where she knows that her mother will await her. "What took so long?" Mombi demands, her voice sharp.
"I tripped," The girl says simply.
Mombi's narrowed eyes roam over the girl, pausing when she reaches the girl's head. "You finally learned how to hide that damn hair of yours, I see." Mombi scoffs at the overalls that fall off of the girl's body, and the dirty work boots that adorn her feet.
"What more must I do to make you at least try not to make?" The woman snaps suddenly, making the girl jump. "I took you in when I found you in the marketplace! I put food in your mouth, clothes on your back and a roof over your head! All that I ever ask is that you work a bit in the fields in order to help me, is that so much to ask? I treat you like one of my own children!"
The girl drags her boots around in the dirt, keeping her face down towards the ground. "Your real kids never have to work in the fields or dress up like a different gender," The girl mumbles softly, mostly to herself. She is sure that she was quiet enough; sure that her adoptive mother couldn't hear her, but the slap to her face that she receives begs to differ.
"What have I told you about the mumbling, Ozma? You know that I despise the mumbling." Mombi hisses. "In fact, I despise it so much that I think that you will miss dinner tonight to practice your speech. Is that clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," Ozma mumbles, not lifting her eyes from the ground. She can feel her adoptive mother's eyes still on her. "Clean yourself up. The Witch of the West shall arrive soon."
"My, my, my. Look at all of you kiddies." Theodora smiles wickedly, scaring most of the small children to tears. "There are so many of you. Where should I start?"
The tears rolling down their cheeks are because of her, something inside of her says. Theodora finds that it is like being underwater; the old her was trapped underwater and couldn't come up to the surface because the new her was blocking it. Sometimes it felt as though her old self would be able to come back up, but her new self would quickly push it back down. It was a daily struggle, and the Wicked Witch of the West always seemed to win.
Except for today. Today was the day that she would fulfill her mission.
Theodora feels frustration brewing as she walks through the rows of children, looking for a familiar face. She only saw her once, but the small time that she had with her daughter was all that she needed. Eyes, she remembered. Her daughter had inherited her father's eyes.
Theodora heads towards the teenaged children, with whom her child would be standing, if she was here. Most children in the Emerald City worked at the Green Apple Manor, and it would be the best place for Theodora to look.
She wasn't sure what was driving her to do this, because she has thought that she was sure about giving the baby up when she was born. She remembers the day vividly, the hatred that she felt when she saw that the baby girl had his eyes. She remembers the hour that she spent with the child, before wrapping her in a blanket and leaving her in the market place.
She knows that her old self was trying to break the surface.
"Is that all," Theodora announces once she has gone through all of the children, her usual biting tone replaced with something else; was it disappointment?
Mombi, the owner of the manor, bobs her head. "The only children left are my own." She says respectfully. The woman is standing too stiffly, her dark hair bun too straight. The boys who stand on either side of the woman stand at something of an attention stance, their sweater vests looking uncomfortable with the heat, though Theodora sports all black attire.
"Are you sure that there isn't anyone else?" Theodora asks once more, not letting her disappointment be seen. She isn't sure how she came up with this stupid idea anyway, and readies her broom so that she can fly away.
Ozma isn't sure what possessed her to disobey her adoptive mother, but she finds herself leaving her spot from behind the bathhouse and heading towards the orchard, where the Witch is making her search. She figures that if the Witch takes her away, at least she won't have to do any speech practices tonight.
"You forgot about me, Mother!" Ozma announces, running towards Mombi and stopping short when she sees the Witch. Ozma has never participated in any of the searches because her adoptive mother always had her hidden away whenever they took place. She finds the green skin fascinating, while most would find it terrifying. What does worry her, however, is the way that the Witch's eyes fix on her, and the way that her breath hitches when Ozma looks up at her.
"What is it?" Ozma asks no one in particular, turning to look back towards her adoptive mother. She never believed that someone's eyes could become as wide as saucers until now, and this is the first time that she's seen her adoptive mother look absolutely terrified.
"How old are you, child?" The Witch asks; her voice husky with tears. This child has to be her. The child appears to be dressed as a boy, though her features are too feminine. Her brown eyes have specks of gold, sparkled like diamonds and are shaped like almonds. Her lips were plump and red, and the child is skinny, though too skinny to be a boy. Theodora figures that the girl was dressed as a boy in order to work in the fields, as most parents forced their children to do in order to help support the family
Theodora can feel fury rising up in her chest at the thought of Mombi forcing the small child, who looks so delicate, to toil in the fields like a mere mortal. If this was her child, she doubts that she was mortal at all.
"Fourteen," Ozma whispers quietly, though the child can tell that the Witch heard her by the tears that are now pooling in her eyes. Ozma has heard lots of stories about the Witch, but she never thought that Witches could cry.
It doesn't make sense that the child would be fourteen, Theodora decides. She isn't even five feet tall, and her ribs stick out so that they are visible.
Theodora wants to stop herself, but she knows that it is too late when she sees her hand reaching out towards that hat that covers the child's head. She feels as though she is not in control of her own body, and this has never happened before.
Ozma is aware that the rest of the manor is looking on with a wary silence as the braid topples out of the hat.
Theodora holds her breath, pressing her lips together and shut her eyes tightly. She wants to say something, nothing and everything at the same time, but settles for something simpler.
"You are my daughter."
I'm just going to apologize in advance if you hated this. It's going to have Theodora/ Oz in it a little later, so I hope that's nice.
I used the names Ozma and Mombi because of the original Oz stories, and the whole "Ozma living with Mombi as a boy thing" comes from that. I hope that it wasn't too confusing.
Did anyone like it?