Nerote reclined in a chair by the fireplace in his bedroom. His head in his hands, he stared at the flames, recalling bygone days with anger and yet . . . could it be . . . a hint of fondness? He tried to shake the feeling, but it wouldn't move. He struggled like this for a while, and finally succumbed to the wave of memories that engulfed him.

Days when he wasn't Nerote, but the old him. The person that had been hidden for years, all because of that wretched sorceress. He looked at his hands. These weren't his hands! They were the hands of a body he had dreamed of, yet now it seemed ugly and a disgrace in his eyes. "Nerote! Ha! What kind of a name is that?" he thought to himself, throwing another glance to the door, as if to make sure no one could hear his thought.

He longed for the old days. The days of simplicity. The days where he wasn't Nerote the ruler, or Nerote the husband of Glinda. He wanted to go back in time, turn the time dragon's hands back 20 years ago, when he had been a college student. When all he had been was a college student by the name of Boq.

He wasn't stupid. He had learned long ago that Elphaba wasn't the one who had changed him into that horrible tin man. Or, at least, that wasn't what she wanted to happen. Yet the anger still burned inside him. He needed to hate someone, and Elphaba took the place of Nessarose.

After he had 'melted' her (he wished he had known then what he knew now) he had gone back home and was hit with a realization: this was what he was known as. He was never going to be Boq the human. All Oz simply knew him as the Tin Man who had helped kill the Wicked Witch of the West. He hated the whole prospect of life like that. He hated knowing that, now, he could never be with Glinda. And, most of all, he hated life.

Things continued like this for weeks. He simply sat and stared at his hands. This wasn't him! Why couldn't the real him escape this prison house that was his body? He wanted to be human! He would practically be willing to trade his soul for it. Little did he know that that was the price he would have to pay.

He looked at his black necklace, the dust like smoke constantly swirling, in turmoil, like his soul. "What soul?" he thought to himself with an evil chuckle. "I gave that up long ago. And for what? For this wretched life!" He knocked everything off the mantle, and stood breathing heavily for a moment. He laid his head back onto his hands. Why did he ever accept that offer?

The stone had been a trinket he spotted on one of his many walks, while he was contemplating his fate with hate and bitterness. It had caught his eye, even though it wasn't anything special. Just a black stone, much like quartz. Yet, something made him keep it. He had simply sat it on the mantle. But, at night, he caught himself waking up, thinking he heard voices.

He tried to dismiss it as a simple creek of his new tin body, but something told him it was more. Much more. One morning he woke up, and prepared to go about his morning routine of oiling himself. But when he went to begin at his finger joints, he stared in shock. His fingers! They were flesh! He ran to the mirror, and looked. The rest of him human! It wasn't his face though. To him, it didn't matter. He was human again!

He ran back into his kitchen. Black fog covered the entire room. He couldn't explain it, but something made him walk into the center. Even he didn't quite remember what had happened after that, but his mission was apparent. He was to go into the Emerald City as a new man with a new identity. This new man, Nerote Zanig, was to capture the heart of Glinda the Good.

From there, the rest was history. He swept Glinda off her feet, using his newfound courtly manners, and his story of being a prince. He showered he with the attention he had always longed to. It seemed to him to be paradise.

Their wedding had be perfect, as was everything that Glinda had her hand in. Pink flowers covered everything, and it was a time of joy and celebration. He and Glinda we overjoyed at the news that she was expecting a child, a girl, nonetheless. But the name Glinda had decided on enraged him more than words can tell. She wanted to name the baby no other name than Elphaba.

He couldn't even call the baby by name when she was born. He decided to christen her with the nickname Fae, hoping that it would take some of the sting out of the memory. But it didn't.

Years passed, and he fell in the shadows of Glinda. This isn't what he had wanted! He had dreamed of being a team with Glinda! Working side by side, sharing in their glory! But the people of Oz only had room enough in their heart for she and Fae. He now began to wear the black stone around his neck constantly.

It angered him further who his wife and daughter would often be gone for a week at the time, on "public relations" trips, to which he wasn't allowed to attend. The stone seemed to whisper to him on those nights by himself, "Trust not, trust not."

Nerote tried to drive the voices from his mind, but they were always there, lurking around every thought he took. The more he heard, the more he agreed with what it said. He had been pushed from what he deserved. Glinda didn't care about him. Fae wasn't his child. The words ate him up inside, until his heart and his soul were as black as coal.

He deserved to have that throne! Not Glinda! He was a much more competent ruler! He had to find a way to overthrow her. Years passed. The stone continued to mutter its phrase, "Trust not, trust not." And then, the stone grew into its own, almost sharing his body.

He knew the whole plan before it even began. Something inside told him the darkness was coming. And when Glinda had taken the "extended" trip, he knew exactly what she was up to. He seized the opportunity. "And now?" he thought to himself, stirring the fire. "Now I have all I ever wanted. But it still isn't enough!" he said as he pounded his fist against the mantle. A servant knocked on the door to bring him his nightly tea. He rejected it, saying he was retiring to his bed early that night, due to the stress the prisoners had caused him.

And though he lay there all night, sleep never came. Glinda's memory haunted him. He could hear her shrieks over and over again. Finally he resided himself to the fact that sleep wouldn't come, and laid there, his whole inner and outer self tossing and turning.