A symphony of colored light and crystals filled the East Solar, its high dome adorned with prisms that scattered rainbows across the polished marble floor. As Boq gingerly stepped inside, his tin form caught the vibrant hues, momentarily transforming him into something almost beautiful—each metallic surface reflecting the light in ways that made him seem almost human again. Not that he noticed; his mind was too busy racing with possibilities about why Glinda—his Glinda, from all those years ago at Shiz—had summoned him.
Lady Glinda stood at the far window, a vision in flowing pink silk that seemed to capture and amplify the morning light. Her hair, once the golden blonde he remembered from Shiz, was now a striking autumn red, arranged in perfect curls that caught the sunlight streaming in through the stained glass windows like burnished copper.
Boq's tin frame froze halfway across the room—she was beautiful as ever, though changed in ways that marked the years. Under her perfect makeup, sadness lingered in her eyes that she couldn't quite hide. Not just from ruling Oz, but from losing someone she couldn't forget.
Memories overwhelmed him: carrying her books across the Shiz courtyard, watching her from afar in the library, struggling to speak without stammering. Three weeks of savings spent on roses—pink ones. Someone had said they were her favorite.
But they weren't, were they? You loved yellow ones. I learned that watching from the shadows, seeing others bring you flowers...
Metal scraped against metal as he shifted his weight, the grating sound snapping him out of his memories. It was a cruel reminder of how much had changed—how far he'd fallen from those hopeful days.
"Y-your Goodness," he managed, executing a stiff little half-bow that set his joints squeaking in protest. The noise made him wince internally—how it must sound to her, that mechanical racket. So different from the effortless grace of the Munchkin man he'd once been. "You—you sent for me?" His voice emerged higher than he'd intended, closer to the nervous squeak of his schoolboy days than the gentler, soothing tone he'd tried to cultivate since his transformation. But wasn't that always how it had been around her?
Even now, years later and wearing a completely different body, she still had the power to reduce him to that stammering Shiz first year who'd trailed after her like a lost puppy. A shiver ran through his hollow frame as the memories overwhelmed him.
"Oh, here you are!" Glinda's voice rang out like crystal chimes as Boq stepped into her bright solar. She stood by the window, the morning light catching on the crystal walls and throwing soft, shimmering patterns around her. With a smooth turn, she moved toward her chair, the hem of her gown brushing against the floor. "You took so long to show, I was beginning to think perhaps you'd lost your way, Tin Man," she said, her fingers wrapping lightly around the handle of her wand. She gestured to a seat nearby, her smile warm and playful. Beside her chair stood a small wooden table with a silver breakfast tray. The pastries and a cup of green tea on it had long gone cold. "Please, won't you sit," she sang out. "Unless—oh my, forgive me, would you prefer to stand, dear? Would that be more comfortable for you?"
"N-no, I-I can sit," Boq stammered quickly, then immediately regretted his eagerness as he lowered himself into the chair with a series of loud creaks and clanks that seemed to echo off every crystal surface in the room. He adjusted his funnel cap nervously, accidentally knocking it askew. His fingers ran over the metallic curls that had taken the place of his once unruly, wavy hair, always impossible to control.
Glinda lifted her teacup, studying him over its rim with growing intensity. There was something in the way he held himself, something hauntingly familiar about those glass-lens eyes that seemed to look straight through her. She took a slow sip of tea, her gaze never leaving his face.
"How perfectly curious!" she breathed, her voice rising and falling like a melody. "There's something quite familiar about you—oh yes, quite familiar indeed!" She tilted her head with bird-like grace, her autumn curls bouncing. "Could it be we've met in happier times? Before all this delightful tinwork, perhaps?"
Boq's joints creaked so loudly he was sure she could hear it, each sound betraying his nervousness as he shifted in his chair as he struggled to find the right words.
"I—we—you—" The words caught in his throat like rust. His fingers clenched tighter, the screech of metal making Glinda wince slightly. "A-at Shiz, My Lady. "I was—I mean, I used to—to—"
The teacup in Glinda's hand froze halfway to her lips, her eyes widening as she stared at him with new recognition.
"Shiz?" Glinda's voice climbed an octave, her teacup trembling slightly as something flickered behind her eyes - recognition mixed with what might have been guilt. "Oh my my my!" A drop of green tea splashed unnoticed as she leaned forward, her face bright with recognition as the color drained from her face. "You were a student there? But that would mean…"
"I carried your books," Boq's words tumbled out in a rush, his fingers continuing their nervous habit of scraping against his knees, leaving faint marks in the metal. "Changed my schedule just to—to be near you. Three weeks of savings spent on pink roses because someone said they were your favorite, but they weren't, were they?" A hollow laugh echoed through his chest. "You—you loved yellow ones. I learned that watching from the shadows, seeing others bring you flowers that made you smile…"
The teacup slipped from Glinda's fingers entirely, clattering against the saucer with a sharp ring that echoed through the solar. "Oh!" Her hand fluttered to her throat like a startled dove. "Could you be—" she trilled, half-rising from her chair, "that dear little Munchkin boy, Bick? The one who escorted our precious Nessa to the Ozdust Ball?"
Boq froze, joints creaking as he shifted. Wrong name. Still wrong. His fingers curled against his knees with a metallic screech.
"It's Boq," he said, voice sharp as steel, anger burning away his stammer. "My name is Boq. Always has been."
Memories threatened to drown him: her calling him the wrong name, him forgiving her instantly, hoping next time she'd remember. His heart clock began ticking erratically, pulsing with each painful memory.
"Oh dear, oh dear," Glinda's voice fluttered as she sank deeper into her chair, hand still at her throat. "Whatever happened to make you so—" she gestured like a butterfly in flight, "—wonderfully metallic? Was it—" her voice dipped to a stage whisper, "—was it our dear Nessa?"
Nessarose's name clanged through his hollow frame like a hollow blow, setting every joint seizing up. His fingers clawed at his chest, leaving deep scratches in the metal as his mind was rushed by the memory of that night.
"S-she was shrinking my heart," he choked out, each word ringing like dented metal. Already, he could feel tears beginning to well up, but he blinked them back furiously, not wanting to let them fall. Not now. "Because I wanted to leave her. To find—" The word 'you' died in his throat. "She was so a-angry, so hurt, and the spell she cast on me, I-I could feel my heart getting smaller, tighter, until I couldn't breathe…"
His joints squeaked loudly in protest as the memory overwhelmed him. "Elphaba, she—" A harsh scraping sound escaped him as his fingers dug deeper into his chest plate. "She tried to save me. I know that now. This was all she could do, all that was left…" Boq tapped his hollow chest, the sound of it echoing through the solar like a funeral bell. "It was like dreaming, but…I could hear Elphaba speaking to Nessa. She was telling her sister how I wouldn't need a heart anymore. But sometimes I wonder…"
A single oil tear escaped, cutting a dark trail down his metal cheek. He wiped it away quickly, the screech of metal on metal making Glinda wince. She sat very still, her fingers twisting the fabric of her salmon-pink dress as she took in this revelation.
"Oh," she breathed, and then again, "Oh."
For a moment, she truly saw him - saw past the tin to the Munchkin boy who had loved her so desperately. The weight of her recognition pressed against his hollow frame like a physical blow. Better to be invisible, he thought bitterly, than to be truly seen and still found wanting.
His frame tensed as she straightened, that familiar bright mask sliding into place. He'd been a fool to hope, even for a moment, that she might finally understand. Some things, it seemed, even magic couldn't change.
"Well. That's...that's all in the past now, isn't it? And we have rather pressing matters in the present to discuss," she continued smoothly as if she hadn't just dismissed years of unspoken pain.
"Now then," she trilled, smoothing her skirts as if brushing away their uncomfortable conversation along with the wrinkles. "We simply must discuss why I called you here today." She gestured delicately with one hand, her movements light and airy despite the gravity in her eyes. "I would ask for your service to Oz in the west. There's a teensy matter in the Vinkus that requires someone of your particular constitution."
Boq noticed she had suddenly gone pale beneath her perfect smile and powdered makeup, her fingers fluttering anxiously against the tablecloth.
"You see," she continued, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "Kiamo Ko has become problematic."
The name froze him in place, his joints locking with an audible click that echoed loudly through the East Solar. The red face of his heart clock, the Wizard's parting gift pinned to his empty chest, ticked faster.
Kiamo Ko. Where everything had ended—or perhaps began.
"Those wretched flying monkeys of Elphie's—" she caught herself, clearing her throat delicately. "Of the Witch's. Well, they've gone wild without…proper guidance. Simply terrorizing those poor villages in the western mountains." She lifted her chin, her voice straining to maintain its lightness. "They need to be dealt with. In the most humane way possible, of course. The villagers are demanding their deaths after three children were taken from the village that resides closest to the castle last week. Two didn't..." Her voice cracked, the musical lilt failing. "We tried everything. Barriers, warnings, even attempted to tame them. But they're growing more violent without her influence."
She twisted her wand between her fingers, a rare show of nervous energy. "My magic is... well, it's more suited to bubbles and beautification than battle. And quite frankly, the Council feels someone with less... personal connection to the situation would be better suited to handle it. Politics, you understand."
Glinda's hands trembled as she smoothed her skirts. "The Winkies demand action, and I... I cannot let more children die while trying to preserve what's left of her." She met his gaze, tears threatening to spill. "Sometimes being Good means making impossible choices."
His eyes widened, his hands freezing in his lap, as if the world had suddenly become too heavy for him to bear. He felt rooted to the spot, unable to move or even breathe for a moment. The silence stretched, thick with disbelief. His lips parted, but no words came at first—just the faintest tremble in his voice when it finally emerged.
"D-dealt with?" His voice finally emerged as a timid, high-pitched squeak that cracked like rusted hinges. His hands began to wring together anxiously, and again he saw Glinda wince, yet for the first time, he couldn't manage to pretend to care. He swallowed hard, eyes flickering up to meet hers, searching her face for some hint of comfort—some way to make sense of what she was asking. "You want me to…to kill them?"
"I never said kill," Glinda replied sharply, though her eyes betrayed her. "I said 'deal with.' But..." She looked away. "We both know what the Winkies expect."
Boq stiffened at Glinda's words. Deal with. Too neat, too careful. The Winkies wouldn't settle for anything less than blood.
A shiver ran down his back as memories flooded in. The screech of claws against his tin body. The Scarecrow, limp and helpless as they tore out his straw. The Lion's whimpers drowned out by beating wings. And Dorothy—her scream as they carried her off, her dog yapping uselessly.
The images flashed through his mind, vivid and terrifying. He couldn't face that again. Not alone. Not with the weight of the Winkies' expectations hanging over him. Metal scraped against metal as Boq wrung his fingers together, his joints stiffening.
"You're asking me to—" His voice faltered. He couldn't say it. Couldn't even form the words. "T-they're just animals," he stammered, his voice quivering. He hunched forward, shoulders drawing up near his ear hinges, as if he could make himself smaller despite the towering weight of his metal frame. "Lost and scared and—"
A harsh scraping sound cut through the air as his fingers twisted together in their nervous habit. "They were l-loyal to her until the end. More loyal than…" The words caught in his throat. The flying monkeys had been more loyal to Elphaba than he had ever been to anyone, even more loyal than to his own heart.
"Now, now," Glinda tittered, though her bright tone had developed a brittle edge, steel glinting beneath the surface. She gave a delicate wave of her hand. "We simply can't have wild creatures terrorizing our people, can we? Think of the poor children! The Winkies are absolutely beside themselves, and I... well, I simply can't go myself. The politics are far too delicate."
Her professional smile wavered. "The tribal leaders want them eliminated completely." She leaned forward, voice dropping. "But I remember how gentle they could be, when..." She trailed off. "The people of Oz need their Good Witch to protect them," she said, her voice sweet as spun sugar but firm as steel beneath. "And I need someone who can't be harmed by teeth and claws. Someone who understands... difficult choices."
Her eyes met his meaningfully. "Officially, you're being sent to 'deal with the problem thoroughly.' Commander Cherrystone has your papers for safe passage." She floated back to her window, presenting him with her profile. "The morning guard will give it to you. I trust you'll leave at dawn?"
A curious sensation rippled through Boq's hollow chest. Once, the mere thought of disappointing Glinda would have sent him into spirals of anxiety. Now, watching her silhouetted against the window, all he could think of was Ryn in the morning sunlight, the way she'd touched his tin hand earlier without flinching, how she'd made him almost feel…human.
He felt somewhat calmer as a wave of understanding washed over him. He had no choice about the mission—but for the first time since his transformation, Glinda's presence didn't seem to matter as much anymore.
"Y-yes, your Goodness." His voice emerged small and tinny, like a music box winding down. Recognizing their conversation had come to an end, with creaking steps, he turned toward the door, his shadows stretching long and dark across the rainbow-draped floor.
Each step felt heavier than the last. These creatures were the last remnants of Elphaba's magic in Oz - wild and dangerous now, but once capable of such loyalty. His thoughts scatttered like leaves as images flashed through his mind: empty cradles, grieving parents, a land living in fear. His resolve strengthened.
Perhaps this was what Elphaba would have wanted - not to let her beloved creatures become monsters. Sometimes, he realized, mercy meant having the courage to end suffering.
His fingers brushed against the door handle, cold metal meeting cold metal. Once, such a touch would have been a harsh reminder of all he'd lost. But this morning, Ryn's warm smile flickered through his mind, how she'd touched his tin hand without hesitation. His steps grew just a little lighter.
Perhaps it wasn't fate being cruel after all. Perhaps it was fate finally—finally—being kind.
The hallway stood empty, no sign of the Lion or Scarecrow—had it only been minutes ago they'd teased him about Ryn? Their laughter felt distant now, separated by that sun-drenched meeting that had changed everything. Drawn by the promise of fresh air, he found himself turning toward one of the palace's open-air walkways.
Perhaps it could clear his head, help him make sense of everything: Glinda's terrible mission, Scarecrow's departure, how to tell Ryn that just when something beautiful might be beginning...
"The flesh remembers, doesn't it? My, my, such a pretty cage of tin you wear now. Do you miss it—when your heart could beat instead of tick?"
The voice—thin and cracked like ancient parchment—scraped across his tin spine. It slithered out of the shadows of the corridor like something rotten given breath.
Boq's joints seized with a sound like screaming hinges as he turned around, the clanking of metal harsh against the quiet of the hallway. Through the shadows between the palace columns, something shuffled forward. At first, he thought it might be a palace servant, maybe an older woman from the kitchens or a confused old maid who'd gotten turned around. But as the figure stepped into the dim corridor, Boq felt like his tin frame might collapse.
The thing that approached might once have been a woman. Her flesh hung in yellowish folds, like tallow left too long in the sun. Where her eyes should have been, two sulfurous pits gleamed wetly, rimmed with weeping sores. Her mouth—sweet Lurline, her mouth—was too wide for her face, stretching almost to her ears, filled with row upon crooked row of blackened teeth.
Torches flickered on the wall, casting shaky shadows on her wrinkled face as she moved closer. Her movements were unnatural, her joints bending in ways that made Boq's chest nearly dent. With each step, she left a dark, oily trail on the marble floor.
"I...uh, I beg your pardon? D-do I know you?" Boq stammered, his joints locking in revulsion as the thing's tongue—mottled like spoiled meat—flicked out to wet its lips. The sight of her loose, yellowed skin made his empty chest cavity feel as if it were filling with rust.
"Hush, dearie," she crooned, her tone almost mocking, then giggled, a sound like rats scrabbling in walls. "Old Mother Yackle knows what the tin man was before he was tin, oh, yes. Knows what crawls beneath that pretty metal skin, yes, she does. Knows all about Boq of Rush Margins, who danced and died and lives again." Thunder punctuated her words as she leaned closer. "Such thoughts of love in that hollow chest of yours, poppet—the golden girl who never saw you, the pretty little dark-haired slip of a Munchkin maiden who truly does." Her voice dropped to a rasping whisper. "But there are older magics at work than hearts and longing, aren't there, pretty tin man?"
Boq stepped back involuntarily, his joints creaking as he glared at the old crone. The storm cast wild shadows across her grotesque features. "H-how do you know my name?"
"The melted candle reforms in another room," Yackle rasped, her throat working obscenely beneath her loose skin. "The puddle seeps through cracks in stone, finds new vessels. Even fire can be a cradle if the right witch rocks it." Her hand shot out—impossibly fast for one so old—gnarled fingers like dead spiders scuttling across Boq's chest. Her touch left greasy smears on his tin. Boq recoiled.
"Don't—" Boq tried to step back, but his joints wouldn't respond. The old crone's eyes held him fixed like a pin through a butterfly.
"Poor tin fool," she crooned, her mouth stretching into something that might have been a smile on a human face. "Looking so hard at the scarecrow but not seeing the prince. Straw that dances, straw that thinks, straw that remembers green skin under moonlight." She pressed her face close to his, close enough that he could see things moving in the yellowed whites of her eyes.
"The pretty little maid with gentle hands..." Yackle's voice took on a singsong quality that made Boq's joints lock up. "Such soft things may break in savage times. But what shatters may yet endure if love's price is paid in full." Her rotten-meat tongue flicked out. "The witch's magic changes all it touches, pretty tin man. You should know—your heart beats now in clockwork time."
The old crone cackled, the sound like breaking glass. "Did you never wonder why the flames of fire licked at his straw but never feasted? Someone's marked that straw as precious—marked it with a witch's curse. And now the good witch sends you to deal with what remains of the wicked one's mercy, while love blooms fresh as spring roses in winter—but winter has teeth, doesn't it, dearie? And wings that block the moon..." With that, she turned away, her hunched form already retreating into the shadows.
"Wait!" Boq lunged forward, fingers grasping at the old crone's retreating form. "The Scarecrow—you're saying he's a—" But then her words about winter's teeth and breaking echoed in his mind, and a chill ran through his tin frame. "What did you mean about things shattering? A-about Ryn?"
But she was already gone, leaving only greasy smears on his tin chest where she'd touched him. Her laughter—that horrible awful sound—echoed down the corridor as her hunched form melted into the shadows between the marble columns.
"Please!" His voice rang hollowly through the palace hallway. "You can't just...just say things like that and vanish!"
No answer came except the lingering echo of his own desperate words. Boq frantically rubbed at the marks on his chest with shaking hands, the screech of metal on metal bouncing off the emerald walls.
"Have to—have to find oil," he muttered, his voice high and thin with panic. "Get this filth off..." But even as he scrubbed, her words tumbled through his hollow frame.
The scarecrow and the prince. Straw that remembers green skin.
And Ryn, what had she meant about Ryn?
His joints protested with each jerky movement as he stumbled back toward the busier parts of the palace. Glinda's mission, Scarecrow's secrets, Mother Yackle's grotesque prophecies, and through it all, Ryn's gentle smile haunting him like a promise about to break.
"Tin fool," he whispered to himself, echoing the crone's words as he fled deeper into the palace corridors. "She called me a tin fool..."
He had never felt more like one than now.
Each jerky step sent his joints protesting, the grating scrape of metal against metal echoing off the endless emerald walls. Boq could feel his thoughts unraveling, each one more tangled than the last. He needed to get away, think, and understand what that grotesque creature had meant when it spoke of Ryn, of Scarecrow, of winter having teeth.
His joints protested as he fled deeper into the palace corridors. He collided with someone, staggering backward with a metallic screech. The world spun, green marble warping impossibly.
A voice cut through his panic:
"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't see—Boq?"
Through blurred vision, he registered scattered details: overturned basket, spilled ribbons, a familiar figure steadying herself against a column. Mother Yackle's warnings still echoed in his mind as he focused on the voice asking, "Has something happened?"
His vision cleared, and his heart clock skipped.
"Ryn?"
She looked down, fidgeting with her hair. "I should have watched where I was going—" Her words halted as she noticed his state. She reached toward him then pulled back, blushing. "Is everything alright?"
"I, I, uh—" The warning caught in his throat as he met her concerned gaze. He needed to tell her to stay away, but couldn't form the words.
Her lips parted, as if she might say something, but instead, her gaze flickered downward, landing on the scattered ribbons. "I should pick these up," she murmured, kneeling.
Boq dropped to his knees to help her gather what she'd spilled, his hands shaky with lingering panic. As they reached for the same green silk ribbon, her hand brushed his. Ryn froze, her breath catching. To his surprise, she kept her hand there, the warmth of her skin sending tingles through his fingers. Looking up, he found her face close enough to see the faintest freckles dusting her nose.
"Oh," she breathed, her voice trembling but kind. Her gaze flicked to his metal fingers still touching the ribbon. "Your hand... it must feel so cold, doesn't it? I mean, n-not that I—" She blinked, as if realizing what she'd just said. Her hand jerked back, and she busied herself straightening the ribbons. "I was just heading to get more supplies. We're expecting a busy day with the celebrations."
His fingers trembled on the green silk ribbon between them. How could he tell her Glinda was sending him to deal with the grief-stricken flying monkeys? Ryn's kind face and furrowed thin eyebrows showed her worry for him, making tension build in his hollow chest. His heart clock stuttered - would she understand why this had to be done?
"Would you—" His voice emerged as a squeak. "That is, if you're not too busy, if you can step away from the salon for a moment." He winced at his awkwardness. "There's a garden, near the kitchens. It's quiet there. I need to—I-I want to talk with you. Would you walk there with me?"
Ryn's fingers trembled on the green ribbon. "I, um, yes," she stammered, ducking her head. Her cheeks flushed pink. "That would be...nice." She peeked up at him through her lashes, a tentative smile tugging at her lips. "I-I'd like that. Very much."
The ribbon stretched between them like a promise neither dared to break, while somewhere in the shadows, Mother Yackle's laughter echoed like breaking glass. He watched as Ryn gathered the remaining ribbons with quick, delicate movements, tucking them into her basket.
Together they walked down the corridor, their mismatched footsteps echoing - her soft slippers, his tin feet. The green ribbon hung between them like a lifeline, catching emerald glints from the palace walls. His heart clock ticked faster, torn between the warmth of Ryn's presence and the chill of Mother Yackle's warning.
A shadow flickered at the edge of his vision, and that rasping laugh seemed to echo through his hollow chest - but when he turned to look, there was only darkness, and Ryn's gentle hand still holding the other end of their shared ribbon.