A/N: Well, readers, here it is- the ending, in which plot threats are tied up, guilt is relieved and Madame Morrible has her words flung back in her face for the 1278th dimension running. I'm sorry it's so late, but family events have delayed my writing somewhat. In any event, I hope you've enjoyed this story. Feel free to provide criticism if you feel it's warranted, and above all, read, review and enjoy!

Disclaimer: Wicked does not belong to me.


For forty-five minutes, the Wizard explained himself as best he could, with Glinda occasionally asking questions, and Elphaba glowering quietly as the healing magicks began to slowly repair her cracked ribs. Every so often, the conversation was interrupted, first by Chistery and several of the flying monkeys scampering in to fuss over Elphaba. Then, half an hour later, Dorothy, the Lion and the Scarecrow came trouping back, having spent some time trying to find their way about the hallways and corridors; apparently, Chopper had been clever enough to ensure that none of his targets could leave the building by locking and barricading certain exits, leaving the three of them to roam aimlessly until they gradually found their way back to the sitting room.

In the end, however, Boq, Fiyero, Dorothy and the Lion had decided to leave the room as the story grew more sordid, and Elphaba grew ever angrier; the remainder sat in the few chairs that hadn't been completely demolished in the fight between Boq and Chopper, and listened to the story unfold. Once the Wizard had finished, Elphaba leaned back in her chair with a stifled wince, and glared balefully at her "father." She doubted that she'd even be comfortable with this particular fact, but at least she'd accepted it enough to keep her temper from fraying whenever it was stated.

The Wizard appeared to be waiting for a response. Eventually, Elphaba hissed, "What do you want me to say? That it would have been so much better if you'd remained a snake-oil salesman? That a cuckolded husband should have shot you dead before you'd had a chance to stage your coup?"

Glinda cleared her throat loudly; she was doing her best to stop the tensions from spilling over.

"I'm not saying you have to start liking me," wheedled the Wizard. "I'm just suggesting that you at least get to know me a little better before you start judging me."

"Why? So I can see you as a womaniser and a con artist as well as a dictator? In case you haven't noticed, I've been judging you for several years now, and the fact that you had an affair with my mother and got her drunk on your botched product isn't going to improve our... relationship. And," she added, with a fresh burst of hatred, "As for you trying to play father now of all times, you've made it clear that you couldn't have given a damn about what became of my mother once your one night together was over and done, so why would you even bother?"

"But I've changed since then, Elphaba; I won't deny that I was irresponsible in those days, but I've had a lot of time to think about what I really wanted out of life since then. Don't you remember when you and I first met, how I told you that I wanted to be a father? I was being honest when I said that!"

Elphaba's smile could have shattered glass at that moment. "So I'm the daughter you've been hoping for all this time, am I?" she demanded acerbically, her voice growing steadily louder with every word. "An illegitimate, green-skinned madwoman who you've been trying to have arrested or executed on one false charge after another- I feel so privileged, I really do. And in case you think I'm anywhere near forgiving you for what you did to Doctor Dillamond and the rest of Oz's animal population, and what almost happened to Nessa and-"

Glinda was suddenly at her side. "He knows, Elphie," she whispered gently. "Don't lose your temper."

"How can I not?" Elphaba hissed back. "How am I supposed to just forgive everything he's done, everything he's gotten away with-"

"You don't have to. Just hear him out, and give him the list of demands." Her voice dropped to almost inaudible levels, as she added, "I think he might be open to persuasification this time." She winked slyly.

Elphaba offered a grateful smile in return; if there was anything to be said for Morrible's near-cannibalistic attitude towards her subordinates, it was that it had managed to sharpen Glinda's wits considerably. She was right: it wasn't the time to lose her temper, not when they might just be in a position to change Oz for the better.

So, she took a very deep breath, burying her wrath as best as she could for the moment, and asked, "Even if I did acknowledge you as my father, that doesn't mean you can start treating me as such, and certainly not publically; in case you've forgotten, I'm not exactly popular with the citizens of Oz at the moment, and I don't think even your influence can change that-"

"But it can!" said the Wizard grandly. "I wasn't exaggerating when I told you that I could make the people see you as a hero, Elphaba; I have ways of changing public opinion, have no doubt about that. I could say that Dorothy finally managed to convince you to surrender, and I decided to grant you a generous pardon; or, if that's not to your liking, I could use the Amnesia Defence- not as ridiculous as it sounds when you've got half the doctors in Oz willing to provide a false diagnosis. You see what I mean? With the proper excuse, I can have the citizens worshipping the very ground you walk on in less than a year! In fact, they'd be so amazed by the change in you they probably wouldn't even notice the Anti-Animal laws being repealed."

Elphaba blinked. "What?"

"That's what you want, isn't it? You want the Animals to be classified as citizens again, given homes, the right to equal pay and equal occupation... and I presume you would want the same rights extended to the Flying Monkeys as well?"

"You'd be willing to do that?"

"Of course!" A look of desperation flashed across the Wizard's eyes. "Anything! I'd even be willing to set up rehabilitation for the Animals that lost their ability to speak!"

He's either gone completely mad, Elphaba thought, or he really does want me to be happy. And I could be just as delusional as he is, but he sounds as though he might be sincere in his promises. So... what else would be desirable?

"Would... would you also consent to having Madame Morrible arrested?" she asked hesitantly. "On a charge of attempted murder, I mean."

The Wizard smiled accommodatingly. "I don't see why not. After Mr Chopper's rampage, I might be tempted to add a treason charge; even if she didn't intend to get me killed, Morrible will still be trialled for criminal negligence. There is one thing, though," he added. "Who's going to replace her as press secretary?"

"I'd suggest avoiding the usual parade of toadies and social climbers in favour of someone who can actually do their job."

The Wizard's gaze shifted to Glinda. "No," she said, emphatically.

"But surely you'd enjoy the benefits of the job. Besides," he added, his tone thick with flattery, "It's not as if you're not already equipped for the work- you're very influential with the public, and I get the feeling that you're a lot cleverer than Morrible gives you credit."

"Sorry, your Ozness, but I'm not interested in spending another minute of my time on the propaganda team; lying to the people of Oz just doesn't hold the appeality that it used to. Besides," she added, "the last thing I want is to end up like Morrible."

Elphaba laughed. "That doesn't mean he can't give you a job which doesn't involve the press; anything particular in mind, Glinda?"

"Oh, I'll think of something," Glinda trilled, a mischievous smirk gently spreading across her face.

"Very well then," the Wizard grumbled. "Are there any other favours I can grant?"

"About that offer of redemption you've already suggested," Elphaba began, trying to ignore the growing look of excitement in the Wizard's eyes. "I want it given to Nessarose instead," she finished.

The Wizard's jaw dropped. "Wait, what?"

"You heard well enough. Once Nessa's awake and she's had a week or two to recover, I want you to have her reintroduced to the people of Oz; you'll say that, thanks to some magical accident, she's sprung back to life, and you, being the fair and merciful ruler that you are, have decided to give her a second chance."

"But... but..." The Wizard floundered helplessly for several seconds, eventually gasping out the words; "But what about you?"

"That's very simple: once this discussion is over and done with, we fake my death. We destroy this castle, and make it look as though Boq and I were killed in the explosion; you return to the Emerald City, and reassure the people of Oz that the Wicked Witch of the West is well and truly dead, thanks to Glinda and Dorothy, while I go underground with Boq and Nessa. There's only one problem, though- I've run out of hiding places, so I'm going to need a reasonably isolated place that your guards haven't overturned."

The shocked expression hadn't left the Wizard's face. "You honestly want this?" he asked incredulously. "You want to spend the rest of your life in hiding?"

"If it means that Nessa has a second chance at governorship, if it means that she doesn't have to spend the rest of her life hiding, then yes; I do want this. I owe Nessa this much. Besides, I think you'd find it much easier to defend her actions than mine."

The Wizard sagged despairingly. "Elphaba, I could have you ruling the country beside me if that's what you want. Don't you think you deserve that much after all you've been through?"

Roughly translated, you want me at your side as often as possible. You're very eager to play the doting parent, aren't you?

"And Nessa doesn't?" Elphaba replied coldly. "Better yet, don't you think you owe Nessarose after what you did to her?"

"Wh-what are you talking about?"

"The reason why my sister ended up in a wheelchair in the first place was because my f..." Elphaba stopped, and tried again. "... because Frexspar wanted to make sure that the next child wasn't born green. Now, I know you didn't intend to cause any of that- even I'm not that vindictive- but if you really want to convince me that you can change for the better, I think a good place to start would be to make amends for what happened thanks to your past... indiscretions."

There was a very long silence. "Very well," the Wizard sighed at last. "Once she's awake, I'll talk with her about it. As for your hiding place, I think the Catacombs might suit your needs well enough."

"The what?"

"The Catacombs; they're a network of underground passages and chambers built under the Emerald City. I use them mainly for- ahem- clandestine meetings, or as a way of getting in and out of the city without anyone noticing. Now, the only way to access these tunnels is through the palace cellars, and the guards don't patrol them without my permission, so I can guarantee that you won't have any unwanted guests. How does that sound?"

And again, you want to keep me as close to you as possible. If I hadn't seen how far you'd go to try and save my life, I'd find that worrying...

"It sounds reasonable enough," Elphaba said at last. "You'll presumably want the odd conversation now and again, so I shouldn't be surprised if you pay me a visit every now and again, should I?"

The Wizard offered a smile that was both hopeful and rueful. "Can you blame a father for wanting to keep an eye on his daughter?"

Elphaba cringed, and reluctantly shook her head. "There is one other thing I'm going to need, and that's access to any magical artefacts or books on magic that Madame Morrible might have been hoarding."

"May I ask why, exactly? I don't mean to pry, but if you have anything explosive in mind, I'll need to know in advance so I can have an excuse ready for any citizens asking why their pipes are belching fire."

"You didn't have much of a plan for sending Dorothy home, did you?"

"Point taken. In that case, she'll be given a room in the palace while you come up with a way of getting back to Kansas- one that doesn't involve ballooning." He sighed deeply. "Something tells me that this is going to be a very busy month for the both of us..."


Sometime later, while Elphaba and the Wizard sketched out their plan to fake the death of one of Oz's most infamous criminals, Glinda left the room to stretch her legs. After a minute of aimlessly wandering the corridors, she found Dorothy and the others sitting in one of the nearby sitting rooms, chatting rather animatedly about life in Oz- or, in the Tin Man's case, writing notes about life in Oz.

Boq, Glinda reminded herself, his name is Boq.

All of them looked up expectantly as Glinda entered. "Are they still arguing?" the Scarecrow asked quietly.

"Not anymore. I think it's safe to go back in there now- they've been able to agree on a few things. In fact, once this is over with, Elphaba might actually have the time to help you get back to Kansas, Dorothy. In the meantime, could I borrow the Tin Man for a minute or two?"

Once the two of them were out of earshot, the smile almost immediately left Glinda's face. She'd been worrying and wondering about this moment ever since she'd learned just who the Tin Man had been, having remembered just how Boq had ended up in Nessa's service in the first place, but she knew she'd have to speak with him about it sooner or later. And truth to be told, she wanted to get it over and done with as quickly as possible, for the whole affair had given her yet another reason to look back on her days at Shiz with shame and disgust; not only had she taken great delight in annoying and embarrassing Elphaba right up until that night at the Ozdust, but she knew now that she'd also ended up ruining the lives of two people out of sheer thoughtlessness.

Really, why hadn't she just told Boq that she wasn't interested? Why had she been so intent on stringing him along?

She found herself absently surveying the Tin Man's ruined face, trying to recall Boq's appearance from the only piece of it that remained, to no avail. She remembered that he'd been short and skinny, but beyond that and the knitted cap he'd always worn, nothing came to mind. Brilliant, she thought, I screwed up his life and I can't remember what he looked like beforehand.

Dragging herself away from her bitter reflections, she managed to speak, at last: "Boq," she began, acutely aware that she had almost called him 'Biq,' "I know who you were. I mean, I remember who you were- who you are, I mean, and... Oh Oz..."

Boq grimaced; it was obvious that he'd been dreading this just as much as she had.

"My point is," Glinda continued, trying desperately to remain coherent, "My point is that I know what happened to you and Nessa because of me, and... well, I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. If I'd known what would have-"

Boq held up a hand, quickly scrawled a note on one of the scraps of paper that were somehow always within reach, and handed it to her. It read, You've nothing to be sorry for. I could have told Nessarose why I invited her to the Ozdust when the time came, but I didn't; the blame rests with me. Besides, you were a different person back then.

"That's no excuse!"

Maybe not, but you certainly matured a lot quicker than me. You changed as soon as you saw how upset Elphaba was; it took my transformation to make me realise how many lives I'd ruined.

"But you can't blame yourself for that- you couldn't have known that Nessa would do what she did-"

Just like you couldn't have known that Nessa would become so attached to me, or that I'd be callous enough to break her heart. I know. In any event, for what it's worth, I forgive you. Boq offered a rueful grin, and continued writing. It's easy to be forgiven, though; the hard part is forgiving yourself. I mean, I could say that the deaths I caused while pursuing Dorothy were completely unavoidable, but that doesn't mean that I'd ever succeed in convincing myself.

"I suppose so."

Question is what happens next? What have Elphaba and our favourite fraud agreed on?

Glinda took a deep breath, and explained the various agreements as quickly as she could; by the time she was finished, Boq looked as pleased as his mangled face would allow. "There's just one thing, Boq: what's going to happen to you? I mean, if the Wizard actually manages to get the public to accept Nessarose and give her the post of governor again, she'll have all the bodyguards she'll need, so what are you going to do with yourself?"

I don't know. But I get the feeling that those bodyguards aren't going to work for Nessa, at least not during the first few months- the same months when every Munchkin with a grudge will be looking to try and kill her.

"So you're going to keep working for her? Even while you're supposed to be faking your death?"

Boq grinned lopsidedly. I can be very stealthy when I want to be, he wrote. Besides, a few enchantments from Elphaba can make me almost invisible if she has the time and resources to cast them- which she will.

"That's true enough," Glinda admitted. "Perhaps she'll be able to give you the power to speak, too."

Maybe just in time for Nessa to awaken, too!

Boq beamed, his eternally crooked smile now undeniably hopeful. And in spite of herself, Glinda found herself smiling too; just a couple of short days ago, she'd been stuck in the role of mouthpiece for the Wizard and Madame Morrible, sick with guilt over what had happened to Fiyero and Elphaba, and living in terror of the newly-unveiled Tin Man. Now, here she stood, working with Elphaba and the Tin Man to make Oz a better place, with the Wizard rushing to comply with their every whim... and as if that weren't good enough, she now had the chance for a career that didn't involve her lying with every breath she could muster! Who could have believed that any of this could have been possible?


That morning, well before the sun had even thought of rising, nobody noticed a sleek black carriage speeding up the road towards the Emerald City, and then mysteriously disappearing into a nearby hillside.

However, everybody noticed what happened perhaps a minute later, for the furtive quiet of the City was shattered by the loudest explosion ever heard in recorded history; by the time the echoes had died away, not a single citizen remained asleep. As people crowded the streets, trying to discover the source of the noise, guards began reporting that a fireball had just been seen rising from the western horizon. Immediately, the citizens panicked, believing that the Wicked Witch of the West had just launched her final assault upon them- one that would scour the city from the face of Oz and leave only a charred mark for the Flying Monkeys to sneer at as they flew to conquer the rest of the country.

For twenty-three minutes, they panicked: some gathered what paltry belongings they could and fled for the city gates as fast as their legs could carry them; others, resigned to their deaths, strolled slowly home and waited for the end. However, all were surprised when nothing resulted from the mysterious explosion on the western sky.

Eventually, one of the guards decided to consult the Wizard of what had just happened, and returned, wide-eyed and grinning like a man deranged: he had been told that the Wicked Witch of the West, the enemy of all the free peoples of Oz, had finally met her well-deserved death; her loathsome emissary, the Tin Man, was dead as well, as were most of the abominations the two of them had commanded. The explosion the citizens had heard and seen was the Witch's castle, erupting at the moment of their demise- as if the building had been so cursed and decayed that without the twisted will of its inhabitants, the thing had simply blasted itself to pieces. And, the Wizard had proclaimed, this victory over the evils that had dare beset Oz was all thanks to Dorothy Gale and Glinda the Good!

Within minutes, the city was united in celebration: there was no planning or organisation to any of it- people simply took to the streets, laughing and cheering all the way, many of them flocking to bars and taverns, where relief-stricken bartenders were now selling drinks free of charge. For the next hour, the citizens of Oz, rich and poor alike, celebrated in only the wildest and unrestrained ways they possibly could, and why not? Their greatest heroes, the Good Witch and the Child From Another World, had put an end to the terror that had plagued them for so many years. If now wasn't the time for celebrating, then there never would be.

And before long, the guests of honour arrived: Glinda, Dorothy, the Lion and the Scarecrow, floating gently through the air in Glinda's personal bubble, touching down upon the steps of the palace where all of them welcomed as warmly and extravagantly as possible. There were immediately mobbed by a horde of reporters, photographers and other journalists, all of them hungry for a story; but Dorothy, Glinda and the Lion merely brushed the questions off with typical modesty, leaving the details of their heroism to be told by the Scarecrow, who went about his duties as unofficial storyteller with great enthusiasm.

It was during the retelling of this story that the Scarecrow presented the citizens with ultimate proof of Dorothy and Glinda's victory: the Wicked Witch's broomstick (scorched and missing most of its twigs) and the Tin Man's right arm (battered and dented, with its powerful fingers outstretched, as if it had died while reaching towards its one final victim). At the Wizard's request, these trophies were to be put on display in the Museum of Ozian History and Culture as part of an exhibition celebrating the end of the Witch's reign of terror- a fitting tribute to all those who had died in the intervening years, and a guarantee that the heroism of Glinda the Good and Dorothy Gale would never be forgotten. This proclamation immediately kicked off a fresh bout of celebration; if anything, this was even more riotous than the first.

By the time the sun set, the parties were still dragging on across the city; the speeches had been made, the many deaths mourned, and new songs were being written to commemorate the Witch's defeat- most of them punctuated with deafening choruses of "No-one mourns the wicked!" especially as the effigies of the Tin Man and the Witch were slowly burnt upon the bonfires. In fact, by now, the revelry was so thickly spread upon the streets and taverns of the Emerald City, that nobody (at least outside the elite cadre of guards sent to apprehend her) appeared to have noticed the fact that Madame Morrible was nowhere to be seen...


As a matter of fact, she'd left the capital and the rest of Oz quite a while ago: thanks to the alarm spells she'd placed around the gateway charm, it hadn't taken very long for Morrible to discover that Nicholas had been killed.

She hadn't known how much effort it had taken for Elphaba or the Tin Man to extinguish Chopper's life, she hadn't known many of the Witch's retinue he'd managed to kill before dying, she hadn't even known if the Wizard was still alive or not, and quite frankly, she hadn't cared. All Morrible had known- all she had cared to know at that point- was that the Emerald City was no longer safe.

The good news was that the Wheel of Dimensionality was still an easy escape route; the bad news was that she hadn't the time to recalibrate it: with only a short window of opportunity before the inevitable coup took place, the best she could do was ready a few provisions and a makeshift survival suit and hope that she'd have enough oxygen to track down the other Oz's version of the Wheel before she asphyxiated. Fortunately, having spent some time in the other world before, she knew that the corridors under the ruined palace were still accessible, so she wouldn't need to bring a shovel or pickaxe.

And just before she'd left, walking creakily through the portal in her sewn-up oilskin greatcoat, gloves and gas mask, she'd removed the emerald from the centre of the Wheel and concealed it in the robes she wore under her coat; until her pursuers found an emerald of sufficient size and cut to replace it, they wouldn't be able to follow her.

Now, she stood at the very centre of the other Oz, amidst the tumbledown remains of the Emerald City, shivering even under all the layers of clothing she wore and trying desperately not to look at the sky. Nicholas had told her stories about how the sight of that sky, freshly stained red and black, had driven people mad, and though Morrible was loathe to believe this wild tale, she didn't like the look of those noxious clouds. And somehow, the fact that this poisonous, unnaturally-coloured sky inexplicably stopped at the borders of Oz only frightened her further: if it had spread to Ev, to Ix, to the Nome Dominions, to all the other countries, it would have been disastrous but it would have made sense. But it hadn't: the discoloured sky, the poisoned air, the dramatic swings in temperature, the rains of ash, none of it moved beyond the Deadly Desert, as if one of the two sides in the war had gone out of their way to make sure that Oz- and only Oz- was beyond repair.

Morrible's first stay had lasted less than three hours in total, but it had been enough to keep her awake that night. On the upside, Nicholas was dead, so the other Oz was considerably less dangerous this time around; with no scavengers looting the ruins, no deranged survivalists trying to eke out a living, and nobody trying to rebuild, there was nobody to stop her from going about her business.

So, as soon she'd closed the portal, she set out across the ruins of the Emerald City, hobbling down the blasted streets as quickly as her old bones could manage; it wasn't easy, partly because of the massive heaps of rubble in the way, but mostly because her improvised survival suit was so damned heavy. But then again, the survival suit didn't present the unique horror that the rubble and debris did.

Everywhere she looked, there were bodies- perfectly preserved human corpses. Unnervingly enough, they looked more like life-sized porcelain dolls, with the exception of the sunken black pits where their eyes had once been. They lay in grotesque poses, their eerily smooth faces splattered with dried blood; Morrible didn't even want to imagine what might happen if she were to step on one of them, so she kept as far away from them as humanly possible. But she couldn't force herself to look away from the bodies; not only would that mean looking at that horrible sky, but it would probably result in her tripping over something and puncturing her suit. So she kept her eyes to the ground and tried to ignore the dead children staring eyelessly up at her.

It took half an hour, but she finally found an entrance to the palace (or what was left of it) that hadn't been barricaded, and to her relief, it wasn't far from the staircase that led to the vault. As she shuffled clumsily down the abandoned hallway, she wondered what new dimension she'd escape to; after all, with an infinite array of possibilities to choose from, there were plenty of worlds that were hospitable, even amongst all the unpleasant-

Morrible stopped short. Before her, the staircase leading to the vault had been barricaded.

How could this be? Not only was there literally no reason for anyone to bother to wall off a staircase leading to a vault full of next-to-useless junk (not including the Wheel of Dimensionality, of course), but who could have done this? The barricading looked quite recent, but Nicholas had told her that he was the last man alive in all of Oz, so unless he'd been lying or out of his mind, who could have done this? And why-

Something metallic collided with the back of her head; stars flashing before her eyes, she slowly toppled forward. And though the lenses of her gas mask prevented her from getting a good look at her attacker, she did manage to catch a glimpse of the weapon that she'd been struck with clattering noisily to the floor beside her.

It was a trophy, gold, well-polished, and flawless except for the dent that her skull had left in it; an inscription on its side read, "IN APPRECIATION OF ALL THAT YOU HAVE DONE." Somewhat unsurprisingly, this was a trophy that, once upon a time in another world, Morrible had been awarded with.

Morrible had just enough time to thank her lucky stars that she hadn't been hit with the base of the trophy before she slid gracelessly into unconsciousness.

She awoke to find herself lying on a battered old sofa, her gas mask lying beside her and a fresh bandage wrapped around her pounding head. And as if that wasn't enough, someone had cut open her survival suit and taken the central emerald from her robes.

As soon as her eyes had adjusted to the dim candlelight, she very rapidly took in as much of her surroundings as possible without getting to her feet: riveted iron walls, airlock doors, pallets of tinned food, and a great deal of scavenged furniture... obviously, this was some kind of shelter from the poisonous air and aggressive weather that now pervaded Oz. Judging by the nearby staircase leading up to a hatchway in the ceiling, this place was probably underground- exactly the reason why Nicholas hadn't known of it or the survivors that dwelled here.

Of course, that still didn't explain why they hadn't left the country when they'd had the chance, but that was incidental; the first and most important on Morrible's agenda at that moment was finding her way out of this refuge and getting through the barricade to the Wheel.

It was then that, as she was hauling herself awkwardly upright and trying to stop the room from spinning, Morrible noticed the thing standing in the open doorway across from her- watching her. It bore an eerie resemblance to a terrier, with its short legs, upright ears and distinctively-shaped head, but that was where the similarities ended: from its tail to its muzzle, the animal was covered with thick black scales; its feet ended in long, curved claws, and its tiny eyes shone a dull red in the poor lighting of the shelter. For good measure, some wit had slipped a dog collar around its scaly neck.

The creature growled quietly, savaged her with a look of vague disdain, and trotted slowly away.

And then, from somewhere around the corner, a very old and hoarse voice said, "I take it that means our guest is awake." There was a deathly pause, and then the voice called cheerily, "Don't be shy! You're among friends here, Madame Morrible!"

Feeling as though her blood had turned to ice, Morrible staggered towards the source of the voice, through the door and into what appeared to be some kind of living room. In spite of her fear, she felt that she was more than prepared for the worst: now that the hammering in the back of her skull was beginning to fade, she was now capable of using her weather magic again. True, calling down a bolt of lightning on the shelter wouldn't be the most sensible of ideas, but the fact that she could do it if need be gave her some awkward confidence.

Unfortunately, nothing could have prepared her for the apparition sitting in the centre of the living room, almost lost in the battered upholstery of a high-backed armchair.

Beneath the tattered robes it wore, its body was contorted with age and emaciated by starvation, its skin deathly pale and thick with spidery veins; its piercing eyes wept a constant stream of tarry black fluid, and above that, barely a few strands of greyish-blonde hair remained on its skull. But even with these hideous differentiations, there was no mistaking the fact that this was none other than Madame Morrible- her incarnation in this twisted version of Oz, to be precise.

"Not what you were expecting, I take it," croaked the Other Morrible.

"But... what are you doing here?" Morrible whispered back. "Nicholas Chopper said that you were-"

"Heading for the border and sure to die in the attempt; I know all about that, my dear- I was watching your first little meeting with Mr Chopper. But Dorothy and I made it that far before just every single border patrol declared us unfit to join the other refugees; most of the neighbouring kingdoms didn't want anything to do with the chief instigatiators of the war, and the Nomes... well, you probably know how much the Nomes hate anyone remotely associated with the Wizard. So, we were forced back here, back amongst the dead, back with Chopper."

"Is that why you're..." Morrible swallowed, and indicated her double's ooze-dripping eyeballs.

"Of course; that's the trouble with these survival suits- they're not meant for someone as old and clumsy as I am. Dorothy stayed safe; Toto and Chistery were a touch warped by thaumaturgical radiation, but they survived without any lingering health issues. But me, I kept falling over, bursting stitches and exposing myself to more and more of the gas, until..." Other Morrible sighed. "It's a matter of months, I suppose. But enough about me- let's talk about you."

"What exactly is there to talk about? I'm facing political upheaval at home, so I came here attempting to locate the Wheel of-"

"Dimensionality," Other Morrible finished smugly. "I was the one who removed it from the cellars. It's currently in safe storage in this very shelter, away from prying eyes."

Morrible silently rejoiced. All she had to do was keep her double talking for as long as possible while she surveyed the room for hiding places. "And were you the one who knocked me out?" she asked.

"No, that was Chistery- I was the one who bandaged your skull. But tell me, my dear," and suddenly, the woman's voice took on a particularly menacing note, "exactly what sordiditive purpose did you spirit young Chopper away for, and what political upheaval were you fleeing? And what exactly has become of our favourite pupil- what has become of Elphaba in your dimension?"

Morrible shuddered; somehow, having the words "my dear" used in the exact same tone of voice she'd often used with the rare and particularly unusual students made her feel very uncomfortable. "I hardly think that's any business of yours," she said defensively. "After all, it's not as if she's your favourite pupil."

"True, but I've seen enough of you to know that you are almost identical to me in almost every respect- making your version of Elphaba just as much my apprentice as she is yours. Or, as the case may be, "was." So, what has happened to our mutual apprentice? I would presume it has something to do with Mr Chopper, yes?"

"I don't know," Morrible admitted. "I sent Chopper in as a bodyguard to the Wizard- he was going to negotiate with Elphaba, and I needed someone who'd be immune to her magic, and... well, just forty-five minutes ago, I Chopper's lifesigns went dead. I don't know who survived the encounter."

The Other Morrible's face darkened. "So," she whispered, "Elphaba might very well be dead. And it's clear that you're exactly as I was. I'd hoped for someone far wiser- someone less willing to sacrifice those she admired to save her career, someone who'd been brave enough to stand by Elphaba against the Wizard, someone who'd had the vision to safeguard the most exceptional talent in all of Oz. But no, here you stand, a betrayer, a murderer, and a coward."

"And exactly what gives you the right to judge? What makes you any better than me?"

"I learned!" the double snarled loudly. "I have had the time to reflect on every single mistake I made in my life, and I have repented every one of them! And more to the point, I never ran away from political upheaval; I at least attempted a truce. But you, you-"

There was a muffled yawn from what appeared to be a small mound of blankets and seat cushions beside the angry double's chair; from under the tattered covers, a bedraggled-looking child emerged, and in spite of all the dirt and all the grime, it was impossible not to recognise Dorothy Gale's face. "Wha's happ'ning?" the girl mumbled sleepily.

Other Morrible's demeanour underwent a sudden metamorphosis: the anger left her face immediately, and was replaced with an expression of... concern? "Nothing to worry about, Dorothy," she said soothingly. "You just go back to sleep, now."

Reluctantly, the Other Dorothy lay down once again- just in time for the Other Morrible to begin swiftly chanting one of the gentler sleep-spells in her repertoire. "There," she said eventually, "Now neither of us will be able to disturb her. The child needs her sleep, after all."

"Let me guess," Morrible sneered. "You've adopted her. Or better yet, you've taken her as a student."

"I've done my best to repent," the double answered coldly. "But for Toto, Chistery and the few surviving monkeys, we were alone. I did my best to protect her, kept her indoors as often as possible... and I tried to keep her from losing hope. But how exactly do you comfort a child whose only chance to go home has been smashed to pieces before her eyes? How do you reassure a child when she knows that, in a few months, she'll be all alone except for a pet she no longer knows how to care for?" A smile crept over her face. "But perhaps you can help me there..."

"No," said Morrible firmly. "I'm just here to use the Wheel to get to a safe dimension- that way, I'll be out of your hair, and you won't have to be reminded of your past mistakes."

The smile grew considerably. "Something you should be aware of, my dear- the Wheel is badly damaged: not only has it taken your arrival to provide me with a replacement emerald of suitable size and cut, but the spokes are so bent that it'll take weeks for the energies to build up enough to create a portal. So," she spread her withered arms grandly, "It appears you'll be staying in our humble abode for the next few months. Make yourself at home; if you like you can help Dorothy in her studies. She's a bright little girl, perhaps even bright enough to learn magic. How does that sound?"

Morrible sighed in disgust. "One star pupil was enough for me," she remarked dismissively, turning to leave. "If you're so desperate for another one that you're willing to substitutiate the one true magical prodigy you were lucky enough to encounter with some farmhouse brat, then that's your problem. In the meantime, I'm going find the Wheel and see if you're just as inept as you are ins-"

A deep, echoing rustle of leathery wings drowned out the last of Morrible's words; she had less than a moment to glance frantically around her for the source of the noise, before six vaguely human-shaped blurs shot out of the darkness and ploughed headlong into her. As the shapes swarmed over her, she caught glimpses- brief, horrifying glimpses- of luminous eyes and mouths filled with bloodied, broken teeth, and faces just simian enough to be identified as those of the Flying Monkeys. It took said flying monkeys a little under five seconds to wrestle her to the ground; by the time Morrible had managed to get her face out of the floor, they were already tying her limbs together, and her double was rising awkwardly from her chair with a familiar-looking artefact clutched in her claw-like hands. "Well, you wanted it," she said smugly. "Here it is: the Wheel of Dimensionality. Tell me, does it look damaged to your expert eyes? Does it look as though I was lying or incompetent in my initial assessation?"

As if in answering, the Wheel's crooked spokes appeared to glow faintly, illuminating the artefact's many dents and scars; at its centre, the new emerald glittered eerily as new energies very slowly poured themselves into the Wheel's damaged structure. Her double had been right: this thing wouldn't be ready to conjure another gateway for at least a month. And more to the point, the magic it was conducting was moving somewhat differently...

Without warning, a beam of painfully bright light spiralled out of one of the spokes and poured itself into Morrible's eyes; as she reared back, wincing in discomfort, something appeared inside her mind, amongst her thoughts: a vision of her own life, from childhood to adulthood, ending with her escape through the portal. Almost eighty years of existence had paraded before her mind's eye, but when the light finally faded and allowed her to see again, she found that only a second had passed. "What happened?" she gasped. "What did you just do?"

"It's a strange thing," the Other Morrible said quietly. "I couldn't get it to create a proper gateway without an emerald, but it could still pierce the dimensional membrane easily enough, and with a little bit of improvisation, it could show me the other worlds in all their glory... or decay. You see, the history of those worlds was recorded in their very substance- including the eight short decades that you and I have occupied." She ran a finger along the curve of the Wheel, and another blast of light shot into Morrible's eyes: this time, it was a vision of her counterpart's life, and up until Glinda's unexpected death and the civil war, it was almost identical to her own. And this time, the vision didn't just hurt her eyes; her head was beginning to ache.

Her double wasn't finished talking, though: "I observed so many permutations of my life, so many different possibilities, so many worlds in which I stood by Elphaba's side; and it was through them that I learned the error of my ways. And since you've made it clear that you haven't the slightest bit of remorse for your failure," she said, a wicked grin slowly curling across her ruinous face, "I think it's time for a bit of personal reflection."

"But I-"

Another beam of temporally-impregnated light lanced out of the Wheel's spokes and into Morrible's face, and immediately, the mild headache suddenly blossomed into a screaming, wailing pain in the back of her skull. And just as she was wondering how she could possibly feel any worse about the situation, the vision arrived in her mind's eye: once again, it was the life of yet another incarnation of herself from some faraway dimension, and it was so very much like the previous two that she scarcely paid any attention up until the end. And because she hadn't been paying attention, she was not prepared for the sight of Elphaba slumped against the grimy wall of a holding cell, her wrists cut and one last triumphant smirk etched upon her face. And with a thrill of shock and dismay, Morrible knew that this was a version of Elphaba who'd been captured less than a few months into her "reign of terror," only to martyr herself in her cell- both ensuring a rebellion among her supporters, and avoiding any chance of being guided back into the Wizard's service.

The moment the vision had ended, Morrible screamed, "Why did you make me watch that?"

"I thought I stated everything with perfect claritication, my dear; you need to understand the breadth and depth of your failure. What you saw could have just as easily happened to you had you succeeded in capturing Elphaba. In the end, it all stems from you abandoning Elphaba to the tender mercies of the guardsmen- as you'll see..."

Morrible saw her double's hands moving upon the Wheel, and had just enough time to shout "No!" before another vision roared out at her. "STOP!" she cried, her mind dominated by the sight of Elphaba kneeling brokenly on the scaffold as the executioner brought his axe swinging down on her defenceless neck. "PLEASE STOP!"

"So you do have some twisted affection left for your pupil? Or do you just want to spare your mind the pain of being exposed to the very fabric of history? Let's find out..."

"Please," Morrible begged, "I promise to help you in whatever way you demand- I'll even help you tutor Dorothy- just please don't show me anything else!"

Her double shook her head sadly. "Grovelling will do you no good, my dear. If I were to set you free and set you to work, I could only expect the same amount of loyalty you showed Elphaba and the Wizard- none. This way, you become worthy of my trust. This way, you have a chance of learning your lesson. Of course," she added, "There's an even better chance you might lose what little of your mind you have left. But then again, redemption never comes without effort, as they say."

She tapped the side of the Wheel, and the visions began pouring out of the spokes and into Morrible's defenceless psyche; this time, she was unable to hold back a scream.

Somewhere in the background, over her own wails of horror, she heard her double muttering, "Personally, I don't think you have what it takes to survive your penance with your sanity intact. But for your sake, I hope you prove me wrong..." She chuckled darkly. "I doubt you will..."


Worlds away...

Nessarose was vaguely aware that she was dreaming; it was a very diffused and hazy kind of awareness, for she wasn't entirely sure when or even where she'd fallen asleep. The dreams themselves were little more than blurred images, the last and most coherent of them being the sight of a house dropping out of the sky to land on top of her with an ear-splitting crash. But it was after this that she slowly began to float back towards reality.

The return to wakefulness was slow and painful, for her body felt as though it had been tied to the back of a cart and dragged through a field of thornbushes. It was the worst of these pulsing aches- the one across her back, to be precise- that forced her eyes open. As soon as her eyes had stopped interpreting candles as miniature suns, Nessarose found herself lying in bed, almost up to her neck in blankets. Though she couldn't tell exactly where she was- her eyes still hurt and everything more than three feet away blurred into nothingness- she could tell that she was still wearing the Ruby Slippers: their warmth was too distinctive to forget.

Groaning wearily, she tried to sit up, but her arms didn't have the strength to lift her any further than a few inches before she slumped helplessly back into bed. Great Oz, what had happened to her? How long had she been asleep?

She replayed the last of her memories as best as she could: as far as she could recall, there'd been a gathering of some kind, and she'd been addressing a crowd of Munchkins. In fact, she'd been about to announce some kind of drastic overhaul of Munchkinland's laws- at Elphaba's suggestion. What was it she'd said? Oh yes, "You might need political support soon." And, Nessa remembered with sudden sorrow, she'd said that just after Boq had run away. Well, whatever the case, a great deal of her announcement had been drowned out by the booing and jeering of the crowd, and just as the noise had died down a bit and she was ready to try again, something had happened.

A house had fallen on her.

A house had descended from the heavens, and Nessarose had lost consciousness to the tune of the whole thing landing on top of her.

Well, it was no wonder that her entire body hurt; but how had she even survived? Who had rescued her? She knew for a fact that among the Munchkins, her popularity lay somewhere between "tuberculosis" and "child molester," so it wasn't likely that any of her citizens had been forgiving enough to save her life. Had Elphaba somehow arrived in time to rescue her?

She tried to get her eyes to focus on the room around her, but the haziness refused to leave her vision, so she resorted to the age-old tactic of calling "Hello? Is anyone there?" in the hope that someone would hear. And to her surprise, someone did; beyond the fog that surrounded her head, a human shaped-blur got its feet, and began tiptoeing towards her.

A moment later, a face drifted into view, and for a moment, Nessarose thought that she now had hallucinations to worry about: not only was the face itself made of metal, but at least half of it was little more than a skull. Then she looked closely at the other half of the face, at the concerned frown and the peculiarly familiar features; from the depths of her memories, an image floated into the front of her mind- of the owner of the face, horribly disfigured and mewling in pain as the botched spell twisted his body further and further out of shape.

"Boq?" she whispered softly. "Is that you?

The face blinked with its one remaining eyelid. Then, it nodded.

Nessarose felt as though the bottom had dropped out of her stomach; she'd seen just how badly her second attempt at using magic had gone just before Boq had left the mansion, but she hadn't expected it to come to this.

"Oh Boq," she said, scarcely able to speak around the lump in her throat, "I'm so sorry- I didn't mean to... I didn't want to do this to you, I just..."

Boq, unable or unwilling to speak, put a silencing finger to his lips. Then, after a moment of scribbling, he held up a note; it read You did the best you could. I don't blame you for saving my life... and besides, I've had a lot of time to think on my own mistakes, and I know you wouldn't have even used the Grimmerie in the first place if I hadn't broken your heart.

Just as Nessa was absorbing the fact that Boq had also lost the ability to speak during the transformation, a few logical conclusions slowly began to percolate through the many layers of sorrow and remorse around her mind. "You were the one who saved my life," she said at last. "Weren't you?"

If Boq had still possessed blood, he would have blushed. I was one of them,he wrote. I found you and brought you to Elphaba; she deserves the praise for healing you.

"But you came back for me," said Nessarose, unable to hide the awe in her voice. "You could have left me behind after all I'd done to you, but you came back for me." And she knew that, in that moment, she would have kissed him had she had the strength in her arms to make herself level with Boq's face.

Then, from the other side of the room, there was the sound of a door opening and shutting. There was a pause, and then a familiar voice shouted, "NESSA!" A split second later, Elphaba materialised next to Boq, her face almost incandescent with joy; clearly too excited to even speak, she drew Nessarose into a crushing embrace. Once she was sure that her sister hadn't accidentally broken any of her ribs, Nessa opened her mouth to ask where they were and how long she'd been asleep, when she saw that Elphaba's face was streaked with tears.

She tried to remember the last time she'd seen her sister crying, and realised that she hadn't seen anything of the like since she was a child; all things considered, Elphaba had been very good at covering her sorrow with anger, so what could have possibly prompted this display of emotion? Had she really been that close to death?

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you awake," said Elphaba hoarsely.

"I might have some idea," said Nessarose. "Uh, not to sound rude or anything, but how long have I been asleep?"

"A little over eighteen days."

"Eighteen days? But what's been happening in the meantime?"

"Well, the Munchkins are still celebrating your death."

"My... oh." Nessa thought carefully, absorbing this latest detail. "Well, I suppose nobody expected me to survive having a house dropped on me. But shouldn't the celebrations have died down by now? I mean, I know I haven't been popular with the Munchkins, but surely the parties couldn't have lasted eighteen straight days?"

"True enough," Elphaba admitted. "But they've gotten caught up in celebrating my death as well."

Nessarose took a very deep breath. "Okay," she said at last. "You've either faked your death, or I'm as dead as I feel..."

Elphaba smiled awkwardly. "I'll explain everything as soon as I can," she said. "In the meantime, there's somebody who's been asking to see you- to interview you, to be specific. He'll help me explain things as best as possible... and he's also got a job offer."


Though the Ruby Slippers allowed her to move without the aid of a wheelchair, they hadn't quite shielded her from the effects of spending seventeen whole days in a coma. Apparently, ocular and muscular atrophy was something which their healing powers simply hadn't had the time to deal with, what with knitting her bones back together and stopping malnourishment or dehydration from creeping in. However, after fifteen minutes, Nessarose had regained enough strength in her limbs to totter out of bed and into a chair. She'd also recovered her eyesight, allowing her to see her surroundings clearly for the first time:

Most of it consisted of stark brick walls and bare stone floors, but since moving in, Elphaba had evidently had the time and resources to add a few creature comforts: however, what startled Nessarose was how expensive said creature comforts looked: the beds, the chairs, the desk, the rugs, the shelves- all of them were of the highest possible quality. There was even an oil painting of the Emerald City hanging over Elphaba's desk. According to both her and Boq, these had been gifts from the same "benefactor" who'd managed to secure this hideout in the first place. Apparently, it was an underground chamber beneath the Emerald City, far away from guards or prospective witch-hunters. It was down here that the three of them had been living for the last fifteen days- Boq standing guard, and Elphaba poring over various tomes and contraptions of magic- "taken from Morrible's own collection," she claimed.

All in all, Nessarose wasn't sure what her sister was doing anywhere near the Emerald City, or with anything stolen from Madame Morrible's belongings, but hopefully an explanation was on the way. So, as she waited, she sat and helped herself to her first breakfast in almost three weeks: although the Ruby Slippers could easily keep her from starving to death, they couldn't do a thing for actual hunger.

Eventually, the heavy iron door to the hideout rumbled open, allowing her "interviewer" to hurry inside. At first glance he seemed little more than a short, stocky older gentleman in a long grey coat and a top hat; closer examination revealed the gold watch chain at his waist and the gold spectacles on his nose. Evidently, whoever this man was, he had a certain degree of wealth at his disposal; was he a businessman of some kind? A politician? And what kind of job would he be offering?"

Pausing only to say hello to Elphaba and Boq, he turned immediately to Nessarose, a pleased-looking smile inching across his round face. "Well," he said warmly, "You must be Nessa; very pleased to meet you." He leaned forward, and shook her hand. "We haven't met before, but I'm very certain you've heard of me; I am-"

Elphaba cleared her throat loudly. "Real name before titles, please," she reminded him.

The man winced. "My name is Oscar Zoroaster Diggs. But," he said, drawing himself up proudly, "I am known in Ozian society as-"

"The Wizard," finished Elphaba smoothly. "Also known as The Wizard of Oz, the Great Oz, His Ozness, and other associated titles."

Nessarose gaped; she'd had an awful lot of shocks in the last few minutes, but this was the worst of them. At the moment, the only question that came to mind other than "Huh?" and "What?" was "What happened to all the fire and lightning I've heard about in the newspapers?" But the one she eventually voiced once she'd stopped gawping was "You've spent the few years opposing the Wizard... and now he's your benefactor?"

The Wizard gave Elphaba a quizzical look. "You haven't told her about me being y-"

"Not yet," she snapped. "She's got enough on her plate at the moment. Just give her some time to process things before you start piling on more unpleasant truths."

"Right, fair enough. But the point is, Nessa, your sister and I have undergone a period of very successful negotiation, and we are now at peace. As far as the rest of Oz is concerned, the Wicked Witch of the West is dead, and the anti-Animal laws that Elphaba took issue with in the first place have all been carefully subtracted. However, this meeting is about your standing in Oz at present."

"Me? I thought I was officially dead as well."

"That's true, but at Elphaba's suggestion, I think it might just be possible for you to, uh..." The Wizard thought carefully for a moment. "... to undergo a resurrection of sorts, if you'll pardon the dramatics; my point is, it might be possible for you to become Governor again."

For the second time in as many minutes, Nessarose' jaw dropped. "You can do that?" she asked. "You can give me the position? How would that work in any sense? I mean, they hated me- they probably still do. How can I return to governing when half of them want to see me dead all over again and the rest are willing to actually do the job?"

"I can grant you a full platoon of guards, if you don't feel safe-"

Boq cleared his throat. He was holding a note that read, I'm ready to do my part as unofficial bodyguard.

Nessa smiled, feeling a little better for the support. "It's not just my safety I'm worried about," she continued. "I messed everything up when I was last in power. How am I supposed to make the slightest bit of difference if I'm just sent back into the fray? There's a good chance I'll just make it even worse than before."

"Have a little faith in yourself, Nessa," Elphaba chided. "I've seen your records; you actually handed the governing competently enough... until you tried to keep Boq from leaving by rewriting the law. And since I assume we don't have to worry about anything like that, a good way to start the business of governing again would be to reinstate those laws."

"Just think of it!" said the Wizard grandly. "Just imagine the titles they'll give you: Nessarose the Reformer! Nessarose the Just! Nessarose the Generous-"

Elphaba groaned. "Not now, please; it's too early in the morning for grandeur."

"Sorry. But my point is, you'll have your old life back; true, it'll be a touch lonely at first, and yes, you'll probably be given a wheelbarrow-sized piece of humble pie to eat, but you will be able to have the option of returning to public life and make reparations. How does that sound?"

Nessa thought of all the loneliness she'd endured in her last stint in office, of all the frustrations and the soul-crushing red tape she'd been forced to tolerate, of the mistrustful citizens and whining bureaucrats she'd interviewed, and quietly added the justifiable hatred of a people she'd mistreated and oppressed for far too long without repercussions. Then she looked back on it all, and knew that this time, she at least had real support: Elphaba was there for her. Boq was there for her. And maybe, just ever-so possibly, she could actually manage to make some kind of a difference, and be remembered not with hatred and disgust but... well, she couldn't expect fondness, so perhaps acceptance would be reasonable. Did he even have to ask? she thought.

"I think that sounds wonderful," said Nessarose at last. "I don't mind the humility business. And I think if Boq's with me, I'll be fine. But I do have one question; what's going to happen to Elphaba?"

"I'm staying down here," said Elphaba simply.

"What, alone?"

"Of course; if Boq's going with you, then I'm not likely to have any other visitors... well, other than Dorothy and the Scarecrow." She noticed the perplexed look on Nessarose' face, and added, "I'll get to who they are in a minute."

"You'll be staying down here for the rest of your life?"

"I will leave, every now and again- to get a breath of fresh air, and to see you, obviously. You do not need to worry about me. Okay? Do you have any further questions before we get down to more general explanations?"

Nessarose smiled awkwardly. "Yes: what were you stopping the Wizard here from talking about? Because, if it's any comfort, I think my plate is clear for the moment."


Once the explanation had been made, the Wizard left briefly to collect the necessary paperwork; in the brief silence that followed, Nessarose found herself turning to Elphaba and asking, "Why didn't you accept the offer of amnesty?"

Elphaba shrugged. "I just felt it was time I did something that would actually guarantee you a better life; I remember that argument you and I had all those weeks ago and-"

Nessa blushed furiously. "Elphaba, I was being a brat then-"

"No, Nessa; you were talking perfect sense. Whenever you needed me, I was as far away as possible: I wasn't there when you were crushed by the house; I wasn't the one who found and rescued you- in fact, if Boq hadn't been there, you'd have probably died from your injuries or from whatever horrid thing the Munchkins would have done with your body. Besides, you deserve a second chance far more than I do; something tells me you can handle the publicity better."

"Of course," said Nessa bitterly. "I'm tragically beautiful. I'll have their sympathy from day one." She noticed the pained expression on Elphaba's face and sighed. "Great Oz, Elphaba, I'm sorry. Why do I keep doing that? Whenever you something for me, I always whine that it's not enough, and-"

"You did that exactly once," said Elphaba gently. "In any event, I think we can all forgive ourselves for the parts we played. I don't think anyone was blameless in what happened, but to be brutally honest, I'll just be happy knowing that you can survive this debacle without spending the rest of your life in a bunker like this."

She was getting to her feet when Nessarose suddenly reached out and hugged her around the waist. "Thank you," she whispered. "For all that you've done for me, for all that you put up with, for everything."


A week later, the serenity that had been gently accumulating across the cities of Oz was shattered by the announcement that the Wicked Witch of the East had been found alive and well in the Emerald City. Immediately, the cry of "Wickedness Must Be Punished" sounded across Oz, as hundreds of thousands of people (many of them Munckins) began demanding justice. As such, the newspapers that day were filled with nothing but official statements on how the Witch had survived, what was going to happen to her, the dates of her trial, and summaries of her many crimes.

When the trial finally arrived, not a single seat in the courtroom was empty, for there'd been so many people willing to see the Witch justly punished- along with those of them very curious to know what she actually looked like, for unlike her sister, the Wicked Witch of the East had been unaccountably shy. However, these thrillseekers were rather surprised when said defendant turned out to be a pallid, frail-looking woman in (of all things) a wheelchair. And far from being the explosive madwoman spoken of in rumour, she remained quiet throughout the trial until called upon, her eyes downcast and her hands clasped in her lap.

And then, just when the audience and the journalists were beginning to regain their composure, they were once again shocked and stunned when the judge revealed the Witch's real name: Nessarose Thropp. And furthermore, they were utterly flabbergasted when she pleaded guilty to all charges.

When the time came for the sentence to be pronounced, the Judge dropped a final bombshell on the court by announcing that the Wizard had decided to grant clemency: the Wicked Witch of the East would not be executed or jailed, but put on probation. She would be allowed to take back her position as governor of Munchkinland- under strict supervision, of course- and given a chance to redeem herself.

For once, the public honestly wasn't sure what to think: true, they trusted the Wizard's judgement, but surely the Witch couldn't be trusted so readily... and yet, nobody who'd been present at the trial and seen the photographs taken of it could forget the sight of her sitting alone in her wheelchair, looking as if she were about to cry.

(Unbeknownst to all, the Wizard triumphantly punched the air at this bit of news: "Another victory for propaganda!" he laughed.)

Even the Munchkins couldn't work up the certainty to organise a protest when it came time for the newly-dubbed Governor Nessarose to meet her constituents; instead, they simply glared stonily up at her, and listened as she gave yet another speech apologising for all she had done and promising better things for Munchkinland.

That night, the first assassination attempt occurred: according to the only witness (the assassin himself), he'd abseiled down the chimney of Nessarose' mansion, made sure that nobody in the building was awake, and then attempted to stab the sleeping governor to death. Apparently, he hadn't gotten much further than raising his knife over her back, because he woke up twelve hours later to find himself tied up on the front doorstep of the local barracks, with a lump on the back of his head the size of a golf ball.

Next week, halfway through a press conference with the Governor and other high-ranking officials, another would-be-assassin was found hanging upside down from the balcony he'd been planning to shoot the ex-Witch from. When questioned, he admitted that he didn't know who'd attacked him; all he knew was that he'd been ready to take the shot just before someone or something had hit him very hard in the back.

For the next three weeks, this trend of failed assassination attempts continued; gunmen, hangmen, bombers, knife-wielding psychopaths, poisoners- all of them met the governor's mysterious bodyguard, and all of them failed in their self-imposed missions. In the end, the assassination attempts gradually petered out, and the Munchkins began to accept the fact that for better or for worse, Governor Nessarose was there to stay. For a time, the more discontented Munchkins concerned themselves with various rumours- that Nessarose had stolen the Ruby Slippers from Dorothy Gale; that the mysterious bodyguard was actually a ghost she'd dragged out of the netherworld and enslaved; or that Nessarose had somehow managed to resurrect her infamous sister and was planning a coup.

Of course, nobody really believed the last one.

But as the weeks turned into months, the Munchkins found it harder and harder to dismiss Nessarose as a reclusive witch, particularly when she finally regained enough of her health to leave her wheelchair and go on long excursions to the villages and towns of her constituents. Though it was rumoured that her phantom bodyguard always followed her closely on these little trips, nobody could deny that the woman herself seemed friendly enough, if a little bit awkward at times. The one attempt to publically decry her as a lunatic and a tyrant on one of the outings went spectacularly awry when a lucky photojournalist got a shot of the hurt expression on the governor's face; that, along with the abolition of certain oppressive laws, was the death knell of "The Wicked Witch of the East."

From then on, she was known simply as Governor Nessarose; as public opinion of her became more and more affectionate, that changed to "Nessa."

Then, her birthday arrived, and for the first time in years, the governor's mansion welcomed guests- some of them local officials and landowners, others numbering among the nobles and industrialists of the Emerald City and Gilikin Country. Some of them were well-acquainted with their reformed governor, others knew so little about her that they'd decided to attend simply to see just how much the "Wicked Witch of the East" had changed. The Wizard himself had even sent Glinda the Good on his behalf- perhaps to recruit Nessarose for the national magical education program she was rumoured to be heading.

All in all, the evening promised to be a night to remember.


From the upstairs landing, concealed beneath his newest enchantments, Boq watched as Nessa strolled about the entrance hall, the disguised Ruby Slippers on her feet. She chatted cordially with the guests, and though they treated her pleasantly enough in return, they all took great care not to mention anything of her past. It was good to see her safe and happy, but it still nauseated Boq to see so many people needlessly treading on eggshells around the woman he loved.

But at least there was something to look forward to afterwards, once the boozing and pretentiousness was over and done with and the guests had gone home; a private birthday party, attended only by those closest to her: Elphaba, Glinda, Fiyero, Dorothy, and the Wizard. Quite apart from the fact that it would do Nessa good to see her sister again, Boq was curious to see what Elphaba had been researching; after all, Nessarose had gone out of her way to hint that Elphaba had been trying to construct new, organic bodies for him and Fiyero.

Boq smiled quietly to himself, ignoring the drunken magistrate trying to walk through the stairs beneath him; all the work he'd done, all the bloodshed he'd had to commit and atone for, it had all payed off. In fact, maybe his disastrous transformation had been worth it as well; perhaps it had been the best thing that could have happened to him.

Even if he could never replace the mangled tin body he currently owned, he'd never regret the fact that his life had changed for the better because of it- and because of that one mistake Nessa had made...