A/N: Aaaargh! It's been a busy couple of weeks, ladies and gents, and it's only going to get busier and crazier from hereon. I'm going to see if I can post some new stories to freshen my creative output, but rest assured, this story is still being continued. Thank you to all my viewers, reviewers, subscribers and favouriters, and feel free to comment, critique and review in as long and detailed a manner as possible, and by all means criticize the typos that creep in at 4 in the morning.

Also, be warned this this chapter may contain a serious case of mood whiplash. Remember to brace accordingly to avoid spinal injury.

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

Disclaimer: Wicked is still not mine.

A pair of razor-sharp shears, slowly lowering themselves towards defenceless flesh, gleaming in the candlelight as they descend…

Someone's screaming. Someone trapped beneath the shears is howling in pain and wailing for mercy. But someone else is laughing – someone red and bloody and bare, someone who should have died decades ago from blood loss and shock and so much worse.

Someone is cutting and sawing and torturing…

And all of this has happened and will happen soon.

It is happening… right now.

Elphaba's eyes shot open, her mind lurching awkwardly back to reality as she shuddered into wakefulness. For several tense seconds, she hastily went through the long checklist of questions that invariably occurred to her moments after awakening from a nightmare: who am I, how did I get here, what's going on, who's this person sleeping next to me, where did all those people with guns go, what time is it and what the hell am I doing awake at this time of the morning?

By the time she'd managed to answer these questions, the sun was already peering over the edge of the horizon and Fiyero was beginning to stir from dormancy. In the end, only one question remained: why was I having a nightmare?

She'd taken a dream-pill before bed, she recalled, a virtual necessity given the unpleasant look into the Mentor's psyche she'd received the previous evening, and according to Kiln, the pills should have granted her a night of effectively dreamless sleep save for the memories of her other self. Had the pills simply worn off, or had the nightmare somehow been powerful enough to short out the flow of dream-memories?

Then, Elphaba replayed the events of the nightmare in her mind, and realized that it hadn't been a nightmare at all, but a premonition: by now, the uncanny sense of foreboding and apprehension surrounding these visions of the future were all-too recognizable, not to mention the curious emerald-green cast to the events she witnessed. So, that left her with a new question: what had she just prediction and how could she stop it? Judging by the few coherent things she'd witnessed over the course of the vision, it probably wasn't pleasant and almost certainly couldn't mean anything good for her.

Knowing my luck, it can't be stopped, she mused disconsolately.

From somewhere behind her came the sound of Fiyero chuckling quietly. "How long have you been awake, Elphaba?"

In spite of herself, Elphaba managed a weary smile. "About an hour," she admitted. "I'm making up for lost time?

"Why bother? You're still on leave, in case you'd forgotten."

"I certainly don't feel like I'm on leave, that's for sure. I mean, shouldn't it feel a bit more relaxed than this? I keep finding more work to do: I've got to write up another report on the dream-memories, help out with Glinda's tuition, study new magical techniques, work on a cure for you-"

Fiyero put a soothing hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to get to that part immediately, you know," he said gently. "I'm not going anywhere; there's no need to rush."

"Yes there is! I won't be on leave forever, Fiyero, and I definitely won't be allowed access to the Grimmerie while I'm stationed at the front… or wherever they're sending me next. I need to find a spell that can transform you back into a human as quickly as possible and make sure it's properly cast-"

"I understand perfectly, but that still doesn't explain the hurry you're in."

"Well, you might be effectively immortal but you're not completely indestructible. What happens if you catch on fire, or tear open at the seams, or start fraying? And don't forget you can't feel pain, either: you run the risk of not noticing the fire or the rip or whatever until it's too late."

"I know I've said this before, but I'm not made of glass, Elphaba. Besides, this isn't the front: it's not if as a platoon of men armed with flamethrowers are going to kick the door in and burn me alive the moment your back's turned."

"You're right, it's not the front. It's the capital – and that's exactly the problem! There've been no less than three major attacks on Greenspectre since I arrived here: an aerial bombardment, a magical assault-"

"And the invasion fleet, I know. But what makes you think I'm more likely to survive as a human than as a scarecrow if the worst comes to the worst? I mean, even if I do tear open at the seams, at least you'll have chance to put me back together."

Elphaba opened her mouth to reply, only to realize that she didn't have an answer. Hanging her head in despair, she sighed deeply and sat down heavily on the bed. "I really, really hate it when you start making sense, Fiyero," she grumbled.

"Hey, I never said I was totally brainless. Besides, you love it."

Elphaba rolled her eyes, casually hauling Fiyero out of his seat by the collar (Sweet Lurline, I forgot how light he is) and vigorously kissing him on the lips. "Yes I do," she conceded, once she'd found the time to take a breath. "But I'm still going to be researching spells until my time on leave comes to an end."

"Just researching?"

"Well, I've still got Glinda's training sessions to think of."

"Is that all?" Fiyero asked, teasingly.

"Fiyero…"

"I'm just saying you'll have to find something else to do between all the study and training – you know, assuming you haven't already attended to things like eating or sleeping. You were going to save time for meals, right?"

"Oh hush, you," said Elphaba, and planted another kiss on Fiyero's smirking face for good measure.

"Just doing my duty as your friend and lover," he remarked, between kisses. "And possibly much more. Speaking of which, how soon do you think we can get to that?"

Elphaba blinked in astonishment. "Are you… are you suggesting marriage?" she asked, unable to keep the incredulity from her voice.

"Nothing but. You sound shocked – Oz only knows why. You know I love you, right?"

"Well, yes – I mean, I knew, but… I mean, I just… I-I-I…" Elphaba took a deep breath and tried again. "I know you love me. It's just… marriage never occurred to me. It sounds silly, I know but… well, I never thought anyone would want to commit themselves to spending the rest of their life with me, of all people. The idea that someone might care enough… it just never entered my head, that's all."

Fiyero sighed. "Frexspar really did his best to ruin your self-esteem, didn't he? It's just as well he's dead, all things considered: I'd have broken every tooth in his mouth for what he did to you." He took a deep breath, and continued: "Yes, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Elphaba: I spent the last week or so getting captured, imprisoned, forced to walk cross-country, getting captured and imprisoned again and then tossed into a war zone – all so I could find you. I love you, and nothing in the world could possibly change that."

Now it was Elphaba's turn to take a deep breath: her heart hadn't fluttered like this in years. She wanted to smile at hearing Fiyero say such things, but a smile refused to form: something had lodged in the back of her mind and was already doing its best to spoil any thought of happiness.

"I hate to sound pessimistic about all this," she murmured hesitantly, "but… if I do manage to make you human again, and we get married and settle down… what if we have children?"

"Well, I imagine that I'll be the more nervous about it when the time comes, considering that I'm probably the worst excuse for a role model in the world. Besides, I think you'd be a wonderful mother."

"That's not what I- wait, you do?"

"Of course. You know when to be strict and you know when to be kind, you'd do anything to keep the ones you love safe, and let's not forget the fact that the kids would probably get a better education from you than any school I know of."

"You think so? I always thought I'd be too temperamental for motherhood. But that's not what I meant: what if we have children… and they're like me? What if they're born green? After all the bullying and victimization I went through as a child, how can I sentence my own children to a lifetime of the same treatment?"

"You won't have to: here in the Deviant Nations, they seem pretty tolerant of folks like you. It's not like we have to return to Oz anytime soon – and if we do, we'll just find some secluded spot where the people of Oz will never think to look for us and raise the kids there in peace, far away from all the bigotry. One way or another, we won't have to worry about all those people who made your childhood a living hell."

"You make it sound so easy. I'll never know how you can manage to be so optimistic in the middle of a war, Fiyero."

"Oh, I just imagined what sounded like the best possible future – sometimes, that's the only way it can possibly come true. I mean, if you wanted to settle down and have kids here in Greenspectre, I can easily imagine you as an academic supermother, amazing the public with groundbreaking theories and brainy children eager to follow in your footsteps-"

"And I can easily imagine you as the handsome adventurer-father, always astonishing the children with feats of daring-do-"

"Oh come on, Elphaba, you're the one with all the feats of daring-do to your name. Besides, you've got to leave some room in the description for my astounding charm-"

"And wicked sense of humour, too," Elphaba added cheekily.

"You see? You're getting the hang of it. Just think of a bright future: marriage, children, retirement, old age, and twilight years surrounded by hordes of emerald-green grandchildren."

This time, nothing could stop the smile from forming.

"On that note… when do you think we should get married?"

Elphaba almost laughed. "No need to hurry, believe me. Besides, I'm still getting over the shock of you actually wanting to get married to anyone: if you'd asked me a few years ago, I'd have said you were the last person I'd ever imagine settling down and getting married."

"What can I say? My time with you… well, I can honestly say that it's changed me for the better."

"Fiyero-"

"No, really – for once, I'm not joking. I honestly think I'm a better person for the time I spent with you, and believe me, I'm not the only one. Just ask Glinda."

Just ask Boq, Elphaba thought, gloomily. Just ask Nessa… if only I could.

Fiyero must have noticed the sudden change in mood, for he pressed on before she could voice any self-deprecating objections. "Seriously, Elphaba," he continued, "Can you imagine what my life would have been like without you? I'd have stayed on the same course I'd been when I first wound up at Shiz: partying, troublemaking, expulsion, looking for work, finding work, getting fired, partying, troublemaking, going to jail, getting bailed out, getting embarrassed in court… truth be told, I think even Glinda would have hated me by the end of the first year together. I'd have spent the rest of my life gambling away my parent's money until the debt collectors finally gave up and sold me to a glue factory along with the wrecked racehorses. Up until I met you, I didn't think… well, that's just it – I didn't think. I didn't think, I didn't care, I didn't even imagine my future beyond the next party; I just… drifted. You made me care. You made me a better person."

And with that, Fiyero kissed her one last time – the perfect way of ending the conversation on a happy note.

After what felt like centuries, the kiss was finally broken by a polite knock at the door. Startled, Elphaba looked up to see Vara standing in the doorway, an amused smile etched from ear to ear. "Morning, lovebirds," she chuckled. "I see you're making up for lost time in here."

"How long have you been standing there?" Fiyero groaned.

"Oh, a little over five hours. You'd be amazed at how stealthy I am. Then again, with the way you two were kissing, I could have taken a jackhammer to the wall and you probably wouldn't have noticed."

"Har har. Seriously, though, how long have you been there?"

"About a minute. I just stopped by to make sure you were awake yet: Glinda's already up and about, the caterers should already be bringing the breakfast tray around, and there's a package arrived in the mail for you, Elphaba – the reason why the Mentor sent me."

Elphaba's brow wrinkled. "From whom exactly?" she asked, not even bothering to disguise the suspicion in her voice.

"We have reason to believe that it's from the Mistress of Mirrors, if only because it's using a similar energy signature to info packages she's sent us in the past."

"And if it's not?"

"Regardless of whoever it is, we've taken precautions: the magicians have checked the package for explosives, toxic materials and harmful spells, and the diagnostic enchantments turned up nothing dangerous. We even checked it for potential teleporters and gateways – no dice: whatever's in there, it isn't going to teleport you away or spring a gang of assassins on you. Whatever was sent to you, it's perfectly safe."

"And they didn't actually check what was inside?"

"You've a right to your privacy, Elphaba."

"What a pity nobody told Dr Kiln."

"Oh hush, you. You've already proven that you're not a spy, so it's not as if we've any objection to you receiving anonymous mail that we've confirmed to be safe. Besides, whoever sent it placed some pretty specific enchantments on the paper and envelop attached: only you can open it. If you're still interested in reading it, you'll find the package on the breakfast table… assuming you're planning on having breakfast before catapulting yourself back into your studies."

"I take it you're not going to let me sneak off to the nearest library at this hour of the morning, then?"

"No."

"You really are determined to be everyone's mother hen, aren't you?"

Vara just laughed. "Out of bed and off to the breakfast table with you, Miss Masochism."

Ten minutes later, Elphaba was out of the bedroom and striding towards the dining room, having paused only to dunk her head under the shower and hastily don a dressing gown. By the time she arrived, Glinda had already taken a seat, as had Dorothy, Toto, Vara, Boq and Fiyero; the breakfast tray had arrived, and everyone still capable of eating was busily tucking into whatever was on offer – fruit salads, pastries, bacon-and-egg platters, sardines, toast. Boq and Fiyero, having no need to eat or drink, were content to sit and chant – well, the latter did; if anything, Boq didn't seem to be in the mood to do anything other than stare at the wall.

"Why exactly are you here?" Elphaba asked, eyeing the tin man curiously.

"Dr Kiln seems to think socialization will help me recover," Boq sighed.

"So you've started the de-rusting treatments, then?"

"Don't ask."

The much-discussed package was waiting patiently on Elphaba's plate, easily fitting right in the centre of the dish. About nine inches from end to end, it was wrapped thickly in butcher paper and bound with strong twine; the contents of the oddly-shaped bundle were almost impossible to guess at, but feeling at the shape of the object through the dense wrapping paper, Elphaba could just about discern the whorls of a spiral – though what this inexplicable shape was made of, she couldn't tell. Affixed to the package was a bright green envelope bound with a curiously-shaped wax seal, cast in the shape of what appeared to be a human face… though looking closer, Elphaba couldn't help but wonder if those unearthly features belonged not to a human being, but to a porcelain doll.

Why did this seem so uncannily familiar?

Elphaba put the package very carefully back down on her plate, plucked the envelope free of the twine, and began prising it open with a butter knife. "Anyone want to hazard a guess as to what this is?" she asked, trying to sound more light-hearted than she felt.

"A bomb," Boq remarked gloomily.

"There's nothing hazardous in there, Boq; the Mentor's people checked it earlier."

"I still think it's a bomb. Knowing our luck, it's a bomb that can somehow slip past the best magicians in the country and blow us all to hell at the breakfast table."

Vara gave the Tin Man a suitably murderous look, hastily offering a very nervous-looking Dorothy a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I give up," she said at last. "Might as well just open it, Elphaba; it's too early in the morning for guesswork."

"Alright then," Elphaba sighed, gently hoisting the package off her plate. "Let's get this over wi-"

There was a sharp gasp of horror, immediately smothered by the musical crash of breaking glassware as a half-empty cup of orange juice shattered across the table. Looking up, she found that Dorothy had practically flung herself out of her chair, and was now pressed tight against the opposite wall, staring in mute terror at Elphaba.

For a moment, Elphaba found herself suppressing a fresh wave of annoyance at what could only be another one of Dorothy's inexplicable histrionic fits, and wondering what the girl found so terrifying about her this time. Then, logic kicked in: having spent about a week on an almost semi-friendly basis with the child, she knew that she wasn't nearly as hysterical as first impressions suggested… and more to the point, Dorothy wasn't staring at her, but at the unopened package.

Slowly following her gaze, Elphaba realized that she'd accidentally torn a hole in the underside of the package… and blood was slowly oozing through it, dyeing the wrapping paper deep crimson, trickling down her hands and slowly pooling on the empty breakfast plate below. Almost too fascinated to be horrified, Elphaba sliced through the remaining layers of wrapping paper with a cutting spell and gently peeled open the blood-sodden package; it took almost a minute to cut through the tattered layer waterproof insulation and peel back the players of paper, and in the end, she couldn't recognize what lay beneath anyway. Soaked with blood and cocooned in gore, the contents were masked with an impossible mass of offal: at the bottom of the package, the familiar spiral shape was there as promised, but it was almost lost in a mess severed fingers, tentacles, eyeballs, teeth, hooves, clumps of hair, and Lurline only knew what else.

Elphaba took a deep breath, and very slowly set the package down on her plate. By then, almost everyone in the room was out of their seats and staring in horror at the mess of blood and butcher paper sitting there.

"That," said Vara bemusedly, "Is quite clearly not from the Mistress of Mirrors."

Elphaba's face wrenched itself into a mirthless approximation of a grin. "Oh really?" she snarled cheerfully. "I'd never have guessed. I don't suppose anyone decided to check the damn thing for human remains before sending it up here? Do you people usually get offal delivered in the mail?"

"Not necessarily every day of the week…"

"Vara, please don't make me yell, it's too early in the morning."

"Look, the diagnostics were meant to weed out anything potentially harmful, and believe me they did: there's nothing that can directly or indirectly endanger you in that package."

"But who did send it?" Glinda asked, clearly trying to disguise the look of fear and revulsion etched on her face. "More to the point, why would they send… this?"

"I think we can safely rule out well-wishers from my adoring public. I admit, it's been a long time since anyone sent me one of these; usually, the pranksters at Shiz made do with dead rats and skinned badgers before raiding the butchers' shops."

"Oh, so that's what that smell was…"

Fiyero coughed for attention. "You've still got the letter to read," he pointed out.

Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, Elphaba sighed, counted to the highest number she could reach without resorting to biting her nails, and gently prised the jade-green envelope open. And if the contents of the package had stank of blood and festering meat, the letter itself was even worse: every word on the page had been childishly daubed in gore and a sickening medley of less-identifiable fluids, so the paper naturally reeked of things Elphaba really didn't feel like thinking about this close to breakfast. Nonetheless, she did her best to ignore the stench and steady her stomach as she went about reading the clumsily-written letter aloud.

To the Green Girl, it read. HA-HA, fooled you! Bet you thought you were so happy and safe and secure with your ugly little family of dolls and the Mistress of Mirrors brooding over you like a silly old hen, didn't you? I know her signature, and I know her mysteries, and I know how to make you listen to me this time.

"The Hellion," everyone at the table surmised.

I warned you, the frenzied letter continued. I've warned you more than enough. I've given you more chances than a filthy dirty stinking thief deserves: I gave you a chance to get the Ruby Slippers back, I told you of the price you'd pay in blood if my sweet doll wasn't returned, and I told you that all your other dolls would suffer. Well, you didn't care about the little tin soldier, and the ragdoll you love so much got away. But I still have one of your dolls… and I know you care about him, more than you care about the villages I burned and the people I killed while trying to send you a message. You and the Old Mentor of Scars and Pain are cruel owners, cruel and neglectful and mean, and you don't care about the great doll collections the way I do – I don't think you even blinked at all the eyes and hands I took from them and sent to you. But I know for a fact that YOU care about this one.

Shall I remind you? Shall I tell you a bedtime story about the doll you forgot about? It's not a happy story, and it's even unhappier now that you've left him to suffer what you should have suffered. He's such a sweet little Lion cub, a poor little quaking little thing, shivering at his own shadow; he knows the story well enough – how his mother was killed by poachers in the forests of Oz, how he was sold to the Old Clockworking Wizard's specialists as a test subject, how they hurt him and mauled him and put him in a cage. But you saved him: you made the specialists and students and cruel ones and stupid ones DANCE AND SCREAM TO YOUR TUNE! You and your precious ragdoll took him into the forest and set him free… but no matter how hard the little Lion searched, he couldn't find his courage again. Even when he accepted a commission from the Wizard to hunt you down, the poor sweet kitten was no closer to his courage. He was still looking for it when I caught him.

I told you I wanted my doll back, and since you don't care enough to give my poor sweet lovely doll back to me even after three hundred and fifty souls lie dead at my feet, I WILL MAKE YOU CARE. I made the little Lion cry. I sheared him and sent a part of him to you as a present. I even wrote this letter in his blood. Do you see it? Do you care, or are you as heartless as you always have been? Can you hear him weeping in his sleep? I made him bleed, all because of you.

And with a thrill of horror, Elphaba remembered the nightmare. Flinging the letter aside, she reached into the blood-soaked depths of the Hellion's "present," and – forcing herself to ignore the mess of human eyeballs and other entrails disguising it – slowly plucked the offending object from the bottom of the parcel.

Even soaked in gore and curled into a spiral as it was, there was no mistaking the shape of a Lion's tail – crudely severed at the base.

Meanwhile, Fiyero had taken up the letter and was continuing where Elphaba had left off. I will give you three days to return my doll to me, the note continued. Once she is safe and secure in my arms, you'll have the overgrown kitten back, and your poor dead sister's slippers will be yours again. All you have to do is stand at the edge of the forest, and call my name. For every three days you remain heartless, I will cut off another part of your little lion cub and send it to you. What the Hellion wants, the Hellion takes. What the Hellion takes, the Hellion keeps. And what the Hellion keeps-

"The Hellion BLEEDS," purred a familiar voice – one that seemed to echo from the page itself.

There was a horrified pause, as the letter slowly fluttered free of Fiyero's grasp and landed softly on the table – right in front of Dorothy. Paralysed with fear, the girl could only stare, agape, as the horrifying narration continued.

"Sweet little doll," crooned the Hellion. "I know you can hear ME. I know you're THERE, listening, waiting… yearning. YOU want to be with me: you want to be in my arms again, happy and safe. It's alright, sweet little thing. We'll be together soon. No more tears. No more loneliness. JUST a happy eternity among your brothers and sisters of the dolls. Oh, I MISS YOU SO MUCH… and yet, you're so near, I could reach out and touch you…"

Suddenly, the words on the page seemed to run together like molten wax, the dried blood suddenly turning fresh and coppery as the Hellion's demented magical energies washed over it. Elphaba's mind raced, trying to guess at what the monster intended to do next: she knew that the package had been checked for harmful spells or enchantments, so she had to trust that the magicians at the door wouldn't be stupid enough to let in an enchanted letter powerful enough to teleport Dorothy out of there – and judging from the magic at work here, the Hellion couldn't exert much physical force within the heavily-warded palace anyway. But if she didn't meant to kill any of them or kidnap Dorothy by this spell, what could she possibly have in mind?

And then the blood on the paper, now fresh as it had been in the moment it had first been shed, oozed off the page in an intangible, near-invisible mass. Two bloody handprints appeared on the tablecloth, then four, then six, swiftly multiplying as the apparition made its way down from the table and across the floor towards Dorothy. And if Dorothy had looked scared before, now the child looked on the verge of collapse: pressed flat against the wall, clinging to the brickwork as if something threatened to tear her away, her eyes remained open in an unblinking stare, her face all but drained of blood.

Elphaba's first impulse was to hit the ghostly creation with everything she had, to burn the letter, to sound the alarm, to do something…but she couldn't. Something in that keening, barely-audible shriek of agonized sound now emanating from the letter on the table seemed to have left her paralysed as Dorothy, and judging from the shell-shocked expressions of the others, they couldn't move either.

A moment later, the handprints pattered to a stop right in front of Dorothy.

"There you are," the Hellion purred.

There was a terrified pause, and then a bloody handprint appeared on Dorothy's face, staining her cheek crimson. Two more appeared on her shoulders, leaving fresh bloodstains as the Hellion's intangible presence began enforcing what little pressure it could induce. There was a sickening wet hiss as the Hellion's invisible hands smeared the bloody handprint across Dorothy's face, rubbing it into her hair; her hands jerked upwards, instantly stained red as the invisible presence clasped her hands in its incorporeal grip… and from somewhere just above her head, an inhuman voice crooned a lullaby.

"Soon, soon, LITTLE doll," the Hellion soothed. "Soon you will bemine…"

And then the paralytic sound abated just long enough for Elphaba to reach out and incinerate the letter with a wave of her hand. Instantly, the Hellion's presence faded, taking the lullaby with it – finally freeing Dorothy from its grip.

For what felt like centuries, the five of them could only stand there, still reeling from what they had just witnessed; in reality, it couldn't have lasted more than two minutes. All of them had their own unique expressions of shock and disbelief stamped on their faces, but none of them were as distinctive as Dorothy's: from the looks of things, she hadn't yet realized that the Hellion's presence was gone, and for the next few minutes, she remained clinging desperately to the wall, digging her very nails into the brickwork. Her eyes were blank and empty, her expression almost vacant with terror, and her skin – what little of it had escaped the Hellion's bloody touch – was now chalk-white with shock.

Appropriately enough, it was Dorothy herself who was first to break the silence, taking to her heels and sprinting out of the room as fast as her feet could carry her. Vara followed with Elphaba in hot pursuit – but even when she finally stopped running long enough to think about what she was doing, she couldn't decide if she meant to stop Dorothy from doing something rash or to stop her from trying to escape.

They finally found her in the apartment's bathroom, the door firmly locked and the sound of running water echoing from within. Once it became clear that Dorothy wasn't interested in listening to anything Vara had to say, Elphaba simply sliced through the door's hinges and swung the whole thing out of its frame.

Inside, Dorothy stood before the bathroom sink, desperately washing her face and hands with a near-hysterical fervour. The hot water tap was at full blast, and the sink was already filled to the brim with soapy water and what little of the blood she'd been able to remove so far, and judging by the presence of a scrubbing brush and the blood under her nails, she wasn't having much luck getting the rest of it off. And as the two of them approached, they noticed the whispering – a frantic, barely-coherent mantra echoing around the bathroom.

"Itwontcomeoffitwontcomeoffitwontcomeoffitwontcomeoffitwontcomeoff…"

"Dorothy?" Vara whispered.

"Itwontcomeoffitwontcomeoffitwontcomeoffitwontcomeoffitwontcomeoffitwontcomeoff…"

"Dorothy, you don't have to worry about a thing. We're not going to hand you over to the Hellion. You remember what the Mentor said? We're not going to negotiate with the Hellion over this, you hear me?"

"Itwontcomeoffitwontcomeoffitw…" Dorothy took a deep breath, set down the scrubbing brush and finally stopped whispering.

"It doesn't matter," she said at last. "You heard what the letter said: she'll just keep on sending bits of the Lion in the mail until he's dead. And even if the Mentor can live with that… I don't think I can." She cringed, and tried futilely to scrub the remains of the bloody handprint from her face. "This is his blood, isn't it? Just like she said. She did this because of me. She did this because I didn't go with her."

"Dorothy, calm down. This wasn't your fault. Nobody's blaming you for this: I don't blame you for this, the Mentor doesn't blame you for this, and Elphaba doesn't blame you for this. Isn't that right, Elphaba?" Vara gave Elphaba a pointed look, and on instinct, Elphaba nodded her agreement. "You see? We're not going to-"

"But what if you have to? What if that's the only way you can stop the Hellion? What if there's no other way? I mean, she's already in here." She tapped the side of her head. "She'll always know where to find me, she'll always be whispering in my head, and she'll never, ever leave me alone."

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and held out her hands in Elphaba's direction, wrists clasped together. It took about ten seconds for Elphaba to realize that the girl was waiting to be handcuffed.

"I'm ready," Dorothy whispered.