#wicked wizard

[BOOK ONE] ੈ✩‧₊˚

CHAPTER I : THE GIRL THAT FELL FROM HEAVEN.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.

The ozian history books would later argue about what you truly were.

A witch, a miracle…a mistake.

But on the day you fell from the sky, there was no debate—only awe. You did not arrive in Oz the way witches were meant to, no thunder, no mist, no curse cracking the air and no house crushing somebody beneath it.

You fell like a star that had forgotten to burn, who made Emerald City froze midday. People looked up just in time to witness—skirts fluttering, hair loose, arms flung wide as if you were trying to catch the sky itself, your feet softly struck the green pavement of the street with a sound like a bell being rung once, sharp…  then silence.

No smoke. No fire.

Just a girl lying stunned on green stone, then (e/c) eyes opened slowly and a warm smile stunned passerbys. “I’m sorry,” you said, voice trembling but sincere. “Did I—did I land somewhere I shouldn’t have?”, and in that moment Oz fell in love, because witches never apologized.

The people of the Emerald city gathered around you cautiously at first. People and animals in rich emerald suits and dresses, officials, guards in green and yellow coats with stiff collars and even stiffer smiles. Someone whispered ‘witch’ like a prayer and a warning combined, the ozians flinched as you sat up slowly, wincing at the pain in your backside, and pressed your hands to the glass pavement beneath you. Finally taking a good look at the city you had fallen into, tall, green all around and incredibly shiny.

“Woah… it’s so beautiful,” You murmured, as if the city were a gift instead of a threat. A child cried while someone else knelt and prayed.

Far above them all, behind emerald curtains, levers and lies, the Wizard of Oz leaned forward in his study window, for the first time in years, his voice caught in his throat. He had felt it before the guards ran in shouting, before the emerald lights flickered, before the city began to murmur like a body waking from sleep.

Something new had entered the system. 

He watched as you helped the crying child to their feet before helping yourself, brushing dust from your blue gingham dress even though your hands were shaking, you didn’t demand answers, you didn’t scream or run. Instead you politely asked questions.

‘Where am I?’

‘Are you hurt, little one?’

‘May I sit here for a moment?’

You did not show your fright, the wizard observed, and that was your leverage. He felt something stir, something that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with control. A woman like that could make Oz believe anything.

By the time his guards had managed to lead you inside to his throne room, where you two meet at first —voice booming, animatronic head hidden behind green curtains, all fire, smoke, mirrors and spectacle—the story had already begun writing itself.

“A visitor from above,” he proclaimed publicly.

“A sign!” someone had cried.

“A witch!” someone else insisted.

You stood in the throne room, giant animatronic head peeking from behind the curtains, fire exploding all around, imposing and fearsome but you smoothed your skirt, spine straight despite the tremor in your hands. “Hello,” You said simply, a smile on your lips and the Wizard almost laughed.

Almost.

Instead, he softened his voice, warmed it, made it kind and unsuspecting.

“My dear,” he said, “you have fallen into Oz.”

You tilted your head. “Then I hope I haven’t broken anything important.”

He snorted amusedly, you had fallen into a moment Oz had been waiting for and if everything went according to plan, you would break the status quo.

Just as you were escorted to a room to call your own in the big emerald palace, the wizard sent for his right-hand woman. Madame Morrible made her way to the palace as soon as she could, the words from the wizard were urgent. She found him in a hallway overlooking the inner garden, his eyes focused on something she couldn’t see from her position but as she made her way closer she could make out a figure in an blue gingham dress, sitting in one of the benches on the gardens, in her hands a book about Oz’s history.

“Oh,” she murmured, standing next to the wizard whose eyes hadn’t looked away from your figure. “That’s interesting.” She remembered the reports that came as quickly as you had appeared; Young human woman from another world, unbroken, a blessing, a witch. Who didn’t scream when she fell, who had not demanded answers. Just stood up, brushed dust from her skirts, and asked—politely!!—where she was. And that detail mattered to the citizens of Oz, because it spoke of someone kind, someone good. “Yes… she’ll do beautifully.” Madam Morrible smirked, crossing her arms as the figure in the garden smiled at the monkey guards who accompanied her, her mouth moving as she told them something that seemed to make the apes’ guarded form relax, one even letting out a soft hoot-like laugh. 

The following day, the wizard kept watching you through a veil of illusions before he ever allowed you into his true presence. He observed the way people leaned toward you without knowing why, the way fear softened in your wake, the way guards lowered their weapons instinctively, how even his monkey army had taken to you almost instantly, how everyone bent to your will without you even trying.

You were disarming. 

Disarming him, the monkeys, Oz itself.

“She doesn’t look like much,” he said lightly to Morrible in the confidence of his study as they etched their plan. Madame Morrible did not smile, but her eyes were like swords, piercing everything they laid on.

“That’s the point.”

So they decided to meet you together. While the wizard played a warm, charming old gentleman, Madame Morrible played caring, motherly authority and you responded to both beautifully. You did not kneel to their authoritarian auras but did not challenge them either, just listened. The Wizard explained Oz to you—his Oz, curated and gleaming— as you nodded, absorbing his every word. When Madame Morrible asked about your origins, you spoke honestly, without defensiveness or pride.

No ambition.

No resentment.

No hunger.

Madame Morrible’s fingers tightened around herself —She’s dangerous— she thought watching how even the wizard hung on to your every word. Meanwhile the wizard felt something strange; Relief.

They did not tell you that you were powerful, that magic swam around you like second nature. They explained that you were important, of the role Oz expected of you now. The wizard specially had empathetically said he understood the position you were in, as he explained how he came to rule Oz, his hand rubbing circles high on your thigh. They said that important things needed protection, guidance and mostly, that important things always needed a story.

“Oz is restless. Divided. Cynical.” The wizard said.

“Oz needs a symbol.” Morrible added.

And gentle, unassuming you, who had fallen from the sky like a miracle no one had to explain, were the perfect candidate.

“She can’t rule,” the wizard said when you retired for the night, pacing. “She doesn’t have the stomach for it.”

Madame Morrible sniffed. “Neither do you.”

He ignored that, his brows furrowed in worry. “She makes people feel safe,” he continued. “They trust her.”

Madame Morrible smiled thinly. “Then we must teach her what safety looks like.”

The next day your training began, they brought the best teachers in all of Oz so you could learn its history, its customs, how the social dynamics in each county worked, how to talk, walk, smile. Morrible dressed you carefully, began to teach you how to harness your magic, barely the basics as she handed you a training wand. Meanwhile the wizard gave you an official title:

The Good Witch of Oz.

That same day, the whole land of Oz sang your name, your title, your praises. Rumors ran all around,  everyone in Oz knew your name, your story, your role and the wizard and Morrible only needed to feed the right rumors to the right ears as they settled the stage. As they had dinner in the large luxurious dining room, the wizard called you a Good Witch for the first time out loud and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“I haven’t done anything good yet,” You protested with an amused pout.

“That’s the beauty of it,” the Wizard said gently, like a secret between friends. “They’ll believe you will.”

Madame Morrible corrected him internally, though the glance she shot at him spoke volumes ‘They’ll believe what we show them.’ it said. She brought her wine glass to her lips, her smile practiced. “We have been going through the basics of magic, (Y/n) has proved a fast learner.” She said, “ Soon she’ll be ready for her first official public appearance". At that, the wizard possibly beamed.

“Oh, how wonderful!!” He smiled as his hand covered yours over the table. “ Are you sure you’ve never done magic before, sweetheart?” He joked, winking at you as Morrible rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“Your first appearance will be in Munchkinland” Morrible interrupted the wizard’s flirtations, whipping her mouth elegantly. “ There has been… some discontent in the region. So your first appearance being there will boost their exports and raise their spirits.”

“Is there something they’ll expect of me?” You asked, gently dropping your utensils on the table.

“Oh, my dear!!” The wizard interrupted, his hand holding one of yours and bringing it to his lips “There is no need to be nervous! Just be yourself, sweet (y/n). They will absolutely adore you”. He added, his charming smile beaming at you while his eyes searched for yours. He did not drop your hand until you smiled softly back at him, but as you did he couldn’t help but notice the soft blush on the apple of your cheeks and a smirk twisted his lips.

“Do not worry,” Morrible added. “You will be ready for anything they expect of you. I’d make sure of it.” She smiled, sharp and mysterious. 

Later that night, when you were in his private studio, the wizard brought you tea. He sat close to you on his sofa as he asked about your home, about your likes and dislikes, about your dreams.

And he listened, perhaps too intently, too close. He couldn’t help but have a soft spot for you, in more ways than one. You reminded him of a version of himself he pretended had never existed, one before the smoke, before the wires, before lies hardened into policy. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but feel attracted to you, a pretty young thing that looked at him as if he had hung the moon on the sky.

“You make this place lighter,” he said, his small smile genuine. “I’d like it if you called me Oscar, though. Everyone calls me Wizard… Or Oz, the great and powerful” He winked jokingly as he finished his sentence, although his wish was genuine.

“Oscar??” You asked, a little befluded. “Why Oscar?”

“Because that’s my name, my dear” He whispered softly, as if sharing a secret. “And I want you to use it.” He commanded softly, with a voice full of honey. "At least when we are alone."

“Oh!” You blushed ashamedly, but the wiza- No, Oscar held your chin and made you look at his warm chocolate eyes. “ T-Thank you… Oscar” You smiled shyly and he beamed as you used his real name, his arm sneakily laying around your shoulders.

Madame Morrible saw everything from the ajar door, but she did not interrupt. Instead she studied you like a formula. She noticed how magic bent around you without instruction when you felt safe. How even her magic stabilized inside her. 

“She’s a regulator,” Morrible realized. “Not a conduit.”

Which meant that you could neutralize rebellion… Or inspire one.

Depending on who you trusted and Morrible would make sure that your trust always stayed with them so she fully closed the door and left the palace.

After speaking animatedly for what felt like hours, Oscar Diggs found himself alone with your sleeping form tucked into his side. He felt warm, warmer than the green elixir ever made him feel as his hand softly brushed a few wild strands of hair that blocked his perfect view of your face, he tried to remember the last time he had felt the warmth of another person and his mind drew blank. Even if he had been with other people, you made him feel some kind of way, he realized. 

“They think I wanted the power.” He murmured as his gaze tried to brand your profile in his brain with fire. “They think Oz was the goal, but truly… It wasn’t.” He mumbled, his fingers softly mapping your soft cheeks.” Oz was my compensation.” He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Before you, everything here was noise, color and wires—smoke filling a hollow thing. I learned quickly that if you smile long enough, people stop asking what you’re hiding.” He snorted, as if amused at the memories that came to his mind. “ But then… You came to me.” His voice became softer as his gaze focused on your features. “ Not like a threat, nor like I did, like a conqueror. You came like an answer to a question no one had phrased correctly. You look at Oz the way I once had, way before I learned how fragile belief really is. Before I learned how easily it breaks when you touch it too hard.” He moved your sleeping form so your weight rested more against his body. “ And then… You believed without demanding proof. Do you know how rare that is?” He smiled warmly as you snuggled closer to him. “ I could build a thousand illusions and none of them would look at me the way you do—like I was real.” He hid his face into your hair, inhaling your scent and trying to scar it on his brain. “ So I made you Good. Not because you’re flawless but because Oz needs something it can’t argue with. Something it can’t corrupt without exposing itself.” He tightened his hug around your form, his face moving towards your neck, where he closed his eyes, surrounded by your scent, the warmth of your body, his lips laid a kiss on your soft skin and then he could feel your pulse under his lips. “ And because if I named you— If I claimed you mine... Then you will stay by my side.” He confessed, his breath tickling your neck, “ Because people don’t abandon the roles we give them. They cling to them, they become grateful… Loyal.”

The wizard laid by you for a few more minutes, enjoying the sound of your breathing, the warmth your body radiated, he dreaded moving you because that would mean you’d go to your chambers and he would have to return to his cold empty room. He released a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. “ I keep telling myself I’m protecting you. That I’m protecting Oz… But I fear the truth is simpler, and uglier.” He looked up at your face, his head still tucked in the side of your neck. “You make the lie worth living inside… I fear you could be taken from me… vanish and go somewhere I cannot follow you to. “ His eyes closed again as he heard the steps of his guards in the hallway. “ I fear I'll feel… empty without you. Because if you leave— I’ll just be a man behind a curtain again.”

The knocks on his door made the wizard sober up, almost unwillingly he parted from your side to preserve your virtue, but selfishly he still let your body rest fully against his as he ordered the guards in.

“Chistery” He greeted as the ape came into the room. “Could you bring Miss (Y/n) to her chambers? I’m afraid I still have some work to finish up.” He smiled as he slowly got up from the sofa, laying you softly against a pile of pillows.

The head of his monkey army stepped forward, nodding his head as he followed the wizard’s orders. His furry arms slid under your back and knees as he softly picked you up under the wizard’s watchful eye.

“Oh, and Chistery?” The ape stopped in his tracks as he held your body in his arms. “ Do not wake her up. I’ll be very upset if you do.” The wizard smiled threateningly as the ape nodded, his steps were careful as he left the wizard’s predatory gaze and walked towards your chambers.

Now Chistery, for all his silence and caution, was a very perceptive individual. He had noticed since your appearance in Emerald city how people seemed to orbit around you, how the wizard seemed to try and make his and yours existences as one in the same, how Morrible shadowed you from the darker shadows of the palace.  You were kind to his brothers, to animals, to him and he couldn’t help but internally worry about you. He knew that while you stayed in the city, he would be there to guard you, as the wizard had appointed him as babysitter since the start. But sometimes Chistery worried that the wizard and Morrible’s plans would take you someplace where he couldn’t protect you. As he opened the door of your chambers and walked to your bed, he tried to fight the unease the wizard’s gaze towards you, had left in him. Softly laying you down the bed and tucking you under your emerald covers, he cleared his throat.

“ (y/n)... In danger… Chistery… Protect.” He grumbled, his words both a secret and a vow shared in the silence of your room.

The next few days consisted of the same, Oz studies, training with Morrible, lunch in the gardens with Chistery and some of his brothers – Whom you keep insisting enjoy the food with you, sneaking some food their way. – almost neverending dress try-ons and finally dinner with the wizard. 

Until the day you had to leave for Munchkinland came.

You were glad to finally see more of Oz, as you had been cooped up in the palace for almost a month and a half, but at the same time you were nervous of your first formal appearance as The Good witch of Oz. The Wizard watched, leaning on the door of the room as the maids helped you get ready under the watchful eye and commands of Madam Morrible, who would not accept anything but perfection. As he caught your eyes in the mirror, the soft nervous smile you sent him, he felt a pang he mistook for pride, while Madame Morrible felt none.

‘Attachment is a weakness’. She thought. ‘But leverage? Leverage is priceless.’

As The Good Witch of Oz, your gown seemed to spun from winter light itself, a whisper of silvery winters, pale blue like caught frost at dawn. Its color was soft and luminous, neither silver nor sky, but something in between—an icy hue that shimmered faintly with every movement, as though starlight had been sewn into the fabric. Layers of airy tulle drifted down from the waist in gentle cascades, forming a vast, flowing skirt that brushed the floor and trailed behind you like a quiet promise of magic. The bodice embraced your curves with careful elegance, sculpted to your form and crossed with delicate folds that met at your waist. The neckline dipped into a subtle sweetheart curve, baring your shoulders and collarbones, lending an air of vulnerability softened by grace. The fabric there was gathered and shaped with intent, creating the sense that the gown itself had been wrapped around you rather than stitched—an offering rather than a garment.

At your arms, the sleeves bloomed extravagantly, great clouds of pale blue resting low against your skin. They were voluminous and soft, billowing with every breath, as if they might float away if not tethered by magic. From behind, they gathered into a dramatic bow at the small of your back, a sculptural flourish that transformed the dress into something almost ceremonial, as though it had been fashioned for a coronation.

Your back was left bare, smooth and luminous against the open line of the gown, the bow anchoring the design with quiet authority. Below it, the skirt unfurled in layers upon layers, shimmering as it moved, the light catching on tiny crystals woven throughout the fabric like stars. The train followed your steps with reverence, whispering across the floor, making your every step feel deliberate and fated.

To crown the look, a headdress that marked you as chosen. At its base, nestled against your (h/c) hair, bloomed two vivid rosettes of a deep dark crimson, soft and organic against the delicate vintage style tiara that crowned your head. The poppy flowers framed your face like living embers, their richness drawing the eye inward, the contrast between gold and red felt deliberate, as if fire and authority had been bound together in a single gesture. Centered at your brow was a circular golden ‘OZ’ monogram, precise and deliberate, forged with symbolic meaning rather than decoration. It rested just above your eyes, commanding attention, a singular tear-shaped emerald rested between your eyebrows. From under the flowers thin green silk ribbons fell gently, brushing your hair and shoulders, simulating the stems of the flowers that framed your face. Your beautiful eyes that shine a sweet (e/c) enhanced with a glittery silver-blue eyeshadow that compliments both the dress and the color of your skin and the lips that bring Oz to its knees, painted a deep dark red that looked almost black. With the whole ensemble, your presence  transformed into something timeless—half ruler, half priestess. Standing at the threshold between the mortal world and legend.

The wizard looked at you in awe as his tongue wetted his lips once—then twice.  ‘Damn’ –he thought– ‘Morrible had done an extraordinary job.’

"You look gorgeous, darlin'" He said as he walked towards you. "Like the sweetest little princess Oz could wish for..." His steps froze when Madam Morrible stepped from behind "I wish it was green though...".

"Yes... So much potential..." She smiled, her eyes shone brightly. "I'm still brainstorming what kind of wand our Good witch should have, for now she'll have her training wand." Morrible said as she made her way towards the Wizard, who had not stopped looking at you since you waltzed in the room. "And I've told you, (Y/n) must be a symbol for ALL the people of Oz, including the other counties. Besides the people of Emerald city have already begun associating her with blue, like the sky she fell from. So I decided silver-blue must be her color, because all of Oz knows only powerful witches are allowed to wear silver" Morrible said with a big smile, her arms opening so you could step into a tight hug.

The Wizard rolled his eyes as he mumbled something under his breath, when his gaze found yours he smiled again, his eyes a soft chocolate color. "The wand must be grand like Oz" The wizard spoke, throat dry. "And its beauty must match hers" He smiled, a mock-shy smile as he approached the younger girl. "How would you like your wand to be, sweetheart?" The wizard asked, his thumb holding your chin. "Tell me and I’ll have it ready when you come back from Munchkinland…"

“ I’d like it if it was…” You mumbled something in the wizard's ear and he smirked.

“You got it, darlin’ “ He smiled, then playfully adjusted his collar. “ But you better go before Morrible puts my head in a pike!” He exaggeratedly moved his arms as you laughed while the older woman just rolled her eyes. And as you left the Emerald City with Chistery and some of his army, along with Morrible and her team, the Wizard watched until the carriage disappeared from view. “She’ll come back,” he tried to reassure his worries and anxieties. “She’ll come back to me.” Neither the wizard or Morrible noticed the way the Emerald city seemed to dim without your light, but Chistery did.

Munchkinland was already celebrating before you understood why.

Music spilled through the streets like something alive. Bells rang. People danced in careful circles around an empty space at the center of the square, eyes lifted skyward in anticipation. As you stood behind the curtain, heart hammering.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered to Morrible.

“You smile. You wave. You let them see you.” Madame Morrible adjusted the fall of your sleeve with precise fingers. “And whatever you feel,” she added, “you do not contradict the story.”

“What story?” You asked, anxious beyond belief.

Morrible looked at you in the eye, her dark eyes sharp and commanding.

“The truth,” She said gently. “Remember all I taught you, all we practiced” She added, finally stepping out of your personal bubble as her team finished with your makeup. “ Do not disappoint me, my dear.” She said as her hands held your shoulders. “Now go! Oz is waiting for you!.”

When you stepped out into the light, Munchkinland fell silent, not only because you were radiant but because you were actually there. As you stood small against the open sky, pale dress catching the sun, millions of small crystals embedded in the dress reflected small rainbows with your movements, hands clasped as if you were the one afraid of them. Then, the silence broke into cheers. Flowers flew, tulips from all colors as children ran forward, crowding in a circle around you, and you couldn’t help but smile at their joy. Someone knelt, praying something so fast you couldn’t even make out words.

You gasped softly. “Oh—please don’t—”

Madam Morrible raised her arms, voice booming. “Behold! The Good Witch of Oz!” As the title settled on your shoulders like a mantle you hadn’t agreed to wear, you waved —awkward, overwhelmed and Oz seemed to love you even more for it. Morrible walked towards you, smile tight as she whispered “ Now as we practiced…”

ᴺᵒʷ ᴾˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ... '𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦' 𝘣𝘺 𝘌𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘘𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘯 | [▶︎]

You cleared your throat, hands dusting off the skirt of your dress in nervous habit. The square fell silent, as many eyes watched you attentively, some even adoringly. Soon, familiar music began playing as you took a deep, grounding breath.

“I… hear your voice on the wind” You began singing “And I… hear you call out my name” You walked more into the middle of the square, squating next to a group of small children who looked at you with big smiles. "Listen my child," You offered your hands to them “ you say to me”, as they quickly took them, following you to the middle of the crowd. "I am the voice of your history” As more munchkin children joined your performance, you continued singing, a big warm smile in your painted lips. “Be not afraid, come follow me” as the music crescendoed, the children held each other's hands and began running around you in a circle as you twirled in the opposite direction, your skirt flaring like liquid silver. “Answer my call and I'll set… you… free!!". You held your arms up and flowers began falling from the sky, raining colour all around the land.

 “I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain” You began waltzing around, arms outreached as you kept on singing “I am the voice of your hunger and pain.” You stopped in front of an older couple, taking a moment to carefully twirl the woman and then the man, both of them laughing in joy. “I am the voice… that always is calling you, I am the voice, I will remain” Then you noticed an awfully nervous red headed boy wringing his hat as if his life depended on it, and held out your hand to him. He looked shaken by the movement, then he looked at both his sides then behind himself, as if confirming that you had asked him. You huffed a small laugh and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the middle of the makeshift dance floor. “I am the voice in the fields when the summer's gone” You twirled the munchkin boy and he seemed to come out of his thoughts. He smiled at you and held your hand tighter, his other hand holding your waist as he waltzed in circles with you, a bright smile on his face and red cheeks that reached his ears. “The dance of the leaves when the autumn winds blow. Ne'er do I sleep throughout all the cold winter long” As he held one of your hands the other behind his back, he guided you around the edge of the crowd. “I am the force that in springtime will grow” As the music crescended you and the munchkin boy began dancing rhythmically to the song, wild arms and legs even some jumps and twirls. “I am the voice of the past that will always be” As you left the slightly stunned and sweating red headed boy where you had dragged him from, you set your eyes on a pretty woman in a wheelchair and made your way towards her. “Filled with my sorrow and blood in my fields” You held out your hands towards her and although she seemed hesitant, the man next to her – whom you assumed to be her father– ushered her chair forward, she looked at him upset he had moved her without her permission but you took the opportunity to enchant the wheels and hold her hands in yours, which made her immediately look at you with a soft blush. “I am the voice of the future” You smiled at her as you brought her with you, the enchanted wheels made it like she was gliding. “Bring me your peace” She smiled brightly at you as she noticed how her chair moved with ease, and as she swerved to twirl you followed her, both of you twirling, hands above your heads.”Bring me your peace and my wounds, they will heal”. Her genuine laugh made your nerves calm as you two were once again eye to eye. “I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain” You both kept gliding across the crowd, almost like flying, both happily smiling, every once in a while you would twirl around, finding the hand of the other almost immediately. “I am the voice of your hunger and pain” As you both settled in place, once again next to her father, you bowed sillily and smiled at her in good bye as you made the way back towards Morrible and the stage. Not noticing how the woman held out her hand to try and stop you. “I am the voice that always is calling you…I am the voice” Your voice boomed as the music bloomed, “I am the voice in the past that will always be…I am the voice of your hunger and pain” You bowed low, your dress spilling like fresh snow around you, sparkling in the sun. “ I am the voice of the future…I am the voice…I am the voice” You sang as flowers began blooming all around you rapidly, “I am the voice…I am the voice!!!”, and as you sang the last notes, tulips began raining from the sky, pooling around you. As the band finished the last chords, you looked up at the crowd of people, all stunned, awed as they broke the silence with loud cheers and applause.

Exhausted but fulfilled, you looked towards Madam Morrible who was smiling at you with pride in her eyes as she applauded as well and you felt the heavy weight that weightened your shoulders lift in relief.

As she took a small break, gracefully sitting in a colorful bench by the square where the citizens of Munchkinland kept buzzing with joy, Boq, the red haired munchkin boy was the first to reach you, as he all but sprinted in your direction. He pushed through the crowd, hat clutched to his chest, breathless with nerves twisting his stomach and joy buzzing through him like electricity.

“You—you’re real,” he blurted out, then flushed a violent crimson. “I mean—of course you are. I just—thank you!!.”

You blinked, caught by surprise by the boy you had danced with. “For what?” You smiled kindly albeit confused.

“For being good,” Boq said earnestly, as if this were a rare and difficult thing to find in Oz.

You laughed—a small, startled but sweet sound that settled like balm on Boq’s nerves. “ But I haven’t done anything yet.”

Boq shook his head. “You showed up…That is more than enough.” He smiled shyly as you returned his smile, he heard more steps approaching as you got up from the bench and saw how you were almost the same height. ‘We'd make a cute couple...’ He thought to himself, then became beet red and as if startled and nervous he bowed too deeply and tripped in his efforts to run away from your disarming gaze. You caught his arm as he tripped without thinking , holding him up before he could fall onto the floor.

“Careful,” you said, smiling half amused and half concerned and Boq forgot how to breathe.

The sounds of feet grew louder as the young woman in a wheelchair was being guided forward by her father, who looked possibly delighted. Her posture was proud, eyes sharp and searching. Her dress was modest but deliberate, her expression wary rather than awed.

And as the red-headed munchkin boy apologized before running away in shame, Nessarose ushed her father away before her gaze fixed itself in your eyes, her dark gaze practically studied you before her lips settled in a small smile.

“You fell from the sky,” Nessarose said plainly. “Is that true?”

You nodded, smiling back at her. “I did.”

“And you’re good?” She asked again, her eyes searching deep into yours as if she was looking for any hint of deceit.

You hesitated before answering honestly, “I’m trying to be.” At your honesty something in Nessarose’s gaze softened.

Trying mattered.

“You don’t look like someone who would lie about that,” Nessarose said. “May I come closer?”

You stepped forward immediately, kneeling so both of you were eye to eye.

“Of course.” Nessarose inhaled sharply at your proximity, at your gesture.

No one ever knelt.

You did not notice the way Nessarose’s hands trembled as she reached out and touched the hem of your dress—just to be sure this was real, that the feeling of flying and gliding had been real. Then the air shifted, temperature dropping, almost imperceptibly as someone at the back of the crowd muttered ‘Green!’, a child began crying.

Elphaba stood apart from the celebration, arms folded, black dress stark against the color of Munchkinland. Her eyes were sharp behind her round glasses, assessing, already suspicious of anything Oz adored so easily. She did not bow, did not clap either, just looked directly at you and her little sister.

You felt it immediately—like pressure behind your eyes, like standing too close to a storm and feeling the energy it carried.

“You’re not from here,” Elphaba said as she made her way next to her sister, most probably following her father’s orders about protecting Nessa.

“No,” You replied softly. “But so far, I really like it.”

Elphaba snorted. “That won’t last. Oz doesn't take well to strange.”

“ Elphaba!!” Nessa angrily said, both mad that her sister had interrupted your conversation and that she was being so rude. But you smiled—not dismissively, but with kind curiosity, and that set Nessa’s nerves a little bit.

“Will you tell me why?”

Elphaba faltered, slightly.

No one ever asked her that.

Madame Morrible watched from the stage, eyes narrowed, mind planing.

Boq clung to the edge of the crowd, already orbiting, while Nessarose held to your attention like a lifeline, Elphaba stood at a distance, away from the center where you were, magic coiling in response.

Three threads and all tightening around the same chess piece.

In the back of his throne room the Wizard leaned back, satisfied as he had seen the full event on his millions of screens.

“It’s working,” he murmured in awe.

You stood at the center of Munchkinland, surrounded by devotion you did not yet understand, smiling at people who already loved you too much. Shaking hands and making small conversation with Governor Thropp under the watchful eye of his youngest daughter. Above you, the sky was impossibly blue and below your feet, Oz shifted—ever so slightly—to make room for more.

After talking with Governor Thropp about Munchkinland politics and the casual passerby who came to say hello or just witness The Good Witch of Oz, you felt like your head dress was tightening around your brown, your dress suddenly tighter and heavier.

“I’m sorry, I… I need a moment, excuse me” You smiled at the Governor, leaving him mid-sentence as you made your way as far as you could from the noise, as your back turned Nessa sent a glare towards her father, who quickly tried to appease her.

The music faded the farther you walked from the square. You hadn’t meant to leave the governor mid-sentence ( you hoped he wouldn’t complain to Morrible or you’d be up to a ride full of  silent treatment), you didn’t even mean to  escape—only  breathe. The cheers still rang too loud, too brightly in your ears, the title still felt too large on your shoulders. You pressed your palms together, grounding yourself in the quiet tulip garden path curling away from Munchkinland.

“Are you all right?” Someone asked cautiously.

You turned and found the same woman from before, the one with dark clothing and deep green skin, Elphaba if you recall correctly, stood a few steps away, posture stiff with the practiced alertness of someone used to being misunderstood. Up close, she seemed less intimidating than before—more earnest than severe.

“Yes,” You said honestly. “Just overwhelmed.”

Elphaba nodded. “That makes sense.”

They stood in silence for a moment before Elphaba spoke again, slower, softer this time.

“You’re very lucky.”

You blinked, surprised. “Lucky?”

“The Wizard doesn’t take interest in just anyone,” Elphaba said. There was something reverent in her voice— something that seemed like carefully restrained awe. “If he chose you, it means you matter.”

You considered that for a moment, your eyes meet Elphaba’s dark ones. “He’s been very kind to me.”

Elphaba smiled faintly. “He’s trying to help Oz. He always is.”

That was surprising. “You sound like you admire him.” Your smile curled softer.

Elphaba hesitated, then squared her shoulders. “I do. I think… I think people forget how hard it is to keep things good. Someone has to make difficult choices.” You studied her with curiosity rather than judgment and smiled when you found her earnestness.

“You don’t sound naïve,” you said, walking closer to her. “You sound hopeful.”

Elphaba exhaled a breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding. “I am... Or, at least  I’m trying to be.”

You felt the strange pull again—the hum beneath the air when Elphaba focused, not threatening but attentive.

“You feel… different,” Elphaba said suddenly, frowning—not in accusation but wonder. “Magic doesn’t react to you the way it does to others.”

You laughed softly, your shoulders shaking with your laughter. “I’ve never been very magical, that’s just new development.”

Elphaba shook her head but the smile in her lips matched yours. “That’s not what I meant.” She took a step closer, curiosity overtaking caution. “You make things settle,” Elphaba continued. “That's rare.”

You smirked deviously at her, eyebrows raised. “I’ve always thought calm was overrated.”

Elphaba smiled back, shy. “I think Oz could use more of that.” Though before Elphaba could say more, a familiar voice cut in, gentle, composed.

“Elphaba.”

The both of you turned together.

Nessarose was there, hands folded neatly in her lap, watching both of you with a look that was soft and sharp all at once.

“There you are,” Nessarose said. “I wondered where you’d gone.”

Elphaba stiffened, slightly surprised by her sister’s strange behaviour. “I was just talking with our Good witch.”

“So I see,” Nessarose replied lightly, eyes already on you, gaze lingering—not rudely, but intentional all the same.

“I wanted to thank you again,” Nessarose said. “For taking me out to dance… for kneeling earlier. People rarely remember to meet others where they are.”

You flushed a soft red. “It felt natural.”

Nessarose smiled, and Elphaba noticed it—the way Nessarose’s attention settled, the way you responded instinctively, turning toward her, how her sister seemed happy to have your attention.

“You’re very considerate,” Nessarose continued. “Oz will adore you.”

Elphaba frowned faintly. “Nessa—”

“I mean that as a good thing,” Nessarose said calmly, then turned back to you. “I’ll be attending Shiz soon. Perhaps we’ll see more of each other?"

“I hope so,” you said without hesitation although you had no idea of what ‘Shiz’ was but the word seemed familiar enough, like you swore that Oscar and Morrible had mentioned it once or twice. "I hope we can be friends", you smiled honestly.

Elphaba’s chest warmed at that as Nessa quickly agreed. “Shiz is where real change begins,” Elphaba added eagerly. “Where you learn how to help people properly.”

Nessarose placed her hand over Elphaba’s arm—gentle. “And where people learn who they can rely on,” she added softly.

Elphaba fell quiet before taking a deep breath and biting back her nerves, “What’s your name?” She asked, “Your real name” she added as she felt Nessa’s and your gazes on her.

“My name?” You smiled sweetly. “ My name is (Y/n), (Y/n) Gale.” The Thropp sisters smiled, and as Nessa offered to walk you back to the square, Elphaba stood back, mumbling your name to herself as it felt like honey on her lips.

She saw both you and her sister preparing to leave, Elphaba glanced back at you.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly. “For listening.”

You turned, meeting her dark eyes with your (e/c) ones, and smiled. “Anytime,” you winked at her. "That's what friends are for."

Elphaba blushed a dark flush, repeating the word 'friends' over and over inside her head. She had never had friends, just Dulcibear and Nessa. She smiled softly, her heart warming at the thought of you being her first friend. Elphaba walked away lighter than she’d felt in a long long while, meanwhile Nessarose walked away certain.

Because hope was a dangerous thing.

And you—kind, grounding, endlessly attentive (y/n)—were already becoming something Nessarose would not let go of.

After saying goodbye –more like a ‘See you soon’– to Nessa, you were walking the edge of Munchkinland, the celebration thinning into dismantled garlands and tired laughter, Morrible’s team were packing everything to go back to the Emerald city when you heard someone muttering furiously to himself behind a stack of overturned crates.

“No, no—too late, too stupid—”

“Are you all right?” Your head peeked from behind the crate and Boq yelped.

He spun around so fast he nearly knocked over the crates, hat slipping sideways in his unruly red curls as he stared at you like you’d appeared out of his thoughts rather than the path.

“Oh! I—Good Witch—I mean—Miss—”

“You don’t have to call me that,” you said quickly. “I told you my name, earlier. Besides you didn’t before.”

His ears turned red. “Right. Yes. I just—sorry.”

You smiled, easing yourself onto the edge of one of the crates, silver dress pooling around you. “What’s wrong?”

Boq hesitated, then shrugged, the gesture too big for his narrow shoulders.

“They’re taking everything down already,” he said. “It feels like if I don’t say things right away, they disappear.”

You tilted your head curiously. “What things?”

Boq swallowed.

“That it mattered. Today. You being here.” Your expression softened as Boq’s cheeks bloomed a deep red. “It mattered to me.”

You looked at him with a soft gaze, your hands held his as you looked up at him. “ Then I’m glad  I came”

“I heard you’re leaving,” Boq said quickly, before his courage could evaporate. “Back to the Emerald City.” He sat down next to you, with an appropiate distance between him and you.

“Yes,” you replied. “The Wizard wants to introduce me properly. To all Oz.”

Boq nodded too hard, too fast. “Of course!! That makes sense. You belong somewhere bigger.”

At that you frowned softly. “I don’t know if I belong anywhere yet.”

He laughed, a brittle little thing. “Everyone belongs somewhere.”

You studied him for a moment, then reached out—gently straightening his crooked hat, hand brushing some of his curls into place and Boq went very still and very red.

“You were very brave today,” you said. “Coming up to me like that.”

“I wasn’t brave,” he blurted. “I was terrified. I almost burst into tears.”

“That’s what bravery usually feels like, Boq.” He stared at you like you had handed him the moon and stars, a small smile on his lips as his ears burned red.

“I don’t suppose,” Boq began, then stopped, then started again. “I don’t suppose you’ll remember me… After everything.”

Your brow creased in surprise. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“There will be so many people,” he blurted out, as if it was obvious. “Important ones.”

You smiled softly. “Boq, you were the first person to speak to me as a person. Not a symbol.”

His breath hitched.

“That doesn’t disappear,” you added, then reached into your hair, undoing a hairpin you though was too much, and pressed a silk ribbon into his palm— silver, with embroidered crystals and pearls. faint blue thread woven through it, stiching a starry sky.

“I wore this today,” you said. “If you ever feel like things are getting too loud… hold onto it.”

Boq closed his fingers around it like a vow. “I will,” he said. “I won’t forget you.”

As you stood up from the crate, you smiled “Neither will I.” Then you hesitated, but ended up leaning forward and kissing his cheek—quick, warm but above all sincere.

A thank-you.

But Boq felt it like a brand, forever claiming him yours.

As you walked away towards Morrible who seemed to be waiting, he stayed exactly where he was. He didn’t follow as his heart screamed, he didn’t call out as his throat wanted. He simply stood there, ribbon clutched to his chest, heart pounding with a hope that had no language yet—only shape. ‘She noticed me’, he thought with the silliest smile on his red face. And as the green banners of Oz rose in the distance, Boq smiled faintly to himself and whispered the lie he would spend years trying to make true: “She’ll come back.”

The green bullet train waited like a promise that hummed.

Steam curled around its polished sides, emerald light glinting off brass rails as you stood on the platform, hands folded tightly at your waist. The crowd had thinned, but not disappeared. They never did now, wherever she went, Oz leaned closer.

Boq was there—just at the edge of the small crowd. He didn’t wave. He only watched, ribbon tucked safely into his vest, eyes memorizing the way the light touched your hair. When you turned and smiled—brief, searching—his chest tightened as his thoughts raved ‘She’s looking for me’, he told himself and as he caugh your eye, he waved clumsily.

Then the whistle blew, and the man called for all passengers aboard.

Nessarose clutched her chair, knuckles white as she stood next to her father and her half-sister.

“She doesn’t belong to him,” she whispered to Elphaba, though her eyes never left your silver form. “They’ve already started saying it... That she’s his.”

Elphaba frowned, confused.

“The Wizard is good,” she said, the words rehearsed, cherished. “If he’s chosen her, it means—”

“It means he saw her first,” Nessarose replied sharp, like a knife through butter.

You approached the Thropp family, shaking their father’s hand, then leaned down, kneeling before Nessa and taking her hands without hesitation.

“We'll see eachother again,” you promised. “At Shiz. I won’t disappear.”

Nessarose smiled sweetly, cheeks rosy. Inside, something coiled and decided: I will make sure of it.

Elphaba stood apart, green skin vivid against the platform’s stone.

“You’ll like Oz, especially the Emerald City,” she said earnestly. “The Wizard listens. He really listens. If anyone can help Oz be better—it’s him.”

You searched her face as your hands held hers. “You believe in him.”

Elphaba nodded, flustered as her hands held yours. “With everything I have.” then you squeezed her hand.

“Then I’ll believe too.” You smiled, "For both of us."

Elphaba watched you board the train, heart lifting with pride and something sharper—something like fear that had no name yet.

She’ll make him see what I see, Elphaba thought. She’ll make him good...

The train surged forward, green blurring into motion.

Inside you took a seat by the window, pressing your palm to the glass as Munchkinland slipped away. Then you felt the pull—not magic, not exactly—more like gravity rearranging itself around.

Oz was calling.

The Wizard stood alone. Below him, the Emerald City shimmered—gears turning, lights aligning, banners unfurling with exquisite timing. Morrible had done well, the city was ready.

She is ready, he corrected himself, as he adjusted his gold cuffs, breathing slowly.

“We’re on schedule,” Morrible had said earlier. “The people are eager. They’re already calling her yours.”

The Wizard smiled thinly. “No. I am hers.”

Morrible had arched a brow. “Careful.”

“She fell from the sky,” he continued, almost reverent. “Do you know what Oz does when it sees a miracle? It kneels. And when Oz kneels, it wants a hand to hold.”

He turned to the mirror, not to admire himself, –well kinda— but to practice absence. Humility. Wonder.

“I won’t cage her,” he said. “I’ll frame her.”

Morrible’s lips curved. “And if she resists?”

“She won’t,” he replied softly. “I’ll give her purpose. Applause. A place where her kindness becomes law.” He paused. “And if she ever tries to leave,” he added, voice barely above a whisper, “she’ll have to tear Oz apart to do it.”

The Emerald City rose like a jewel forced out of the earth, and although technically you had been living there, you had never truly seen it. So you experienced the wonder of seeing it’s green marble shine from the train’s windows, their banners unfurling. Including a new blue one, where you could distinguish yourself, in your silver gown and head dress, in bold silver letters it said ‘THE GOOD WITCH OF OZ’. As the train slowed, the music outside the station swelled—carefully timed, perfectly placed. And as you stepped onto the platform, the crowd erupted, chanting your name though you had never told it to them properly.

Flowers rained down as more banners unfurled: WELCOME HOME, GOOD WITCH.

Your breath caught in your throat and somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispered: This is too fast.

But then the Wizard appeared—hands open, smile gentle, warm eyes bright with something that looked dangerously like relief. “Welcome home,” he said, holding your hand to his lips, kissing it sweetly. You smiled back at him and Oz exhaled—satisfied… 

For now.

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ...