A/N: Okay, so i just got back from London and I'm in one piece.
"What is the meaning of this?" Pir rounded on the Elder, all manners she'd brought with her forgotten.
"Now, no need to shout, my dear," said the Elder. "They are only paintings of my collection."
Pir seethed for a moment, still getting over the initial shock of seeing herself in those paintings. "How is it they are paintings of me?"
"Why, every child I meet sees themselves in the paintings," replied the Elder. "It was their destinies they wanted, didn't they?"
Pir turned back to the paintings, dread rising within her. "These…this is my destiny?" She knew she didn't want to be afraid, but the last picture scared her now.
"You are clearly shaken my dear," said the Elder, rather calmly. "Calm down first and you shall find out that there is actually nothing much to fret over."
Pir took a deep breath – her third deep breath ever since entering the shack – this time to quell her nervousness.
"Alright," she said. "I'm ready."
"These paintings, now, are possibilities of your future, my dear Pirpetusia," explained the Elder.
"So…" Pir swallowed hard, "so how will I know which is of truth?"
"Truth? Truth is a funny thing now, Miss Pirpetusia. It is not the future, nor is it your past. It is the present. Reality. In fact, life may not even be the Truth. One does never see the Truth, for it is covered in lies, possibilities, perceptions and decisions. And in ignorance Truth shall remain, for it can never be uncovered. There are of too many deceptions for that possibility.
"But what I can tell you is that even if one of these possibilities of your destiny become, they need not necessarily become like what you see in the pictures."
"Need not?" asked Pir. "What if they do?"
"They will only become if you choose not to accept the Imminent."
"The Imminent?"
"You shall find out in time, Pirpetusia McGuire. Everything will come to light when you let time guide you.
"So let it."
"I did what the Elder asked me to, to let time guide me, and look how it has turned out? I am an outcast, stuck with an snoring goose conked out on my floor."
"It is pretty late," reasoned Oziandra. "The Bird is tired."
"Since when have you started caring for the goose?"
Oziandra observed Pir with quiet interest. "You are getting cantankerous. Much less patient then you already weren't an hour ago. Your past is hard, and you have yet to let it go. I understand."
There was silence in the cave, with only the crackling of the fire to be heard.
"Did you let your past go?" asked Pir softly.
Oziandra remained silent for a moment.
"I claim to have done so," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "But my soul seems to contradict my words."
"Was it family?"
"I had no proper family since I was young," replied Oziandra. "My outcast parents tried to keep me safe by handing me over to Lady Glinda as an infant. When she could no longer care for me after a rebellion she and I caused, she threw me to the Patchwork Conscience of Oz. They were my closest accidental family, but they are now too flustered with their own matters to care about me now."
"So you are rejected by family, like me?"
Oziandra looked up in slight confusion. "Do you not have your nana?"
"Nana was…" Pir's lips began to tremble. "I…I can't do this. Oziandra, get some sleep, you'll need it to keep awake at what I need to tell you tomorrow."
"Before that, tell me why we are doing this again."
"I know not," replied Pir. "When it comes to unraveling their plans, the Winds are the masters of mystery."
Oziandra could not sleep – too much was going on in her head.
Pirpetusia. Why did that name sound so…so non-outlandish?
Jonathan Gale…where had she heard that name before?
What did it mean that Pir could do magic so prominently?
She didn't know how she knew, but she was sure her answers would come when she got more information out of Pir.
She slipped into a dimension where Tipetarius was the one next to her, before the Transformation, his smile lighting up the empty void inside her.
"Good night," she mumbled. "Tip."
"Good night…Tip." Pir was slightly disturbed as the green girl mumbled in her sleep. She rolled over on her side.
She should probably be wary of the outlander, keep an eye on her, make sure she didn't sneak off to warn the Witch Hunters, wherever those goons were.
But she couldn't be wary. She was given the assurance that Oziandra wasn't a traitor, a sense that terrified her greatly.
The Winds terrified her greatly. They seemed to be building up for something, a climax. They seemed to be beating around the bush, playing with her. Pir hated it, being treated like a puppet of entertainment, but she trusted the Winds knew their motives, and that sooner or later they'd have to reach this climax of theirs.
Her head spun, throbbing from so much thinking, so much consideration.
She felt herself drift off, into a sleep she didn't expect to dream in.
But she did.
Green. So much green.
Green walls, green furniture. Emerald chandeliers, green sofas.
There's a door. Who is that weeping?
The door is locked. The sobbing isn't stopping.
"Come back to me," a muffled voice says. "Come back to me…I miss you."
"I miss you too…" comes another, "I don't know how come back…can you hear me?"
"Where are you?" The first voice gives no sign of acknowledgement.
"No! Please…let her hear me!"
"Shut up!"
"Liir's underpants!"
"Scarly's Socks! What in Oz are you doing yelling at this time, Pir?"
"I don't know, Oziandra! Ask the damn nightmares!"
"Well I don't care what it was, but it certainly got me yelling about a bastard's undergarments," huffed Iskinaary. "I'm going outside." He waddled his butt out of the cave, again with the need of the two witches shoving his ass through the crack.
The goose was out and the two girls were back on the floor, the green staring rather stunned at the dark-skinned.
"Bad night?" asked Oziandra.
"You've no idea," groaned Pir, rubbing her temples.
"Well, you aren't the only one," muttered Oziandra. Pir looked again at the girl and noticed the dark green circles under her eyes.
"Well, since we're all not in the mood to hear stories, I suppose – " Pir was about to stand when Oziandra stopped her.
"No! Don't, it's okay!" said Oziandra, a little too hasty. Pir looked at the girl suspiciously, now noticing her uncanny eagerness.
"You need to tell me something, Oziandra?"
If Oziandra had been trying to hide something, she did it rather well. "What? Why would I have anything to say to you? This is your story, is it not?" Her expression was unreadable, apart from the confusion and blankness displayed.
Pir sighed. Perhaps this girl really was willing to help her through her past.
"My life has been tough," admitted Pir, "but through it I have learnt much. And much was because I trusted the wrong people."
"And how do you know I'm not the wrong person to trust?" enquired Oziandra.
"I don't," replied Pir. "But the Winds do. I trust them."
"And how do you know to trust the Winds?"
"They have given me no reason to doubt them. They have helped me through my life, letting me use their powers, relieving me of my anger and misery."
Oziandra's mind came to the storm Pir had created through her anger. "Surely...it did not harm people, did it?"
Pir hesitated. "I know not. But why do I care for people? They are weaklings, their minds only filled with greed and hunger for power, blinded to all else that happens around them."
"Sounds like my Uncle Shell…" muttered Oziandra under her breath.
"Yes, mortals are weak-minded fools, subduing to their pride, poisoned to the point where there is no thought of right or wrong. That is what makes me inhuman – I refuse to grovel in submission. Their twisted minds gave me this strength to keep fighting my pride, though often I balance on the edge of it, I've managed to fight it off these years.
"Enough talk, I must be rid of my horrendous past before I can ever be free of it."
"You speak of it as if it is a burden," noticed Oziandra. "Which is quite true in my sense."
"It is a terrible burden, but if the Winds believe you are able to enlighten me of it, I want it gone as soon as possible, so let us continue."
She could control the elements.
Or couldn't she?
Pir stood amongst the flowers, the wind rustling up her day dress, a breeze stroking her legs. Her hair was loose once more, and it whipped freely about with the wind.
She could control the elements.
How? How could she control it?
She closed her eyes, feeling the soft wind caress her. Feel it…let go…
Let me carry you, the air around her whispered.
Before she realized what she was doing, Pir let herself fall back. A breeze surrounded her as she fell, but it didn't break her fall as she stumbled to regain her balance at the last moment, only to fall hard on her rump.
She thought she'd felt it. She thought the air had accepted her.
Too expectant, the air seemed to taunt. Pir growled in frustration, only to realize her weakness.
"No," she muttered, "I will not let you taunt me. I'll show you, I can do it. You just wait."
Suddenly she felt a presence, not an elemental presence, but a presence behind her.
"Aren't you supposed to be at home doing homework?" asked a voice she knew too well.
She spun on her heel, dashing towards the source and gathering him up in her arms. "It's good to see you too, Oliver."
Oliver peeled the girl off him, holding her by the shoulders at arms length. "Is a three month trip to Ontario with my father all it needs to get you so excited by my presence?"
"Not really," replied Pir, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I'm just…glad."
Oliver stared out at the meadow that stretched before them. "So…I kind of noticed you falling over and I just wanted to ask…who were you talking to?"
Pir felt heat rise to her face. He'd seen her. "No one in particular," she squeaked.
Oliver raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. "It's part of your secret, isn't it?"
Pir hesitated for a moment, before nodding.
Oliver released his grip on her shoulders, taking a step back. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so nosy," he said courteously. "But…I can't help but ask…how was your fating?"
Her face must've fallen, for he added quickly, "You won't need to tell me, it's okay." As lighthearted as his tone was, she swore he had murmured something along 'as if we don't have enough secrets between us' under his breath.
"It was…fine," she replied, "Nana didn't say a word after I came back out, and I'm glad she didn't. I'd say my Fating…was quite unusual."
"Unusual?"
"That's if you consider meeting all three unusual," added Pir. At this moment something felt different inside her, something lighter, perhaps having lifted the burden of keeping her secret by telling someone.
Oliver's eyes widened. "That is so cool, Tusia! I knew you were special, ever since that day you gave me that rose those years back."
For some reason or other, she found herself thinking back on that day, where they first formed their friendship. Until now, Oliver was still her only friend. Her schoolmates found her a freak, just because she was unsociable. Maybe that's why she could bond more with Oliver, another introvert.
Suddenly the Child's voice echoed in her mind. She only told one friend.
Oliver was her only friend. Did that mean he was to know? Did she trust him?
It was fated to have him know wasn't it?
No, a little voice nagged, don't let these fatings dictate your life
But there was no harm in letting Oliver, her best friend, know, was there?
Your secret belongs to you and Mr Gale, only to you two.
If she didn't open up to him, they'd drift apart. Without him, she'd be equivalent to a waif. Her friendship with him was the best thing of her childhood. In the months he'd spent away in Ontario, she'd felt rather like a lost puppy.
"You still wonder, don't you?" she asked softly.
Oliver seemed to consider this for a while, before replying, "I suppose I do, but I know it's your secret, and I respect tha – "
"I can do magic, Oliver."