A/N: And we're back! Sorry for the delay, world went mad for a while - anyway, I'm back with a new chapter. A hearty thank-you to everyone who viewed, reviewed, favourited and followed, and I hope you enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it - this segment here is something I've been looking forward to ever since I started writing.

Without further ado, the latest chapter: read, review, and above all, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Wicked isn't mine.


All was at peace in the Hellion's lair: no enraged howls disturbed the silent corridors, no tantrums shook the walls and floors, no hurricanes of magical power tore through the furniture; even the wreckage of the previous outburst had been tidied away. Now, the inhabitants were all fast asleep and showed no signs of awakening for anything short of an earthquake. The Hellion didn't sleep often, but when she did, she did so with astonishing dedication… and being obedient children, the Dolls always joined in.

At the heart of the warren of tunnels, the Hellion lay asleep on a bed that could have comfortably accommodated an entire family, her bare muscles shrouded in a cocoon of woollen blankets and silk sheets, all six limbs strewn across her in a dozy tangle. All around her, the dolls hung on their hooks, looming over the bed like cherubic gargoyles; all around the room and down the twisted corridors of the Hellion's sanctum, serene porcelain faces jutted from the shadows, eyes closed and bodies slumbering. And in the arms of the Hellion herself, the newest doll lay sleeping, huddled against her mother's skinless bosom.

None of the dolls had been left to watch the entrance, nor did any of them stir at the moan of the wind through the tunnels; even the Hellion remained at peace for once. After all, few knew of the lair's location, and the lair itself was hidden so deep in No-Man's Land, no enterprising burglars could hope to survive long enough to actually find it. So, with her privacy assured and the prize she'd wanted for so long cradled in her arms, the Hellion remained virtually entombed in her slumber for the time being.

However, this particular sleep was different. As a rule, dolls didn't dream of anything other than the Hellion: their periods of dormancy were filled with nothing but their mother's face staring lovingly down at them, and her warm, skinless arms reaching out to embrace them.

So it came as something of a surprise when the Hellion's newest doll found herself drifting off to sleep, and finding herself immersed in the dreams of someone else. There were no warm cavern walls in these night-time visions, no silk costumes, no bloody embrace cradling her in the dark, and in fact, no darkness at all; instead, she found herself dreaming of bright sunshine, cloudless skies, fields of wheat rippling in the warm breeze, and a homestead on the horizon.

And though the doll knew she should have found these sights as alien and unwelcome as the bottom of the ocean, she couldn't help but find them strangely…

…familiar…


The years drag on, and still Dorothy finds herself wandering away from the farm and sitting down in the shade of the old tree to let her daydreams play out in detail, and to watch for the visions in the sky. Somehow, she's managed to evade suspicion from the adults at the farm, if only because she's remained on her best behaviour: keeping her visits to a bare minimum, she's never dodged chores and never skimped on her lessons, even if it could have allowed her a few extra hours by the tree. For good measure, she long since stopped talking about what she's seen – both in her daydreams and out by the tree. By now, Dorothy has a very good idea of what happens to little girls who rant on about impossible things when they should be working, for the latest newspapers have been flush with articles on fancy new sanatoriums offering "electric healing" for troubled patients. She's no idea what goes on in these special hospitals, but given the things Uncle Henry's said about the people staying there, she'd rather not find out.

More than anything else, she finds herself wishing that she can show Uncle Henry and Aunt Em her visions, or better still, take them to the tree so they can witness the dramas that play out across the clouds. Of course, she's never acted on these mad ideas: after all, how could you possibly show anyone your daydreams? And as for the things she's seen in the sky, who in their right mind was going to just up and leave a busy farm to sit down by a tree when there was still work to be done before harvest time?

Besides, Dorothy's pretty sure she's only who can actually see or hear anything clearly out there; over the last couple of months, she's heard rumours of travellers catching brief glimpses of figures on the horizon or even the occasional echo of a distant voice, but none of them ever described seeing anything as plainly visible as the things that Dorothy's seen in her visions. Maybe that makes her special in some way, or maybe it makes her insane; in any case, it doesn't bother her all that much.

In any case, her daydreams help her through some particularly dull times in her life. When there's nothing going on in town, when she's run out of things to talk about with the farmhands, when she's exhausted all her usual games and read what little can be found around the house, she always has her daydreams. All she has to do is let her mind wander far from Kansas, and it brings back things nobody would ever think possible. Granted, she doesn't understand much of what's going on, but the scenes she witnesses are always intriguing: she's already seen talking animals, beautiful witches and whole crowds transforming into impossible new shapes; more recently, she's seen people made into dolls, half-built mechanical men sitting up on workshop tables, and gleaming silver boats that travel the skies.

And every weekend, she makes her way to the tree: even if nothing plays out across the sky, her daydreams and visions are strongest here. Often, they feel so vivid, so real that she can almost touch them, actually reach into her mind's eye and grab at the things she sees on the table. And when people speak, she might as well be in the room with them, peering over their shoulders and feeling their breath on her face. And lately, there have been a lot of conversations… and as time goes on, a lot of conflicts.

Over the last year or so, she's been able to identify two familiar faces in almost all of her visions: the first, a pretty blonde with a bubbly disposition, is called Glinda; the second, dark-haired, serene and almost eerily beautiful, is called Elphaba – but to everyone else, she is the High Overseer. And, as she grows more familiar with the sound of her voice, Dorothy realizes she was once the woman known as the Director – the woman who'd demanded that Lintel research the use of deadly portals in warfare…

For the longest time, the conversations between the two have been friendly, often held in cafes on exotic street corners or balconies overlooking the vivid green city below: they talk about increased rights for Animals, repairing the damage done by the Plague of Transformations, and the measures being taken to ensure the safety of all; they talk of new schools, new roads, new homes, new hospitals, and even new programs to teach magic to the public.

Most of all, they talk of family: Glinda is clearly pregnant in the last few visions, and Elphaba spends a lot of time fussing over her as the weeks go on, discussing baby names and laughing over the idea of becoming godmother to the child. There is some disappointment in the air, of course, for Glinda and her husband-in-all-but-name have never had a chance to enjoy the grand formal wedding that everyone wanted for them, but these are minor annoyances and nothing more.

And then, in the last month of Glinda's pregnancy, something goes wrong between the two of them. There is a disagreement over policy, something about Elphaba picking officials based on popularity and loyalty to her rather than skill. "What was it you said, Glinda? It's not about aptitude; it's the way you're viewed." And other disagreements follow, all of them over Elphaba's decisions: emergency powers are being given to the Flying Monkeys, giving them right to provide surveillance for "the safety of all"; more than half of the promised magical education programs are now top-secret, and the students are forbidden from confessing the true nature of their studies; Fiyero keeps being summoned back to the palace for "secret assignments" that leave him sick and bedridden for days on end; the new method of Purification shouldn't have to modify the bran, but thanks to Elphaba's authority, it does. For several days, the disagreements carry on, and though Glinda never raises her voice in anger, Dorothy can tell she is upset: something in her friend has changed and Glinda doesn't like it one bit… but she can't bring herself to oppose it. And so, though they remain friends, something vital is lost.

When Glinda finally gives birth scant weeks later, Elphaba doesn't enter the ward to congratulate her. Instead, she watches from the observation window overhead, staring down with interest at the baby cradled in Glinda's arms. She does not smile, and indeed shows no emotion whatsoever, even as Fiyero finally arrives on the scene and the baby is finally named; she only observes and takes careful notes.

NAME OF CHILD: Allaran Tiggular, the notes read.

HEALTH: Good.

PARENTAL RECORD: No known familial distortions.

PARENTS' REACTION: Ecstatic.

BIRTHING COMPLICATIONS: None.

EVALUATION: Diagnostic spells confirm minor distortions, liable to become severe if uncorrected. Alter or liquidate.

And as she silently writes these notes, there is something in Elphaba's cold, emotionless gaze that frightens Dorothy beyond all reason. Below her, Glinda cradles her baby son in her arms, cooing over every move and whimper he makes, unaware that her "friend" is watching the two of them in much the same way that hunters watch deer.

Time goes on, and Dorothy's view sweeps across the land as it slowly begins to change: hospitals begin to advertise Purification as a recommended treatment for the upper echelons of the professional workforce – to ensure health in the face of latent Plague strains, they say; the Purified begin to walk the streets, charming awestruck crowds and claiming great power in Elphaba's government; protests begin as the citizens demand more tests be performed before any more "unnecessary surgeries" are permitted – and the protests aren't just kept to the streets of the Emerald City. On the contrary, they're everywhere: according to reports whispered into the Overseer's ear, the western country of the Vinkus is particularly upset, and the local government itself is demanding explanations. Beyond their borders, Shiz University quickly gives way to chaos as passionate young men and women begin demanding "experimentation before perfection" as well.

One group of student protesters kicks up such a fuss, Elphaba herself makes an appearance at one of their meetings: to the surprise of all, she listens to their complaints, promising that more safety precautions will be enacted in the surgeries before any further Purifications are performed, and actually takes suggestions from the crowd. Afterwards, she lingers around the meeting hall and helps herself to a cup of tea and a slice of cake while she exchanges smalltalk with the protesters; she takes the time to congratulate the group's deputy leader – who is quite clearly pregnant.

Then she leaves, thanking the group for being such wonderful hosts and promising to implement their solutions within the week.

Two days later, an explosion tears though the meeting hall, killing all fifty of the protesters. Dorothy doesn't see who triggered it, but she catches several glimpses of the High Overseer's personal guards in the aftermath of the blast, shooting anyone lucky enough to have survived and incinerating their corpses. The heavily-pregnant deputy is last seen being dragged into a black carriage, bound for "The Pottery." Neither Dorothy nor the girl's family ever see her again.

Every newspaper in the country calls it "a tragic accident." Glinda clearly thinks otherwise: at their next get-together on the balcony, she is clearly far more nervous around Elphaba, visibly doing her best to tiptoe around all the sensitive issues, but her heart is evidently not in it. When she looks at the woman sitting across from her, it's plainly obvious that she no longer sees her friend, only a terrifying stranger. So, she avoids eye contact altogether and instead does her best to busy herself with little Allaran, cuddling him and fussing over him for every moment she isn't in conversation. But Glinda cannot ignore the problem forever, and eventually, Elphaba says something that neatly splinters her resolve.

"Have you considered accepting Purification?"

Glinda can only leave in terrified silence, unable to even ask her about the explosion.

The months go by, and there are no more happy meetings: from then on, all is terror and upheaval. More protest movements spring up, and many more of them die in "accidents." The Purified become ever more numerous, and begin publically pledging their loyalty to Elphaba. A rumour arises that Elphaba's sister has been seen walking after spending her entire life bound to a wheelchair, but the Lady Nessarose is never seen in public again thereafter. Two sewer workers return from a nightly inspection in shock, claiming to have seen a laboratory hidden deep beneath the Emerald City – only to be committed to the Asylum under suspicion of carrying the Plague. The army of the Overseer grows substantially and is soon armed with powers that "would have made the Wizard's men brown their trousers." Elphaba's father dies suddenly, apparently of a heart attack; a coroner's report of fatal poisoning briefly escapes the morgue, but by the time the rumourmill gets hold of the news, the coroner and his report have mysteriously vanished.

Eventually, the growing numbers of Purified individuals among the city's elite form a movement of their own, insisting that Elphaba cannot hope to accomplish her goals with only the powers of a High Overseer at her disposal. Up until now, they say, she has been considered a regent, a substitute administrator empowered to remain in office until such time as the Plague has been cleansed from Oz's borders… and the Plague of Transformations has already been seen beyond Oz. For Elphaba to truly eradicate the threat, they say, she must claim powers beyond that of her station, and Oz most become something more than a nation.

And so, Elphaba claims the mantle of Empress of Oz, and makes decisive moves to expand the territories of the newly-established empire beyond the boundaries of the deserts. One by one, the countries surrounding Oz are encouraged to temporarily surrender their sovereignty and allow Ozian troops to occupy their land until the Plague can be decisively cured; those who refuse to cooperate are taken by force – and thanks to the expansion of the army, its recent inclusion of magicians, and a number of fantastic machines provided by the Pottery, victory arrives swiftly for the invaders. Purification is made mandatory for Plague victims as soon as they are identified; high-ranking government officials, business professionals and other VIPs are Purified by way of precaution. Within a matter of months, Ev, Noland, Ix, and even Merryland all belong to Oz, and only the Nome Kingdom is able to maintain its defences in the face of Elphaba's growing strength.

Back in Oz, a lesser version of Purification is made available to the deformed and handicapped. Then to the elderly. Then, to almost anyone who regarded as unattractive. Those who decline the operations simply vanish overnight and are never seen again. The excuses vary and often involve claims of "latent infection," "preventative measures," and "medical emergencies," but they all amount to the same thing: anyone who doesn't fit in is being made to fit.

Soon, the stated reasons for the surgery shifts from ending the Plague to ending the very things that caused the Plague in the first place. Now, those who refuse to abide by the new laws are not merely criminals, but active perpetuators of societal ugliness. And as the Empire grows and its grip on its citizens becomes all the more oppressive, the protest movements become more extreme: one notable groups begin making examples of themselves for the sake of the cause, zeroing in Elphaba's description of those who refuse the surgeries – "irredeemable" – and adopting the name with pride. Some tattoo themselves with the name, some brand themselves, and some literally carve the name into their flesh. Then one morning, a young man earmarked for Purification on account of his excellent academic record gets up in front of a crowd and cuts off both his ears, throwing them at the soldiers who try to arrest him.

Eventually Glinda approaches Elphaba in a desperate attempt to change her mind about Purification, to convince her that she's only making enemies. She tries to get through to her, appealing to their friendship, to past acts of heroism, to anything that could get the Empress to end the current course of action.

The response sends her storming out in a fury.

The protests continue, but this time with Glinda at their head. For a time, there is something akin to an uneasy peace: Elphaba opposes Glinda in public, denouncing her decisions as "misguided" and "dangerous," though never taking the final step towards violence – even as the pretty blonde witch takes her place at the podium again and again, uniting angry families, fearful objectors, concerned businessmen and even the Irredeemables under her banner.

Eleven months of visions later, at a public protest outside the gates of the Imperial Palace, a company of soldiers is sent in to disperse the crowds. After half an hour of trying to reason with them, the captain orders shots fired over their heads – and then into the crowd itself; to the shock of all, Glinda retaliates with clumsy but effective spells, and is even able to rally several protesters into attacking the company, allowing other protesters precious time to escape arrest. They are eventually forced to flee, but they soon regroup… and when they do, they are armed.

The time of peaceful protest is over. The war has begun.

And Dorothy can only watch from a world away, at once exhilarated and terrified by the things she's witnessed, but always, always unable to change a thing.


"Elphaba, this is-"

"I'm just asking for-"

"-Let me finish! This is by far the most suicidal thing you have ever attempted in recent memory, and considering your track record, that is saying a lot. What gives you the impression I'd ever permit you to throw yourself into the lion's den on your own?"

"Because it's my problem and it's my fault!"

There was a pause, as both parties did their best to collect themselves.

By now, Elphaba and the Mentor had been arguing for almost ten minutes. It had all started not long after Elphaba had tried – and failed – to contact the Mistress of Mirrors; immediately after, she'd been hastily ushered into a gloomy meeting room by a squadron of guards, and been told to wait while "official negotiations" were conducted between the Mentor and the Mistress. A few minutes later, the Mentor had erupted from the shadows and revealed that, as per her new agreement with the Mistress, the route could only be used with her permission, and everything had spiralled out of control from there on.

"Look," said the Mentor, "putting aside the fact that the operation was my strategy, none of this would have happened if the Hellion hadn't kidnapped the Lion, hadn't stolen the Ruby Slippers, and hadn't taken an interest in Dorothy in the first place. And yes, I know you're already about to tell me that she wouldn't have been in this reality in the first place if you hadn't locked her up in Kiamo Ko, but that's beside the point. I know you're not listening to this half of the explanation, because you're determined to scapegoat yourself for everything under the sun, but you are not to blame for this."

"Oh really? I was the one who blamed her for what happened to Nessa when she was just being used by Morrible and the Wizard, in case you'd forgotten. I spent every day of her time in Oz scapegoating her for something that was out of her control; not only did I continue blaming her for it once we ended up here, but I never once forgave her for any of it, much less apologised for it!"

"I'm reasonably sure that's not actually the case. Remember what I was saying about you using yourself as a scapegoat, Elphaba?"

"I'm not finished! I left Dorothy alone here to stew in her own misery and paranoia, with her going half insane from being hunted down by the Hellion, and then, as if that wasn't bad enough, I consented to using her at the bait in a trap… and because of that, I ended up out in the open for Alphaba's latest assassination attempt – which, by the way, ended up dragging an entire fleet into the firing line as well! Because of that, Dorothy had to put herself in harm's way to rescue me: she ended up having to save me from the personification of my father's rampaging anger issues!"

"And here I was, thinking I'd already found the weirdest sentence ever spoken in recent memory."

"Would you try and take this seriously?!" Elphaba roared. "A child's life is at stake, and you're stopping me from rescuing her! Now, are you seriously going to just sit by and let Dorothy be transformed into a doll for gods only know what reason, or are you actually going to take the muzzle off me and let me save her?"

"I'm not against you making a rescue attempt: I'm against you playing the lone hero. You're not doing this alone, Elphaba: you've only just gotten back from one harrowing encounter already, and you're still in the process of recovering from near-fatal wounds. No matter how passionately you put it, I'm not letting you go out there without assistance."

Elphaba sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "I don't care what you say, Mentor: you're not flinging any more innocent lives into the fire just to clean up my mess."

"I thought you'd say that," said the Mentor smugly. "That's why this operation will consist entirely of volunteers. Granted, they'll consist only of a small squad – you'll be venturing into an underground location, and the last thing you need is the confusion brought on by large numbers cramped into tight quarters – but they'll make up for the limited numbers in skill and dedication."

"Let me guess – one of those volunteers is going to be Dr Kiln, am I right? He'll want to keep an eye on me so I don't end up ruining all the work that went into patching up my femoral artery, yes?"

From somewhere in the shadows, a familiar voice chuckled bemusedly. "Oh, Elphaba," Kiln sighed. "You know me all too well by now."

"Who else?"

"Vara, obviously," said the Mentor. "She's already a skilled combatant, and she has a soft spot for the girl; as I've said, dedication can be a powerful substitute for numbers."

"And?"

"Hope nobody's forgetting me," said Glinda, as she stepped into the light.

"Oh no."

"I'm afraid so."

"What have I told you about putting Glinda in the firing line, Mentor?"

"Again, I'm not making use of anyone who hasn't specifically volunteered. Besides, she's fought before, and she's learnt well from our mutual tuition."

Elphaba groaned wearily. "Glinda, this is not going to be like any other battle we've fought together. I mean, you've only been in two, but that's beside the point: the Hellion isn't going to be like any opponent you've ever faced. Do you really want to do this?"

"Would you be able to stop me?" Glinda winked, and added, "Besides, we agreed that we'd be working together from now on. If you're putting yourself in danger, I'm not letting you do it alone."

"Alright, alright. Just don't make me regret making that agreement. And… thank you. Now, who else do we have?"

There was a muffled clank of tin feet upon the carpet as Boq stepped forward. "If Dorothy's in danger, I'm in as well," he said, snapping an awkward salute.

"Fair enough. A little bit rusty-"

"Hey!"

"Figure of speech, Boq. As I was say, a little bit rusty, but it makes sense."

"Don't forget me," said Fiyero, emerging from the darkness with a rustle of straw.

"You? 'Yero, we've talked about this: you're too fragile to be anywhere near the front lines!"

"Doesn't mean I can't hold a rifle. Besides, I've got two people I care about on the line today: you and Dorothy. I mean, do you really think I'd just stay here and do nothing while you and Glinda dice with death?"

"Gods almighty, why don't we just invite the Lion along as well, just for good measure?"

"Can't," said Kiln. "He's still recovering from the surgery; for the time being, he'll remain in the care of Corone. If all goes well, he'll be fit enough to walk unassisted by the time we get back." He grimaced. "There's still the mental aftereffects of whatever the Hellion did to him, but that's a different kind of healing entirely."

Elphaba took a deep breath. "Who else?"

"The Leviathan has given Arkady, Gehardt and Gaunt leave to participate in this mission," said the Mentor. "With the understanding that any loot found out in the wilderness belongs to the Strangling Coils. And before you say anything, there may only be three of them, but their skills and training more than make up for it. Plus, they've travelled No-Man's Land before, and they're familiar with its dangers. Now, do you have any further objections?"

Elphaba groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "I'm not leaving this building if I say yes, am I? Alright, alright, I consent to the backup – as long as it's understood that the goal of this mission is to rescue Dorothy and not to play nanny to me. Okay?"

There was a muffled chorus of agreement from around the room.

"If that's settled," said the Mentor briskly, "Then I suggest we begin preparations as swiftly as possible: the quartermaster will be bringing us necessary provisions and armaments very shortly, including Nultherite bayonets, knives and a new axe-head for you, Boq. Remember, these blades will be the most important element of this rescue effort if you intend to kill the Hellion along the way, as these are the only weapon guaranteed to cut through her magical defences."

She cleared her throat. "In the meantime, if any of you have any additional weaponry or equipment you think will aid in this mission, I advise that you add it to your packs, because I guarantee you that this may be one of the single most arduous missions you undertake away from the front lines. Now, ladies and gentlemen… you have ten minutes to prepare. We reconvene on the main staircase."

As the others hurried to collect their belongings from their respective rooms and apartments, Elphaba returned to her room and began gathering up all the magical items she'd managed to collect during her time in Oz – the few artefacts and talismans she hadn't taken with her to the battlefield. Most of them had been too fragile, too priceless to risk on a fight against ordinary humans when she'd had an entire army there to support her. One by one, she gathered them into her pockets, her pack, and onto her arms and legs if necessary, until she almost rattled with charms.

Still no sign of my broomstick, though, she thought gloomily. Guess they haven't recovered that yet.

But as she began her march for the doorway, Elphaba happened to pass by Dorothy's empty bedroom, and almost without thinking, found herself peering inside. As expected, the maids had been keeping the bed made and the floor tidy, and Vara had obviously done her best to look after Dorothy's own collection of odds and ends while their owner was away. Less than expected was Toto, sitting mournfully by the empty bed with an expectant look in his eyes.

It took all of Elphaba's willpower not to start making promises to the little dog. Quite apart from the fact that Toto wasn't actually an Animal (as far as she knew), she had no idea if any of them were going to come back alive. Nonetheless, she patted him on the head in what she hoped was a reassuring way before turning to leave.

As she did so, however, she happened to notice a strange slip of paper on Dorothy's bedside table. Curious, she picked it up – and realized it was the family photograph from Kansas, with all the Gales smiling out at the camera from a happier, less-suspecting time. By now, she'd seen the little girl playing around with it long enough to recognize it almost by sight... and in spite of every impulse telling her that sentiment would be less than useless on this little quest, Elphaba actually found herself picking up the photograph and slipping it into her pocket – just in case. And with that, she turned on her heel, and made a beeline for the apartment door.

It took about nine minutes for Elphaba to realize that Toto was following her, and by then, it was already too late to turn back…


It is June 1905, and Dorothy is fifteen years old.

She is almost a woman, now, or so Aunt Em tells her. She has duties around the farm to attend to, she has a very old and improbably resilient Toto to look after, and she has her daydreams to enjoy.

Of course, she has no earthly clue what she might one day do with these dreams, or what she hopes to see. In point of fact, she has no idea what she'll do with her life, either. Perhaps she will stay here and help Aunt Em and Uncle Henry, perhaps even run the farm if they decide she's found a suitable husband and proved herself good enough to eventually take the reins. Or maybe she will leave in search of work, find a job in one of the nearby towns. Perhaps she can even write about what she's seen in her daydreams; she's read some of the stories that Uncle Henry likes to read in the magazines from time to time, so maybe she could write down the visions she's witnessed and send them off to be published. Probably under a man's name, but still, it'll be nice to share her visions with someone apart from Toto for a change.…

She doesn't know what she wants to do, but she knows that any of these options are available to her. For now, she is happy enough with her usual routine.

And then she happens to stray by the tree one balmy Sunday afternoon, just to enjoy another daydream before she returns to the familiar pattern of working, eating and sleeping. She wants to see where the visions will take her this time, for by now, the blossoming war between Elphaba and Glinda has grown to terrifying proportions – and has been doing so for every Sunday for the last few years.

All across the Land of Oz, there is fighting: across the rolling plains of the Vinkus, the lush farmlands of Munchkinland, the wild marshlands of Quadling country, and in the cities of Gillikin, battle after battle rages. Homes and businesses by the thousands have been destroyed in the crossfire; town after down has been bombed into the dirt, either to deny the Empress a factory or to deny Glinda a refuge; entire families have been arrested or even executed as punishment for daring to offer sanctuary to Glinda's "Irredeemables." And with Glinda just as beloved as the Empress, there are a great many people willing to grant her shelter.

Occasionally, there have even been pitched battles on the plains and in the deep forests, with companies of Imperial troops clashing head-on with the rebels; at first, the odds seemed to be in favour of the Empress's men, but gradually, the rebels have grown to match them in skill. There are magicians among their ranks now, their soldiers now arm themselves with top-of-the-line rifles instead of bows and pitchforks, and the scars and tattoos that once distinguished the Irredeemables have been replaced by gleaming clockwork limbs and clawed hands. They've even been able to steal some of the new flying ships the Empress loves so much, enough to build a fleet. This is no mere rebellion the Empress can crush single-handedly, but a civil war – one half of Oz against the other.

But neither side ever seems to keep the upper hand for long: Elphaba and Glinda are too evenly matched. The Irredeemables' headquarters have fluctuated across the country, but they have always remained one step ahead of their pursuers – always long enough to acquire more resources. The Empress may find herself temporarily outmatched, but she always has more men, more ships, more magicians, and more plans. And something is coming to a head, now; forces are amassing for an all-out attack…

So it's with some confusion that Dorothy finds herself witnessing something quite unexpected when she sits down by the tree that afternoon.

All around the Emerald City, ships are amassing in the skies by the hundreds, each of them prepared for war: many bear the stylized O-over-Z of the Empress painted across the hull, while others proudly display the angry grasping hand that Glinda and the Irredeemables have taken as their banner of rebellion. Even with her visions as hazy as they are, there's no mistaking the fact that the two factions are evenly matched… but there's no fighting yet.

Above the Emerald City, there is an uneasy silence as the two sides ready their weapons, none of them daring the break the impasse.

Then, Glinda's voice rings out across the city, amplified by magic. "Elphaba, I know you can hear me," she proclaims from her perch atop the prow of her flagship. "I know you recognize a stalemate when you see one: our fleet can match you easily, and we have more than enough supporters in this city and a dozen more across the west of Oz to keep you at war for decades. But we're not here to fight, not if I can help it: I'm here to ensure a ceasefire. The two of us have been fighting for too long already; the conflict between the two of us has left thousands dead, and ruined cities beyond counting. Parts of Quadling Country and Munchkinland have been left uninhabitable – for all time, some say; before we're done, Oz itself may be destroyed. My son has grown up knowing nothing but civil war… and now I must face the fact that my next child may very well be born to something so much worse than that. And this is why I am here to help you see reason: I know that… whatever happened to you, whatever made you change for the worst, I know that you're still in there. There's still a part of the Old Elphaba in there: the girl who fought for Animals, who fought to free Oz from lies and oppression. That girl wouldn't let this war consume all of Oz. That girl would do what's right for the people; she'd see that Purification has brought more suffering than happiness to this land. So, please… let this conflict end today: we can settle our differences by diplomacy from now on. I won't pretend that we're still friends… but please, Elphie, for the sake of the friendship we once had, choose peace."

There is a long pause, as the message echoes across the Emerald City, into the palace, and down, down into the warren of underground passageways that honeycomb the city's depths. There, in the chamber that had once been known as the Pottery, Elphaba stands in the fineries of her war regalia, hundreds of hard-faced magicians and scientists awaiting her word.

And in that deathly silence, Elphaba whispers, "Open the Slamming Door."

Cackling gleefully to himself, Dr Lintel hurries over to a complicated fusion of machine and magic circle, and begins pressing buttons and pulling levers, chanting all the while. As he does so, the researchers begin hurrying away, carrying as much of their work with them as possible, for they know that whatever happens next will change everything.

And then, above the Emerald City, right between the two air fleets, a portal splits the sky in two. A perfect circle traced across the clouds, a porthole cut into the very fabric of reality, it casts a light brighter than the sun itself, casting a searing white glow upon both the fleet and the glittering streets of the city below. At first it is only twenty feet across; then fifty, then a hundred, then two hundred, five hundred, until at last the portal is vast enough to encompass the entire city. And as the first minute drags by, the terrible shape in the sky shows no sign of stopping…

The fleets struggle to manoeuvre away, but the portal exerts such force over them that they can only amble awkwardly through the air; Glinda and the other magicians of the fleet are casting spells, trying to dispel the portal, but without success. Below, citizens run in terror, while the Empress and her men begin magical chants of their own, teleporting themselves and hundreds like them into fortified buildings – buildings that very slowly take to the air. The Irredeemables follow suit, trying to save as much of the city as they can from the cataclysm gathering overhead, while Glinda and a handful of loyal followers descend into the city in a desperate attempt to stop the nightmare – to "save Fiyero" and "make Elphie stop this." What happens within those terror-stricken streets, Dorothy can only guess at, as from then on, her roving eye only watches the city from afar, even as parts of it slowly begin to fade and float away...

Less than a minute later, the portal finally finishes opening, now wide enough to devastate the land for miles beyond the Emerald City…

And in that moment, Dorothy suddenly snaps out of her vision to find that a portal is opening in the sky right in front of her.

She is not daydreaming anymore: she is back in Kansas, sitting by the tree with old Toto by her side… but now, the air has turned bitterly cold, the wind has been whipped into a tempest vicious enough to make the tree behind her groan in protest, and Toto is barking loudly at the colossal glowing shape cast upon the afternoon sky. There is now a portal in Kansas… and as Dorothy looks up in disbelief, she realizes she can see the glittering towers of the Emerald City and the airships of the Empress's fleet amassing on the other side.

For a moment, she rejoices at the thought that she finally has proof that her visons were real, that she can show Uncle Henry and Aunt Em what she had daydreamed of all these years, that – god willing – she won't have to be alone with her fascination anymore.

Then she realizes that Kansas is beginning to change around her: around the portal, the darkening skies are now tinged a hellish crimson, every cloud dyed as red as blood; lightning courses across the horizon and hammers the fields with searing tongues of white-hot energy, sparking columns of fire taller than any building; swarms of angry, buzzing insects larger than any locust or hornet Dorothy's ever seen before, swarming from the glowing flanks of the portal and roaring out across the unsuspecting countryside (Between, Dorothy dimly realizes, they aren't coming from Oz, but from the spaces between…). And still the portal hasn't finished growing on this side. At the moment, it's only thirty feet tall, but before it's finished, everyone in Kansas will be able to see it.

But by then, it will already be too late.

Heart hammering, Dorothy scoops Toto up in her arms and runs as fast as she can in the opposite direction. Even after everything she's seen and heard of the Empress's plans, she doesn't know what will happen when Elphaba's ultimate weapon finally fires, but frankly, she doesn't need to. All Dorothy knows is that if she hasn't found some kind of shelter by then, she and Toto will be very dead indeed.

But what kind of shelter, a terrified voice in the back of her mind wants to know. How is a farmhouse supposed to hold out against a weapon that's probably being used to wipe out a city? But Dorothy can't answer that: she's in almost blind panic by that stage, incapable of focussing on anything other than the problem at hand. All that matters is getting home to Uncle Henry and Aunt Em. They'll know what to do. They have to know what to do…

Launching herself over a fence and onto the road, she sprints down the potholed old path towards the Gale farm, hoping against hope that she can get there in time. She's dimly aware of the sound of her own breath, emerging in short, and terrified-sounding gasps as she hurtles down the track, the sound of her panic overwhelming her on every level. And yet all around her, the world seems to be panicking along with her: birds flee across the sky, disturbed by the storms and the locust-things now amassing around them; sheep, cattle and horses stampede across the paddocks, knocking over fences and galloping off in all directions; horrified neighbours flee for the apparent safety of basements, or struggle to keep horses under control long enough to escape on them. More than once, Dorothy hears frantic whinnying from behind her, and only just manages to avoid being run over by an out-of-control cart, its horses feral with fear and its driver following suit.

All around her, Kansas is going mad.

At last, the Gale farm looms ahead of her, an anthill facing a hurricane: farmhands run amok, some making for the safety of the grain cellar, others trying to steal horses, carts, bicycles – anything that can get them off the property as quickly as possible – and a few are just staring up at the portal in utter bewilderment, paralysed by shock. From the apocalyptic confusion, Uncle Henry emerges with Aunt Em by his side, bellowing at the top of his voice in a valiant effort to get as many people underground as possible. Then, he notices Dorothy sprinting through the front gate.

"Dorothy! Where've you been? Oh, nevermind that – just get down to the cellar before it's too late!"

She's halfway through complying when a half-mad farmhand charges past her in a frantic and futile attempt to leave on foot, knocking her flat on her face; Toto goes tumbling out of her arms, and immediately scurries away as fast as his little legs can carry him – not into the grain cellar with everyone else, but into the house itself.

Aunt Em helps Dorothy to her feet, muttering "What on earth is going on?" as she does so.

In that moment, Dorothy wants to explain everything, to let her know all about Oz, about Elphaba, Glinda, the Pottery, the war consuming the country alive. She wants to let all her secrets into the light at long last.

But it's too late for that: in point of fact, it's too late to do anything, for Dorothy can already see that their time has at last run out. Above them, the portal, now a thousand feet across and crackling with arcane energies, abruptly sparks, wavers, ripples… and finally collapses, winking out of existence with a roar of noise that shakes the ground.

The Door Slams.

A shockwave of white-hot energy very slowly begins advancing across the ground, radiating outwards from the gaping absence in the sky where the portal once stood: in its path, crops erupt into luminous blue flame, lightning dances across the roads and fences, cattle moan and slowly collapse into bloody heaps of flesh, machinery crumples in on itself, and in the crimson sky above, dozens upon dozens of smaller portals open – inhaling anyone unlucky enough to be standing anyone beneath them. Around it, the storm reaches a crescendo: the wind is now worse than any twister Kansas has seen before, and the lightning now zeroes in on buildings and fleeing carts alike with terrifying malevolence.

Uncle Henry reaches out to lead Dorothy and Aunt Em to the grain cellar, and in that moment, the wind lashes out in their direction. Something slices through the air just in front of them, a hailstorm of debris raining down on the farm. A moment later, Uncle Henry is gone: in his place is a corpse, headless and pincushioned with shrapnel from the shattered remains of a windmill.

Someone is screaming, and it takes Dorothy some time to realize that it's her, howling and shrieking in horror in grief as her uncle's headless body slumps to the ground. Aunt Em is hugging her tightly to her, whispering tearfully in her ear as she tries frantically to reassure her; Dorothy can't be sure, but it almost sounds like she's praying, and Dorothy wants to join in more than anything in that moment, but she can't remember any prayers. She can barely remember anything; her mind is empty except for the one thought that has kidnapped her thoughts: this is the end, the end of us, the end of everything…

Around them, the farm is slowly falling apart: the barnyard is unravelling into flying timber, the chicken coops are either on fire or melting, the lawn is ablaze, the fences have splintered into shrapnel, and the doors to the grain cellar have flown open and the terrified men are flying out into the sky – where they burn long before reaching the sea of portals forming there. The only thing that hasn't collapsed or burned down is the farmhouse itself, and that is beginning to tremble and shake. No shelter has been left for them, nor is there any hope of escape. All Dorothy and Aunt Em can do is stand there and wait for the end.

A moment later, a tendril of lightning scissors though the air. Suddenly, Aunt Em pushes Dorothy away, and not a second too soon: her aunt is now aflame, her body wreathed in blue-and-white fire, her flesh blackening and charring even as Dorothy looks on in horror, her face searing away into nothingness, her body suddenly little more than a tottering scarecrow of roasting meat and rags. For a split-second, she screams in agony, reaching out with skeletal hands for anyone that can help her, but all too soon her voice goes quiet.

There is a deathly silence, as the smouldering carcass slumps lifelessly to the ground. Dorothy can't even cry now.

And then the shockwave hits her.

The pain is incandescent. The energy that strikes her in that moment is hotter than any fire, hotter even than the bolt of lightning that just killed Aunt Em; but it's not just burning her clothes and skin, but something beneath them, burning something deep within her very flesh. Something inside her is writhing and shifting, not merely boiling and roasting in the heat, but somehow become all the more alive for every minute that the energy touches her. And it's all over her now, pouring itself over her defenceless body like a wave, gathering her into its searing, all-consuming depths: inside the shockwave, the winds roar fiercer than ever, and Dorothy feels her clothes tear away from her body, feels her shoes fly off, and with a white-hot gust of razor-sharp air, she feels something else peel away.

Suddenly, the pain is gone, leaving only ice-cold numbness in its place. Stunned, Dorothy can only watch in confusion as something pale and filmy goes tumbling away from her to catch on the remains of the fence, flapping loose in the breeze like an oversized stocking, a ghastly flag fluttering there for a moment before being swept away into the howling void. It's not until she sees the blood on the underside of the strange object, and looks down at her blood, raw-meat hands, that Dorothy realizes that the thing that just peeled away from her was her own skin.

The pain is back again, her entire body screaming with white-hot agony: she is truly naked now, her body stripped down to the dripping red meat below, just like those cow carcasses at the butchers', and all of it hurts. Howling in agony, she stumbles helplessly through the hurricane, sobbing and mewling pathetically as she cries out for someone, anyone to help her, even though she knows nobody can hear. She is going to die, that much is clear… so why is it taking so long? Why is she still alive when by right she should be dead? Why hasn't the shockwave simply killed her?

And what are those new shapes rising from beneath her flesh? What is happening to her legs, her mouth, her throat, her bones? She is growing and warping and twisting and changing, her flayed body twisting in all directions, her voice growing deeper and stranger, her arms reaching further with bloody talons and bulging muscles, her jaws gnashing the air with painful vigour, her legs crumpling and contorting in unnatural directions…

Above her, the sky is a sea of portals… and as her pain reaches its apex, gravity turns traitor, wrenching her off the ground and launching her into the air, taking the battered Gale farmhouse with her. One portal opens wide to permit her mangled body into its depths, and then Dorothy's world flips upside down as her world slowly slips away.

For a moment, there is nothing but pitch-black void all around her, darkness so impenetrable that Dorothy would have believed herself dead, had she not been in such agonizing pain.

Then, two ice-cold eyes open in the nothingness ahead of her, gleaming like diamonds in some long-forgotten mine.

A voice deeper than the ocean and older than the mountains booms, "No. You cannot help me escape. Begone, mortal." An earthsplitting burst of laughter ripples across the void. "Goodbye, Dorothy Gale. So much for 'no place like home!'"

Then light pours into the darkness, and suddenly, Dorothy is falling, tumbling aimlessly into a world of barren crags, ruined buildings and tongues of flame a thousand feet high, the Gale farmhouse nowhere in sight.

She lands heavily, bones crunching beneath her, but at that point, she barely feels it – her skin is still ablaze with such pain that little things like broken ribs barely stir a ripple.

At first, she thinks she's back in Kansas, in the ruins of the farm, but then she looks up with burning, tear-streaked eyes and sees the husks of ruined towers all around her, sees the blasted road dotted with chunks of glittering, emerald-green stone. This is all that remains of the Emerald City; after seeing it from afar for over five years, Dorothy has finally found herself in Oz. She could laugh at the irony, if only her throat didn't feel as though it had been crammed full of broken glass and hot coals.

Somehow, she's still alive. Does that mean she can be saved? Can one of Oz's magicians give her new skin? Tentatively, she calls out, hoping that there's someone in earshot who can help her.

"HeLLO?"

But the voice that emerges from her skinless lips sounds more like the roar of some monster from Dorothy's nightmares than anything human. Coughing, she tries again: "HELlo? Is there anyone there? I… I'm hurt… PLEASE… I'm badly hurt… help…"

Nobody responds, and Dorothy's voice shows no sign of improving. Right now, it seems to be flitting from one unearthly tone to the next with every word.

Groaning, she tries to haul herself to her feet, but her knees buckle beneath her the moment she tries. Perhaps her legs are broken… but if so, why do they seem to be gripping things of their own accord? And what is that strange grasping sensation of touch emanating from her middle? Why do her teeth feel so much sharper than ever before? Why does her body seem so much bigger?

Dorothy shakes her head, trying not to notice the way her skull seems heavier now. She must find help: she can focus on what's happened to her later, when a magician has seen to her wounds. For now, she has to get out of here, away from the wreckage, away from the burning buildings, away from the crater of the greatest and most terrible war that Oz has ever seen. With great difficulty, she begins hauling herself across the ground, clawing her way along the broken roadway with great difficulty and whimpering with every yard she manages to travel. Again, her body seems so much heavier now, but she can't afford to get sidetracked by that.

Eventually, she reaches a corner in the road ahead, and looks up to see that an airship has crashlanded into one of the ruined buildings, and now lies belly-up, impaled on a spar of emerald green. Painted bright scarlet, the ship has the words EMERALD CITY FIRE SERVICE emblazoned on its hull… and leaking from its punctured flank and pooling in the craters below is something that can only be water.

Hauling herself over to the nearest of the pools, she reaches out with bloody hands to scoop up a handful of cool water and pour it down her parched throat. However, as she does so, Dorothy happens to look down at one of the smaller puddles – one no longer disturbed by the flow of water – and with a jolt of shock, finally sees herself as she is now.

A face composed of bloody meat and nothing more stares back at her, its nose shared off, its skull stripped of hair, its mouth a jagged mountain range of tusks and fangs. Its eyes glow with a sickly yellow light, flickering like candlelight in the hollows of its skull. Below it, a body too large and ungainly to belong to a human being stretches beneath her, bare muscles and weeping veins oozing across the ground, writhing and twisting like a snake. At her middle, two new pairs of arms are braced against the ground… and instead of legs, she has another pair of arms, just as hideously muscled as the other two.

For a few seconds, Dorothy can almost imagine that she's seeing the reflection of someone else, that some monster is peering over her shoulder, and if she can just wriggle to the left, she'll see herself again. And when that happy illusion dissolves around her, she finds herself begging wake up, pleading for Aunt Em or Uncle Henry or Toto to wake her up from whatever nightmare she's found herself in. But nobody wakes her, and nobody ever will: this place, this land where the fires burn without ceasing in the ruins of what was once a thriving city, where Dorothy crawls alone on bare, skinless muscles and malformed arms, is the real world.

In that moment, Dorothy Gale's mind shatters like glass, and the monster she has become opens its tusked jaws and lets out a single, earsplitting howl of pain and despair. In the space of a few short minutes, she has lost everything: she has lost her family, her friends, her home, her world, even herself; she is monstrous, crippled, agonized…

And alone.


A/N: Yeah, some of you have probably been able to figure this one out by now - my own fault for taking such a long hiatus. But, it was worth it. Believe me, I've been building up to this moment for a very long time, and I enjoyed writing every second of it.

Question is, what happens next?

Feel free to review and furnish me with your theories!