You were approaching the top of the tower, The Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy behind you. You’d planned this: pretending she would melt with water, because that’s all that empty headed Oz believed. The Tin Man held an axe, full of rage, ready to attack. The metal of his body glinted dully in the dim light, the scent of oil clinging to him. Dorothy was nervous, but determined, her blue gingham dress contrasting sharply with the stone walls, her small hands clutching the edge of her basket. And the Lion was, well... staying back, his tail twitching nervously, ears flattened against his head.

You could only pray this would all go according to plan as your straw-stuffed legs carried you forward with unnatural stiffness.

You slammed against the door once, the sound echoing through the tower... Twice, wood groaning against your weight... Three times, and it swung open with a creak, revealing the dimly lit chamber beyond.

They were met with her: Elphaba. Standing in the middle of the room, a smirk evident on her face as green skin glowed faintly in the candlelight, her black dress swirling around her ankles like shadows made fabric. The air smelled of ozone and something sweet, like crushed night-blooming flowers.