AN: Well, let's see if I actually commit this time lol.

It was murder, plain and simple.

The citizens of Oz could dress it up however they liked, really. She had been their salvation, bringer of good news, heavy hand of justice. Even so, Dorothy knew.

She had killed somebody.

The melting itself had been horrific. The Wicked Witch of the West's chilling screams had haunted Dorothy for weeks after the fact. Even the safety of her own home, her own bed, so far removed from Oz had offered little comfort. Most nights she'd wake with a start, I-didn't-mean-to's on her lips, to the memory of sizzling, green skin and a painful ringing in her ears. It was no help so much of her own home reminded her of that far-away place in Oz. Though, in some small blessing, the bitter old woman down the road with the hatchet-like face and cutting eyes had the sense enough to leave Dorothy alone at last. Dorothy suspected that merely the sound of the old woman's harsh cackle could send her into tremors.

Toto recovered quite easily from the whole ordeal, for which Dorothy was grateful. Had he become traumatized by the whole affair, Dorothy would not have been able to bear it.

Months passed like molasses, but eventually Dorothy could dream without the intrusion of green witches and buckets of water. However, it was then that other peculiarities began to creep into her thoughts.

The magic, of course, was a fond memory that still filled her with wonder and awe. As were her compatriots and the revelry. Though, Dorothy had wondered how severe the witch's crimes must have been to result in such intense festivities. It was in her ruminations of those Ozian celebrations that a new face, pale and beautiful, began to haunt her dreams.

There had been no chance to speak with Glinda the Good after the melting. It was a wonder she even had a chance to speak with the Wizard after the news broke to the public. Yet, in their last minutes together as the benevolent Good Witch explained to her the magic of her ruby slippers, Dorothy could not seem to shake the image of Glinda in that moment.

"Click your heels three times," she told Dorothy, "and say, 'There's no place like home'." Dorothy fixated on that moment night after night. Glinda's voice subdued, her eyes downcast, and her smile tight. It was the kind of smile Dorothy's mother would give when she explained to a very young Dorothy that one of their beloved animals had gone to a big, happy farm in the sky. Or when the sweet neighbor uptown would talk about how their sick baby was fairing.

At the time, Dorothy had been so caught up in the fanfare she hadn't the sense to comment. She had been more concerned about finding a way back home. Now, as she lie awake in her bed, she wondered what it could have meant.

At first Dorothy thought perhaps Glinda was sad for the Wizard's departure. He had been well renowned throughout Oz, or at least all the parts she had visited, and his balloon-assisted farewell had been rather bittersweet. At the same time, it had been Glinda who nearly herded the Wizard into his basket. It had also been Glinda who eagerly cut the rope. Perhaps a little too eagerly. Dorothy conceded the Wizard was likely not the cause of Glinda's peculiar behavior.

Dorothy wracked her memory for days to remember any hints or reason for Glinda's dampened disposition. Roughly a week had passed before the thought occurred to her that, just maybe, it was due to the Wicked Witch. They knew each other, or knew of each other, that much had been obvious. The manner in which they spoke to one another buried any doubt they at least shared some familiarity. In the two Witches' heated debate over the ruby slippers, it had almost seemed playful in a strange way. At least from Glinda at the time. Dorothy wondered how they must have known each other. She supposed the fact they both had been witches could be enough reason for their familiarity, though perhaps that's an ignorant thing to assume. Besides, from how they spoke to one another, their relationship seemed to be more than just hearsay.

Relationship. Dorothy scoffed, now she was grasping straws.

Certainly, she must be mistaken. After all, it was Glinda who had sent her away with the slippers in the first place. Glinda who assisted her in her search for the Wicked Witch on behalf of the Wizard. Still, the thought nagged at her. Her eyes fell to her closet, which had been left open from earlier that morning, onto a small, beige box tucked away deep in a shadowy corner under several unfolded shirts. Her gaze lingered for a long moment. Perhaps she could…no, that would never work…would it?

"Dorothy!" The sudden voice of her uncle startled her. Her eyes snapped up. "Come help your Auntie with the wash!"

"Coming!" Dorothy quickly scrambled to her feet and rushed down the stairs to find Auntie Em, the box temporarily forgotten.

It wasn't until much later in the evening that Dorothy returned to her room. The slow, dull ache in her bones lessened as she rested on her bed, her body eager to sleep. She shifted against her pillow to comfortably lay on her side. Her closet door was still opened, she noticed, as the door cast long shadows along her floor in the moonlight. Some deep, childish fear stirred in her chest at the sight. Dorothy huffed and begrudgingly pulled herself from the warmth of her bed. She wobbled over to her closet, slightly bleary-eyed, and blindly reached for the door. She gently pulled the handled, but the door caught itself on some of her fallen clothing and jammed. Dorothy sighed heavily. She rubbed her eyes and bent down to pull the clothing, overalls it seemed, out from under the door. She haphazardly tossed them back into her closet and pushed the rest of her belongings deeper in to clear space for the door. As she did so, Dorothy's eyes caught sight of the box innocently nestled away in the dark shadows. Her thoughts from the morning rushed back to her. In an instant, Dorothy had the box in her hands. She sat back on her heels, her thumbs stiffly pressed up against the underside of the lid.

Dorothy sat with the box in her lap for several long minutes. She was afraid if she opened it, despite the obvious jostle the contents of the box made as she moved about, the box would be empty. She had no other proof that her journey to Oz was anything but a wild dream aside from those shoes, but she had not dared look at them since the night she returned home. Dorothy pressed her lips together and slowly pushed her thumbs up under the lid, just until it slipped over the lip of the box. She sucked in a small breath as the cardboard shifted, it did not fall, but left a small gap with which Dorothy hesitantly peeked through. It was dark, and Dorothy hadn't thought to turn on her lamp, so it was difficult to tell if there actually was anything in the box. She scooted towards her window and tilted the box to catch the moonlight. The lid tumbled away unexpectedly, and Dorothy dropped the box with a gasp.

They were just as she remembered them. A pair of magnificent, ruby-red slippers glittered in the moonlight before her. Dorothy gently lifted one of the slippers from the box and held it up in front of her. There was a faint, gentle thrum to it that bled into her hands and raised goosebumps along her arms.

"Magic," Dorothy whispered. She pulled the other slipper out and stared at the pair in wonder. An overwhelming sense of nostalgia overcame her. She did miss Oz, all things considered. A small smile grew on her lips. She recalled those little munchkins, the Wizard, all of her friends, Glinda the Good.

Glinda and her somber smile.

Dorothy frowned and put the slippers on the floor. The shoes had taken her home, sure, but could they take her back to Oz? It was probably safer to leave well-enough alone. Even if she could get back, it had been months since she left Oz. No one would probably remember her, which would make it difficult to speak with Glinda.

Dorothy sighed. That wasn't completely true. Last she remembered, her friends had taken over the Wizard's responsibilities after her departure. The citizens seemed just as reluctant to let Dorothy go as they had been the Wizard himself. She had slain the Wicked Witch of the West, after all.

Murdered her. By accident.

Dorothy pulled off her own simple shoes and tucked them neatly under her bed. She slipped the ruby shoes on quickly, before she lost her nerve, and stood. The shoes fit perfectly, as they had before.

"Oh, what now?" Dorothy fiddled with the ends of her hair. She realized she only knew how to get herself home, not Oz. "What am I going to do?"

Maybe she could try the same phrase that took her home. She didn't know any others. There was no harm in trying.

A small whimper caught her attention. Dorothy whipped around to her bedroom door. Toto slipped in, his tailed wagged excitedly behind him.

"Oh, Toto," Dorothy dropped to her knees and picked up the little dog. He wiggled happily in her arms. Dorothy gently held him in front of her, "Toto, I'm going to go away for a little while. You will take care of Auntie Em and Uncle Henry, won't you?"

The small, dejected noise Toto made almost completely melted her resolve.

"I'm sorry, but I can't take you with me. I won't be gone long, honest! I only need to speak with the Good Witch, that's all."

The little dog sagged. Dorothy put him down and gently ushered him toward the door. Toto obeyed, but not before he gave Dorothy one last puppy-dog look. She quietly closed the door behind him and looked down at her slippers.

"Well, um, I guess…there's no place like Oz," She clicked her heels together three times. She hardly registered the slight buzz of magic around her feet as her vision went completely white.

"I'm sure this matter can be addressed in the morning, Mister Tinman. As I said before, it is much too late and I am far too weary to continue this discussion. Now, if you please," Glinda quickly shut the large wooden door to her offices just as the persistent Tinman made to step through.

"I-well-um…I shall see you tomorrow then, Miss Glinda? I will be in the foyer. Same time as today?" The Tinman paused a moment. When he realized he would get no response, he quietly said his goodbyes. Glinda waited with her ears pressed to the door until she could no longer hear the harsh clanking of the Tinman as he left. She let out a heavy sigh and rested her forehead against the door.

The negotiations among the diplomats in the Emerald City were exhausting enough now that the Wizard was gone. It seemed, even in his last farewells, the old hack was set to make Glinda's life as difficult as possible. With his final decrees dispersing his power among the rag-tag troop of "heroes", it had been a rather arduous and infuriating process to develop the departments requested. Especially considering the fact that, immediately after the Wizard left, the Scarecrow had vanished. The Lion too had separated himself so far from his responsibilities he might as well have been a guest of the palace rather than a leader. Whereas the Tinman seemed all too eager to take on his new position, which could have worked out quite nicely had he not insisted every minor decision must be discussed in great detail with Glinda. It seemed he was incapable of making any sort of choice without a proper hand-holding. Of course, Glinda knew the only real power any of them possessed was strictly in title.

It didn't help that, no matter how hard she tried, Glinda could not place exactly why the Tinman seemed so familiar. In fact, some days, his uncanniness disturbed her so that even to see his face would make her ill.

Her own operations had also moved at an incredibly slow pace. It had been far more challenging to push her own propositions than she had anticipated. Even with her outstanding reputation. The Wizard's influence would prove to cause her quite a headache for years to come, she imagined.

Glinda pushed herself from the door and slumped down at her desk. She rubbed uselessly at her temples, to try and soothe her racing thoughts. It had only been a handful of months, and yet it felt more like years. Her life so entirely different than it had been before, and infinitely lonelier.

No work was to be done today it seemed. Not in her current mood, anyway. Glinda sullenly moved from her desk and headed to the far end of the west wing towards her bedroom. Some sleep would do her good, if the ache behind her eyes was anything to go by. It was a short walk to her chambers. The harsh silence of the grand hall only broken by the click of her heels as she moved. She untangled the tiara from her hair as she stepped into her room and dropped it onto a nearby desk. She heard as it skipped over the surface, unable to find any purchase, and clattered to the floor. Glinda then set to the incredibly time-consuming processes of unlacing her dress.

She tugged and fumbled absentmindedly at the many ribbons and laces and things. Several times she would pull too hard and trap her fingers and had to focus on untangling them from her dress. She spared a glance over to her nightstand. The Grimmerie lay open, several pages of notes and sporadic writings inserted hastily between its pages. Some in her own handwriting, while most of the others were in a much smaller, sharp script filled with cross-outs and scribbles. Just a look at the thick, dusty tome caused her headache to worsen.

Her dress had loosened enough that Glinda could squeeze herself free, too fatigued to fully undo the thing, and drape it over a large cushion chair near her window. She tossed on a plain nightdress and sat at the edge of her bed. Oz, she was exhausted. She looked over to the opened spell book again. An old slip of paper peeked out from its current page like a bookmark, the rushed scrawling notes on its face yearned to be examined.

"You wretched, needy thing," Glinda huffed. She slipped over to the nightstand and brought the book into her lap as she began to read. The words were foreign, nearly nonsensical, but Glinda read and re-read them until long after the sun had set. Most of her nights had ended this way. In the morning she'd often wake face down in the old book, sometimes speckles of drool dotted the old pages where the paper would crinkle in offense in such a way that was almost sickeningly familiar to her. She inhaled deeply through her nose and held onto that breath until it burned.

A sudden, frantic knock at her door jarred her from her studies almost enough to send the book tumbling the floor.

"Miss Glinda! Miss Glinda! My sincerest apologies to disturb you, but your presence is requested immediately!" A maid called through the door. Glinda leapt from her bed, threw on a robe over her night clothes as quickly as her tired body would allow and rushed out the door. The maid jumped back as Glinda barreled through the door and nearly knocked her over.

"What is it?"

"This way," The maid hurriedly ushered Glinda down the hall, down a flight or two of extravagant spiral staircases, and out into the foyer of the palace. Several guards were already present and stood together in a tight circle in the center of the large room. They turned as the large doors opened. The guards snapped to attention at the sight of Glinda as she entered, but politely averted their eyes when they noticed Glinda's state of dress. One of the guards, a tall, older man, approached Glinda and her maid as they rushed over.

"Apologies, Your Goodness, but this matter couldn't possibly wait," The guards said. Glinda walked up to the group of men and urged her thundering heart to settle.

"What has happened?" The tall guard stepped to the side and allowed Glinda to pass through.

"There has been an unexpected arrival, Your Goodness." He said. Glinda raised her brow.

"Unexpected arrival? Of whom?" A quiet gasp stole Glinda's attention away. She whipped around and nearly fainted in surprise.

Young Dorothy stood within the circle of guards, impossibly small in comparison. No little dog on her person this time it, Glinda noted. Dorothy wordlessly gaped with a face that showed she had been just as shocked as Glinda. For a painfully long time, not a word was said as the two stared at each other. Glinda's heart lurched painfully out of the blue. Finally, she cleared her throat.

"Why, Miss Dorothy," she began, "to what do we owe this splendorific pleasure?"

That tight, too-big smile was back. The one that had haunted Dorothy for the last several days. She felt her throat tighten as she fought to speak, suddenly quite inexplicably nervous.

"Well, Miss Good Witch, I was hoping that perhaps I could talk to you. About the last time I was here, that is," Dorothy said, her hands wrung together. Glinda's forehead creased ever so slightly that, in this low lamplight, Dorothy might have missed it. Slowly, Glinda nodded.

"Of course."