Author's Note: I wrote this for a class project, it was supposed to be a personification exercise; it turned into this beastly thing (and this is the edited version!), and yes, I am aware that in the original novel they are silver. Enjoy, read, and hopefully review!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. There. I said it.
Secrets From the Sole
In the beginning, I was innocent enough: a simple pair of silver shoes with an elegant heel suitable for a young woman. It was her father that made me beautiful; he covered me with precious glass beads that sparkled in the light, it was then that I discovered what vanity was: I dazzled even myself. I was a gift, a gift worthy of the daughter of the Eminence of Munchkinland, a reminder of a father's devotion.
The girl to whom I was given was a delicate creature, with an inner strength that I immediately admired. She was beautiful, but her fragile nature meant that she was forced to spend her days confined to a chair or in the company of her sister and caretaker. She was my mistress and I her constant companion, always careful to fit her dainty feet like a glove. The dark side of beauty, however, was that it inspired envy, and my sweet mistress's sister was envious indeed, her very skin was tainted with it, green as grass, green as sin; her fingers twitching with desire at the very sight of me. She never voiced her desires, but could never hide the lust in her eyes. And so I served my Nessarose, and came to know better her odd verdigris-stricken sibling who coveted me so, and she and I were content. It did not last.
A day came in which I learned many things: the nature of hate, the hopeless feeling of abandonment, and the heartlessness of humanity. It was also a day that broke my precious Rose's heart, and not even my presence could ease her pain. She had been abandoned. We had been abandoned by that good-for- nothing covetous wretch that I had once mistaken for her sister, who had run off to the Emerald City with her china-doll friend and sent her back alone, with not one word of comfort to offer. From then on I hated her for committing such a sin of neglect. The gravity of such loss shattered my Nessarose, innocence gone, her heart hardened with resentment, and she became cold and iron-willed, no longer allowing her friends to aid her in any way, all except one: the porcelain girl with whom she shared the common pain of abandonment, and from then on she became the sister my mistress deserved, until life forced them apart.
After that day, my mistress became straight-backed and rigid in whatever she did, when relegated to her chair; she sat upon it like a queen, and when confronted with stairs, she ascended them with as much dignity as she could muster. It was when confronted with such obstacles that I did my beloved mistress a disservice, for try as I might to cling to her slender feet, gravity often proved to be my downfall. Had I the ability to weep, I would have wept from the shame of inconveniencing her so. Oh how I longed to forever spend my days upon those feet, ever in the company of my sweet, darling Rose! But for all my beauty, I was still only an ordinary pair of shoes that could slip just as others did, and so my dream was doomed never to be fulfilled, or so I thought.
Several years later, not long after my mistress Nessarose became Madame Governor by claiming the title of Eminence of Munchkinland, we had the pleasure of entertaining my Madame's old school companion for the evening, who upon noticing me, worn and dull with age, immediately declared that she knew just the spell to set me right again, and allow my beloved Madame the luxury not only of walking about without the need for assistance, but also to be free of the fear that I might ever slip from her feet. If I was not in danger of upsetting the Madame Governor's footing, and thus sending her crashing to the ground, I would have danced with happiness.
By evening's end, my wish had been granted, and I spent all my time afterwards in my Madame's company, walking upon grass in the garden, the Red-Brick road of Munchkinland, and the beautifully polished oak floors of the Governor's mansion, every so often catching the eye of my dear Rose's father, who would smile upon seeing me, still faithfully glittering on his daughter's feet, and I would smile in return, gently reminding him that I, at least, would never abandon her.
A very odd thing occurred a few weeks later, as one afternoon, whilst Madame and I were wandering in town, the air became unnaturally still, and the sky grew strangely dark. A few moments later, the winds returned with renewed vigor, and the clouds seemed to swirl in bizarre and foreign shapes: a cyclone..? What in Oz..? The little Munchkinlanders were panicking; screaming, running every which way they could, an oddly familiar shape could be seen against the strangeness of the churning column of wind, there was a roaring, growing louder and louder as the storm came bearing down upon us in all its fury, and suddenly my mistress and I were running too, desperate to escape. A glimpse of the Yellow Brick Road ahead... a shadow of something could be seen in the unnatural darkness, I heard Nessarose shriek in panic as she turned to face her enemy, and then….nothing.
When at last I came to my senses, I could hear all the little people of Munchkinland in the midst of a celebration of some sort, all fussing over some strange newcomer, for her voice was not one I recognized. I attempted to turn, in order to getting a better sense of my surroundings, but could not, fixed to feet of my Madame as I was, and could only see the shadow of some sort of roof above me: a farmhouse. Upon that realization, my world ended, for if all I could see was the overhang of this house, then my dearest Rose must be…underneath it. No. My heart refused to accept what my good sense was telling me, that there was no possible chance of survival for her, and if by some miracle she yet lived…the agony that she would presently be enduring did not bear thinking about; death would have been far more merciful. What was this then? Some sort of wake, to celebrate the life of their dearly-departed Governor? It certainly did not sound like one.
As the undeniable fact of my mistress's death slowly permeated my consciousness, I could hear snatches of excited conversation, and a familiar voice crying, "let the joyous news be spread, the Wicked old Witch at last is dead!" I knew that voice! But why would Madame's old friend count her death as joyous, and surely she did not think of her as wicked? True, Nessarose had done things that were not entirely approved of in most circles, and she had been a little tight-fisted in her rule over Munchkinland, but it was her sister, not my Madame Governor, who was the wicked one. Perhaps I had misunderstood… was it all an act? Maybe I would wake up and find this was all some horrible dream.
It was not a dream, it was a nightmare. Eventually, my presence upon my newly deceased mistress's feet had been noticed, after which I was rather unceremoniously removed and passed over to the strange newcomer, a foreign farm girl named Dorothy Gale, who apparently was also the accidental murderer of the not-so-dearly-departed Governor. We were then sent on our way, following the Yellow Brick Road toward the Emerald City, lest any 'other' members of the family arrive, and unleash hellfire on anyone foolish enough to inform them of the recent happenings of Munchkinland. In truth, I would not have minded much, maybe the surviving sister would turn her fury upon the girl, at least then I would be liberated from her company.
When first she set me upon her feet, I shuddered in revulsion. Several times I attempt to free myself from those feet, to trip her as she walked; I attempted to govern my own movements, and so march this impertinent child straight off the nearest cliff. In both efforts I was unsuccessful, it seemed that the magic that had so firmly affixed me to the feet of my dear Madame still held, and bound me now to the feet of her murderer. I learned then that irony was a cruel, cruel thing.
So several days passed with little change, save perhaps that our numbers slowly grew, first with the addition of a nameless Scarecrow, searching for his wits, then the Tin Woodman, a love-struck youth who had gotten on the wrong side of an old woman's temper, and my Mistress's enchanted axe, wanted for a heart. The latest addition, the Cowardly Lion, proved to be as utterly useless as the rest, and did nothing at all apart from cowering at the mere sight of anything larger than a piglet. I found most of my entertainment through pinching Dorothy's feet whenever I could, which served as some small revenge against her for taking my dear Madame from me, for now. As we walked, it struck me as oddly amusing, that I, a pair of silver shoes (though I would forever think myself stained ruby with my dear Rose's blood), was traveling upon a road of golden yellow bricks, with my destination being a City of Emeralds, and that all of these colors were used to signify currency, and power. What did that say about me, I wonder, about Oz in general? Life could be very odd at times, very odd indeed.
Upon our arrival in the Emerald City were escorted into the presence of the Wizard of Oz, who immediately demanded me in payment for everything that my companions wanted: heart, brain, home and all. For once, I was grateful for the enchantment that held me firmly in place upon Dorothy's feet, for something about him unsettled me. With me beyond his reach, the Wizard instead commanded that we rid Oz of its only remaining Wicked Witch: the Witch of the West. Being left with only one option, we traipsed back across Oz, heading westward this time, with our new destination being the Witch's lair. After all these years, I would finally lay eyes on the woman I so despised, and avenge her sister's abandonment.
It was an unnerving thing to walk on stone floors; sounds reverberated off the walls of that dark and desolate place in a way that was utterly foreign to me, they came back eerily distorted, sending shivers down our spines. The witch herself was not difficult to find, having apparently heard of her sister's fate. She was as loathsome as ever, but did not seem to mourn the passing of her beloved sibling. Indeed, when first she spotted me, a familiar gleam entered her eyes: I was all that mattered. She struggled to pry me from Dorothy's feet, and only enchantments and trickery brought her success: a single shoe. When Dorothy refused to surrender the other, they squabbled over me like schoolchildren, until Dorothy became so incensed that she threw a bucket of water over the Witch, who to the surprise of all, was conquered, shrieking as she melted into nothing on the cold stone floor, and I tasted sweet vengeance at last.
So it was that the task set by the Wizard was completed, and returning to the Emerald City in triumph we were rewarded: the Scarecrow with his brains, the Woodman with a heart, the Lion with his courage, but it was from an entirely different source that Dorothy's reward came, in the form of Glinda the Good Witch, who used all her magic to send her back to the lands in which she belonged, and on that journey the spell that held me was broken, and I slipped from her feet, finally freed from bondage. Into the Impassable Desert's sands I fell, and there I remained forever more.
Constructive Criticism would be greatly appreciated.