Summary: Since the death of the king, the Land of Oz has been facing many difficulties of which the Wicked Witch was merely the most persistent. The wicked witches of all the regions are flocking in to the stir, but what's this? Glinda the Good has been banished on charge of high treason and regicide? Royal Advisor Evanora has been doing her best to protect the Emerald City and the Ozian throne until the prophesied Wizard's arrival, but the man they receive is far from the Wizard anyone had been expecting. Evanora doesn't trust him, Theodora is in love with him, Locasta's too preoccupied to meet him and Glinda's introduction is far from ideal. There are things stirring in the shadows, but now that the Wizard has arrived will Oz know peace once more?

Although the tagged characters play a large part as the story "follows" the movie, this is mainly focused on Evanora and is to be considered as canon divergent in that it doesn't keep precise pace with the original movie script. Mainly, this was born from the thought of how I would have handled the movie had Evanora been better at hiding her wickedness as well as had a proper motive for her actions other than power and beauty.

If you do not want to read about Evanora being set-up for redemption, then don't read.

Disclaimer: I have no rights to the movie, books or anything related to the land of Oz and its characters.

[Part 1]

Chapter 1: It Begins

-Emerald City-

*~ Evanora ~*

It hurt to breathe; every inhale alike an attack upon herself.

She clawed at her chest with her free hand – scratched at gemstone and red flesh in an attempt to relieve the pain – but her breast continued to beat like the Winky drums of war, burning as potently as hemlock. It spread its slow boil up into her throat and throughout her veins.

Her pendant felt hot against her collar, the emerald's glow a bright green, but even as she grappled with it, she could not reduce her suffering.

No, contrariwise, it seemed the more she struggled the worse it became.

The chain felt like an iron brander around her neck, but every touch was met with fiery resistance. Over and over again she encountered the sting of a singed palm and the ache of her fingers scraped raw.

Copper teased her taste, nausea tickled her throat and shadows claimed her peripheral, but they were insignificant in comparison to the blooming blush of anguish rooted in her withered heart.

Nothing elevated her agony; not the chill of smooth stone under numb legs, not her folded position or her skin-tearing grip on the desk edge and most definitely not the skull-splitting sensation splintering all thought.

Voices screamed over one another like adjacent bell towers competing for the loudest toll. They demanded attention, barking at her from all angles, but their intent was lost in the combined roar. She could make no sense of their presence and a part of her feared madness for she alone was present within the advisor's workroom.

Each voice pulled at the cords of her hollow chest, resulting in the seemingly cold iron strings snapping with wild glee to cut at the walls of the chamber of flesh.

But as darkness encroached on her vision, the voices grew distant until all she could hear was the laboured sounds of her own breathing.

She stared down at the floor, hair hanging in her eyes and lungs heaving in air. She was drained of energy, her whole body aching from the aftermath of an onslaught that had vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. She felt paralyzed and continued to feel so long after the calm had returned, her body still sporadically shaking.

She focused on the bite of polished wood against her palm and tracked the pounding pulse from there to the connected sting of the concealed burn mark traversing the length of her right arm. This pain was anchoring and accompanied by a steadying breath it also became her means of awakening.

The hand that had so vigorously torn at her collar fell to the floor and a brief hiss escaped her dry lips as it made contact with the cold of the stone. She pulled with her right arm and pushed with her left until she managed to stumble around her desk and into the high-backed chair, her legs refusing to cooperate for even a second longer.

She panted lightly at the unexpected exertion of the transition and leaned back into the plush supporting her. Having caught her second – or perhaps third – wind, she scanned the tabletop and the mass of documents that had scattered during her attack.

She managed to feel momentarily annoyed, knowing the inconvenience their loss and disorganisation would mean for her, but as her eyes fell on her orbuculum she could not manage to hold onto that annoyance. Instead she felt mortification at the image that met her in the transparent glass.

Her reflection might as well have been an apparition for it looked nothing like her (and yet entirely too similar). Her forehead was damp from perspiration, her hair was in terrible disarray, her pallor seemed closer to grey, her eyes were weary and sunken, her chin was smeared with blood that had trailed from a split lip and her neck and collar were scored and cauterized.

As much as she wished to retract her gaze from the awful sight, her eyes refused to obey. They blazed over each imperfection with increasingly scrutinizing tenacity until her nausea forced them from their path with its recurrence.

"My lady, are you well?"

She started, eyes frantically searching the room until her magic registered the presence beyond the door. With unsettled nerves she intoned sharply, "I asked not to be disturbed."

"More refugees have come seeking shelter, milady." A pause and then a quietly hesitant addition, "I knocked several times."

She did not know whether to sigh or curse. If her guards have grown this attentive than clearly her recent unrest had not gone unnoticed. She idly wondered what they would say if they could see her current state (though mostly such thoughts centred on them springing the chance to be rid of her during a moment of weakness).

Closed doors are certainly a small mercy.

"Have the herald greet them and escort the injured to the hospital. The rest are to be shown to the southwest almshouse in the middle ring. Should they seek an audience, inform them that they will have to wait until dawn."

"Dawn?"

"Is there a problem?"

"...My lady, it is already late morning."

She turned to the window, but was met only by the heavy drapes and the gentle glow of the emerald sconces. Anxiety crawled at the edges of her mind, but she quickly forced it from her voice. "Need I repeat myself? My work is very important."

"Of course. Forgive me, milady." The guard lingered briefly before she heard his footsteps slowly fading.

Late morning?

Evanora did not dare ponder the length of her peculiar episode, instead favouring the return to her scrying crystal and sought out the familiar presence of her younger sister. She kept her hands at a low hover, not interested in feeling the thrum of magic against her injured palms.

Vision came first, distantly followed by sound.

"-because you are the wizard, aren't you?"

"...yes. I am the wizard."

Screeching flooded Evanora's veins with adrenaline as she watched her sister gaze at the skies in distress.

"What was that?"

"The Wicked Witch's minions, they've been send here to kill you."

"To kill me? A wicked witch? What?"

"We better hurry or your reign will be over before it's begun!"

Reign?

Certainly her sister could not have found the wizard foretold in the king's prophecy. Had she purposely sought him out? Had their disagreement driven Theodora away from her?

Even so, those were matters to be considered later.

The pressing problem of the hour was her sister's survival in the face of the winged baboons.

Though if this foreigner – and she had no doubt that is what he was – is truly the Wizard than Theodora should at least have some form of protection, but that does not account for the type of man he may be. What does he intend and what awaits her sister should she remain by his side?

She watched them flee; running through undergrowth, jumping across deteriorating stones and ducking underneath the branches of lone trees until they reached a nook in the rocks by the river.

"In there. Give me your leg."

Had she still possessed her heart, she imagined it would be beating just a bit faster than it would ordinarily, although she had not realised that she had been holding her breath until after the vicious creature had gone hunting after a dove that unexpectedly raced out from the nook.

Neither had she noticed that she had come to a rise until seeing her sister well and alive cued the moment for Evanora's legs to give out and she slumped back into her chair, her fingers dancing against the glass as they departed from their task, leaving the orbuculum clouded and resting.

She lowered her head into her hands – arms unsteadily supported by her desk – and allowed herself to feel (if only brief and sceptically) relieved. "Thank Enilrul," Evanora muttered under her breath and then proceeded to account her muddled mind to pain and exhaustion.

Thank you for reading.

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- Lyrical-Light