At first she reckoned that had she known how intense it would be to enter the next world, she would have dodged that bucket of water faster. Fate appeared to interject to guide her to her personal day of reckoning. The wave of pain hit her as the water soaked her through and her vision grew hazier as the pathetic figure of Dorothy receded behind a watery veil. The sounds of the castle ebbed and all she could hear was a rush in her ears, drowning in her choking torment.
She was burning up like kindling to a flame, shrivelling in the scorching terror that took over her mind and body, helpless in the face of fire. Her breath was rapidly diminishing and she could barely scream, resulting in a tinny wail that she didn't know she was capable of making. Her entire being boiled in a relentless sea of agony, red to match the colour that flared behind her eyelids.
She never knew how long it had been. Nothing felt like eternity as much as this had, not even the years of waiting at Kiamo Ko. There was a twist in the air and she started to fall down a rabbit hole, the cool wind whistling through her, lessening her pain until bit by bit, she started to feel wretchedly cold.
She felt a jolt and her body went limp. Light blazed behind her eyelids but she dared not open them. After a while she did, to a pleasantly cool breeze, next to a stream. She looked around and saw a never-ending yellow field, soft to the touch but not damp. Red flowers adorned the trees and she could hear birds although she could not see them. Looking up thought the branches, she spied a purple tinge through the branches. It was not dawn, nor twilight. It was just a purple day. It wasn't anything that had existed in her world.
Looking up at the waterfall that steadily but softly streamed, she thought she could spy a ledge beyond it. A convenient set of footholds lined the way up. Slowly she got up, groaning at the twinges afflicting her body. She carefully walked over to it and put a hand on the cool grey stone. It soothed her aching fingers. Slowly, she began to climb, not even fearing that the droplets would touch her, she realised that the water couldn't hurt her any longer. It felt cool to the touch, as water should.
Reaching the top, she hauled herself onto the shallow ledge and looked around. A pillow, a blanket and a wicker basket. It looked friendly enough. Opening the basket, she delved inside and found a basket of grapes, pale green against her richly hued skin. They were pebbles in her long knobbled hands. She considered the tools before her. Spreading the blanket out and propping herself up on the cushion, she took the book and started to read. Eating the grapes one by one, she settled down for a long time. She had never felt this kind of peace and relief, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
A long time later she found out that the basket of grapes were never-ending. No matter how many she plucked off the stems, the basket yielded the same amount. And so did the book. The story kept going, writing in front of her eyes over the pages that never ended. If she wanted to leave her thoughtfully placed supplies, she could sit in front of the waterfall and watch the amethyst tinted sky with its warm light and survey the sunny fields for as far as the eye could see. There was nothing else she wanted or needed. She had found a pocket of serenity she never thought would be hers.
The witch never came out from beyond the waterfall.
She had found her eternity.