The dull monochrome tint of Kansas had rarely ever felt so bleak.
Her uncle's funeral was a month ago, but the wound was still fresh. Gone was all the love and care he had given her for so many years and gone was any trace left of anyone related to her by blood.
She didn't cry so much at the funeral. She had done enough of that, for her uncle's death was something she had been dreading for at least a year.
Aunt Em had been pestering her about courting someone to get her mind off of things, maybe finally start a family.
Dorothy wasn't especially keen on the idea. No one around Kansas really caught her eye outside of a shallow physical attraction here and there. She was still somewhat caught up with someone who was unreachable.
There had been one boy her age who had been particularly insistent that they date.
Dorothy was lonely, so she accepted. And as long as her job was delivering the mail around the neighborhood, she was bound to get unwanted attention.
If only the truck Uncle Henry left behind was more discrete. It made so much noise that she could never slip by unnoticed. She was growing more and more tired of the flirting she had no plans to reciprocate.
"Dorothy.. I just don't get ya! You act all annoyed with me when you deliver my mail, then you finally agree to let me take ya out and.. now I can't even come in or give ya a kiss." Andy whined.
Dorothy rolled her eyes. "Well, a date that starts with you talking about how much money you have and ending with a marriage proposal isn't my idea of a first date."
Andy looked flabbergasted and looked around. "I thought it was a darn good proposal!"
Dorothy gave a stern look. "Why, besides the fact we barely know each other I'd hardly call it romantic. You just don't ask a girl to marry you like you're going to the hardware store to buy a coffeegrinder. I mean.. you just don't come up to a girl and say 'The humidity is very high for this time of year, will you marry me?! That is just absurd." Dorothy scolded, crossing her arms.
Andy squinted before coming to the conclusion that best suited his ever exapnding ego. "Oh, I get it. You don't want your aunt to see."
Dorothy rolled her eyes. "That isn't-"
"Just because she's a widow doesn't mean you have to sacrifice your own love life. She's old. She's bound to be lonely." Andy shrugged.
Dorothy had already had enough, but now this boy was crossing the line.
With her hands on her hips, Dorothy began to scowl and step closer to him. "You know.. I have been unequivocally repulsed by your attitude the entire day, but now you've really done it. Don't you ever make such a personal presumption about me or my family ever again! Now buzz off before I make you regret ever seeing me!"
Andy slowly stepped off the porch with every word, turning away and not looking back. "Awful lots of spunk for such a tiny thing.." he mumbled.
Dorothy grumbled and walked inside. Aunt Em had fallen asleep on the couch. Dorothy was relieved to know her aunt was spared from hearing any of the nonsense going on outside.
She locked herself in her tiny room and stared up at the ceiling.
She really was lonely. She kept considering the idea that she should get a new pet, but it still felt wrong. Like she was replacing Toto.
She was 23 now. It felt just like yesterday she was a teenager. The feeling was amplified by the fact she had been staying in the old house with Aunt Em ever since Henry passed.
Her face was a bit more mature now and she let her hair down far more often than she had in her childhood or as a teen. But she couldn't help but feel her old self would be disappointed about where she was at this stage in life.
It had been a whole five years since she stepped foot into the land of Oz, making her realize just how few of her friends were at 'home.'
She missed it. Dearly. Her friends, the beauty and innocent wonder of the whimsical realm.
After a man wielding a powerful scepter and greedy businessmen both from the outside world almost destroyed Oz, Dorothy was soon ushered out along with all other outsiders for the time being.
And six years later, still no word.
She hoped, at least, that other people were still able to enjoy Oz. Despite the fact she hadn't experienced the luxury of returning.
Aside from Oz, she hadn't really gone anywhere else besides Kansas. Had it not been for her Aunt's condition after Uncle Henry, she would've left the dreary landscape long ago.
She wanted to go home, to her actual house, and at least drown out the noise of her own thoughts with some music. But again, she couldn't leave Aunt Em alone quite yet.
"Why can't she at least get a record player.. it's not 1802.." She mumbled to herself, pouting slightly as she lifted up the covers over her head.
Her hair drooped down and she blew it of her face. She wondered if ditching the pigtails was a mistake.
"Maybe if I just bump myself in the head and pass out I'll go back to Oz. Or at least New York City. That'd be nice." She joked to herself.
She didn't know why she kept talking to herself. She was still so used to talking to Toto that she just did it out of habit.
Nevertheless, she drifted off to sleep.
...
She was woken up by the sound of an intense wind.
It only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to jolt her out of bed.
"Jiminy crickets!" She gasped.
She reached over to make sure Toto was okay and-
Dorothy, he's passed on, for heaven's sakes.
She shook her head and looked out the window to see it was already nightfall. She had slept for a good few hours.
She looked over to see a note laying on the table next to the bed.
"Dorothy,
I went out to get some groceries. I didn't want to disturb your sleep. If you are willing, we should talk tonight. Rest well.
- Em."
Dorothy looked over the note before setting it down to inspect the noise she had heard outside.
She hoped it wasn't Andy, back to try and pester her again.
She slid on her robe and peered through the corners, looking out the windows.
There was no sign of anyone, but-
CRASH!
Suddenly, the already fragile door to the house was kicked straight down.
Dorothy almost screamed, but instead covered her mouth, eyes widened.
Out stepped a large, bulking figure.
It seemed to be a man, but his face was completely covered in a black mask that extended downwards into a long, flowing cape. Tall dark boots, pants, and tunic to match.
Despite the fact he was wearing a mask, there were no visible signs of a place to see anything. Dorothy was bewildered. She had seen stranger things, but not for the longest time.
The large figure turned his head around as if he was scanning the area, almost robotically.
As softly as she could, Dorothy moved behind the corner she was peering into. She steadied her breathing, her chest tightening.
She gripped at the wall, trying not to tremble.
She looked behind her, searching for anything that could be used as a distraction.
The room was too far to reach without making noise and making her presence known, so she tore off a button from her blouse and tossed it in the other direction, letting it make a soft thud on the other side of the room.
The trick worked, the masked figure snapping his head in that very direction. He walked over, slowly. It was as if he too was trying to be quiet. He wasn't doing such a good job with how much noise his steps made against the floorboards, which already creaked terribly.
With it being such a small house, Dorothy didn't have much hiding room.
Once the figure had peered far enough to the other side of the house, Dorothy tip toed into her room.
She looked over at the window.
Ever so carefully, she raised it up and stepped down outside, her feet landing on the dirt.
Snapping her head back to make sure no one was following her, she knew just where to go.
In the farm nearby, she made sure the doors were closed as she slipped inside and spotted the table at the side.
Fumbling around almost immediately, she found the box that contained Uncle Henry's old revolver.
Even after death, he was guiding her.
"Thank you, Uncle Henry." She whispered to herself, lifting up the weapon and digging around for the box of ammo.
Hastily, she dug out what she needed. She fiddled with the gun anxiously before the cylinder swung out.
She began to load the revolver, her heart racing. She had only properly shot guns a few times, all with Uncle Henry assisting her in case she ever needed to protect herself. It was time to use what he had taught her so long ago to the test.
She closed the cylinder, making sure her hands were as steady as they could be in her current situation.
She gripped the revolver, her thumb shaking as she cocked it.
Her position was surely terrible, but she wasn't exactly concerned about it. All she needed to do was be good enough to defend herself.
She stayed there for a few moments, gripping the gun tighter with each passing moment.
Her breath hitched. Her panting was too loud, she realized. She took a few deep breaths, hoping whoever it was barging in her house wouldn't look in the farm.
What did he want? Was he going to take her away? Kill her?
Maybe h-
CRASH!
The doors to the farm had crashed down, just like the doors to Em's house.
Dorothy gasped, dropping her gun and falling over onto the ground.
She panted, reaching over, her hands slapping desperately at every corner of the ground to reach the weapon as she looked up and saw the black masked figure towering over her.
He wasted no time when he spotted her, walking quickly over to her.
He was huge, the lack of a clear face making it all the more terrifying.
Just as the man's foot stomped down against the fabric of Dorothy's dress, she squealed and quickly swiped around, luckily finding the gun, falling back.
The gun was turned sideways and she gapsed again, not wanting to shoot herself in the process.
She raised the gun and aimed it just as the man bent down and reached out to her.
But just before she could squeeze the trigger, the man grabbed the gun forcefully and tossed it out of the farm.
Without even putting much effort into it, the gun went flying several feet in the other direction.
Dorothy's face froze and paled. Her only method of defense was gone.
The masked figure and hardly reacted and went right back to what seemed to be his primary objective.
He reached out his hand and Dorothy screamed. Just hoping that someone, somewhere would hear her.
No one did.
However, the vibrations of the yelling and constant moving around Dorothy was doing seemed to do enough.
One of the buckets of water stored on the top section of the barn fell over, landing on the shoulder of the man. The impact caused him to let out deep guttural growl and he fell to his knees.
Dorothy took the chance immediately and scurried upward, lifting herself up and kicking the man right in the face.
The obnoxious heels she wore for her date had ended up coming in handy afterall.
The man grunted out in pain, falling over and Dorothy sprinted out of the farm.
Not looking back, Dorothy's eyes scanned the Kansas landscape for the discarded gun.
Her doe eyes scanned the area desperately until she found the dark object laying a few feet away from the old storm cellar.
She instantly ran over to the revolver, picking it up as her hands shook.
She reached out the gun, aiming it towards the farm and slowly backing away, cautious.
She looked to the storm cellar and slowly opened it up.
Gripping the gun and making sure she didn't lose it, she began to crawl down the ladder.
Once she reached the bottom, she backed away and lifted up the gun. If the man went for the cellar, she had the advantage, it seemed.
She caught her breath, trying to process it all.
A few minutes passed with no sound until..
She began to hear it.
The sound of gravel being stepped on, the footsteps echoing inside the cellar.
He was getting closer.
Dorothy gulped and slowly reached the gun upward.
Nothing happened for a few more moments. She was almost ready to put down her arms. Maybe h-
CRASH!
And now, the cellar doors had been torn off.
Dorothy screamed and raised the gun back up in a hurry, squeezing the trigger and firing at the man.
The first shot missed, but it caused him to stumble over.
If only she could aim it better, she thought to herself.
Gonna have to keep eyeballin' it...
She shot the gun again.
This time, however, the bullet made contact with the man's gut and he fell over, his large body causing a large thump to be heard against the ground.
Some dirt emitted from the cellar due to the impact and Dorothy gulped again.
A few more minutes passed. No sound.
Dorothy didn't want to come out. She had clearly hit the man. She didn't know any man who had survived getting shot in the gut with a revolver, but who knew what kind of man this was? Or what he had under his clothes?
She braced herself.
"Forget it. If I can kill a Witch, I can kill you.." she mumbled to herself.
With a fierce look on her face, she began to climb up the ladder quickly with just one hand, holding the gun in the other.
She peaked through before getting out of the cellar.
The man was still on the ground.
She gave a sigh of relief and decided she would put a bullet through his head for good measure, if need be.
But before she could do that, she felt an intense strike to the head from an unknown source.
She certainly felt it, but barely made a sound.
Her vision went hazy, the whole world spinning.
And just like that, she was left unconscious.
...
"I told you she had fight in her. If we didn't send two of 'em, I'm not sure we would have gotten her."
...
A/N: Hello, everyone! Welcome to the third installment of the series. I didn't originally plan to write this as soon as I did, but because of timing issues, I've decided to go ahead and start the story now. This won't be nearly as long as the last one and may have some other changes. It'll also be a bit more mature than the last two. I will of course warn you if there's a rating change. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Please review, favorite, follow, etc, whatever to show support! I hope you all are having a good Holiday season and I'll see you soon x