Nessarose Thropp; The Wicked Witch of the East, Glinda's old friend from Shiz was dead, crushed under a house of all things. It was going to be a ghastly mess to clean up; they'll probably need shovels to scrape the body off the ground. Glinda shuddered just thinking about it, imagining flesh and mashed organs spattered on the yellow brick. Nasty.

She stood by the green, marble vanity in her suite in the Emerald Palace. She gazed at her reflection, her 38 year old face concealed by layers of cosmetics. She could hardly believe her life had come to this, her friends; dear loud mouth Elphie, scarred by politics, Fiyero, vanished, Boq and suicidal Milla brainwashed by the Wizard's propaganda, Nessa, a bloody pancake, Crope and Tibbet, dead and everyone else consumed by society. And then there was herself, Glinda the Good on the other side of it all yet she had let everyone to rot. She was almost forty and had done nothing with her life.

But then again, all she was was an appealing face to represent the Wizard, nothing more. She took orders, she had no mind of her own – perhaps she was even under a spell from when Morrible summoned them and Nessa to become adepts or something. Well if she was puppet, she'll make herself immune to manipulation. By being already defective.

It was a start wasn't it?

She stood still for a moment, listening for footsteps despite the fact that the door was locked. It was just instinctive to check. She heard nothing and opened a drawer, hardly believing she was doing this. She took out a bag of vibrant, white powder, the texture of flour and carefully tipped some of it onto the vanity. She took the flat side of a comb and chopped it up into a neat series of strips before leaning over and inhaling.

She was full of elation and unaware of the stupid, wide eyed grin she had plastered on her face. She flew in her bubble, dressed in the most outrageous outfit complete with a cheap tiara she had since she was ten and her old training wand from Shiz. But hell! She was Glinda the Good! She was a…a fairy and might as well be dressed appropriately.

She was humming an upbeat, jolly tune as she looked down on Colwen grounds, houses blown over, years of topsoil scattered all over the place, seeping into every nook and cranny, and troops of paramedics marching grimly from place to place like an undamaged beacon among the mess.

Their helmets were shiny!

She flew, faster than she had ever flown, zipping along air currents and waving enthusiastically when she came across a flock of geese or was it Geese? Geese were nice, they deserved a good wave and she was practically bouncing in her bubble, waving both hands in the air and shouting:

"Heeeeey!" The Geese turned their heads; their bird brows raised. They sped away, muttering amongst one another.

She was approaching the centre of Colwen Grounds, she could see the house, made of dull plaster with an even duller wooden porch. And there was a girl, perhaps around 12, dressed in a blue checkered dress and carrying a basket with some kind of rat dog in it. Or perhaps it was a Dog? She'll have to ask. She emerged from her bubble and stood, feeling incredibly light like she could run a marathon across Oz. In fact, she couldn't really feel the ground, it was as if she was walking on air. She grinned in elation, forgetting how idiotic she must look. Dorothy stared at her in shock.

"Now I know I'm not in Kansas." she muttered.

"Are you a good Witch or a bad Witch?" asked Glinda as it was the first thing that came to mind. What did the girl consider herself? Killing someone like this.

"Who me?" asked Dorothy and Glinda nodded. "Well I…..I'm not a Witch at all. I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas."

"Oh!" What about the dog - or was it a Dog? She couldn't even tell the difference any more, hardly anybody could nowadays. "Well then…..is that the Witch?" she pointed her wand at the dog or Dog. It's possible for Dogs to be Witches right? She didn't see why not, in fact she could see everything! It was all so much clearer – the vibrant blue of the smashed fountain, the rich brown of up turned soil. All so pretty.

"You mean Toto?" Dorothy looked closer at Glinda, her eyes narrowed while Glinda bobbed her head up and down. Yes. "Well Toto's…..my dog."

So it's a dog!

"Well then I'm a little muddled!" she giggled like a drunken college girl. She could almost feel the drugs coursing through her veins like engine fuel, her hands twitching slightly. "Cuz the Munchkins called me because a new Witch had just dropped a house on the Wicked Witch of the East! And there's the house and here you are and that's all that's left of the Wicked Witch of the East!"

Even in her state of pure happiness, she could barely bring herself to glance at the remains of Nessarose Thropp; those striped stockings Elphie had given her, which Ama Clutch had knitted when they were first years. And the shoes the Witch's father had made, that vexed Elphie into a state loathing. Dorothy gasped at the sight, her eyes wide in horror.

"So what the Munchkins want to know is if you're a good Witch or a bad Witch!" What are you Dorothy? Good, bad?

"But I've already told you, I'm not a Witch at all." Glinda frowned. Wrong context. "Witches are old and ugly." The Munchkins snickered in their hiding places and Glinda joined them, their laughter contagious. What an incredibly childish proclamation, drawn directly from a fairytale. Dorothy looked startled and flinched at the sound, whipping her head around to face the bushes. "What was that?" she asked.

"The Munchkins! They're laughing because I am a Witch! I am Glinda the Good Witch of the North!" and she sputtered with laughter at the statement, the outrageousness of it all. She could hear the Munchkins muttering amongst each other, staring at Glinda with quizzical expressions. Dorothy looked shocked and immediately began to fuss over herself, frantically dusting the grit of Kansas soil off her blouse, straightening her dress the best she could after being swept up by a tornado and falling from the sky. Then she curtsied awkwardly.

"You are!" she exclaimed. "Oh I beg your pardon but I've never heard of a beautiful Witch before!"

"No only bad Witches are ugly!" Glinda replied, secretly mocking the girl and giggling as Dorothy stood still in awe. It was hilarious! The girl was completely oblivious she was being made fun of. "The Munchkins are happy because you have freed them from the Wicked Witch of the East." Glinda was having fun with the girl, sarcastically drawing out the title of Wicked Witch, seething. Dorothy didn't notice.

"Oh but if you please, what are Munchkins?"

"Munchkins are the little people that live in this land." The Munchkins tittered at the insult and Glinda's grin expanded. Hah! she thought. Little people like…like gnomes! Take that you small minded sons of bitches! She was feeling unusually bold. "It's Munchkinland and you are their national heroine my dear." Dorothy looked terrified at the prospect and was about to retort when Glinda quickly turned away. "It's all right!" she called to the pissed off Munchkins. "You may all come out and greet her!"

The Munchkins emerged from the underbrush, scowling at Glinda, their eyes narrowed and their arms crossed.

They didn't look happy Glinda observed. Well that wouldn't do, she needed them to be happy if they were going to properly greet the child, and children don't react well with angry people. Glinda racked her mucked up brain. What makes people happy? She asked herself. Something uplifting I suppose, like…like a happy tune! Songs always work; in campaigns and to change to mood of things, their catchiness and melodies used as influences. She could give them a happy, catchy song and cheer them up!

Glinda sang the first thing that came to mind.

"Come out; come out, where ever you are…"

Jaws dropped as anger suddenly turned to shock, fear and for some; amusement. The Munchkins stood where they were, having no idea what to make of this spectacle. Frexpar simply walked away. The world had come to an end.

"And meet the young lady who fell from a star!" Dorothy inched away from Glinda, her brow raised.

"She fell from the sky, she fell very far!"

"And Kansas she says is the name of that star!"

She couldn't sing as well as Elphie. Perhaps she could try some vibrato?

"She brings you good news, oh haven't you heard?" She ended up rolling the Rs.

"When she fell out of Kansas, a miracle occurred."

It's a miracle she's not dead, thought Glinda. But she couldn't include that in the song, it was too dark.

"Er it really was no miracle." said Dorothy hesitantly. "The wind started picking up and the house pitched– and there was a Witch! I….I saw her on a broom stick thumbing for a hitch or something, I think she wanted to get out of the storm."

"That's rich." muttered a middle aged Munchkin, rolling his eyes.

"Ding Dong the Witch is dead! Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch!" Glinda sang at the top of her lungs with the most upbeat melody she could muster.

It was her job to deliver the Wizard's bullshit. She wasn't straying from her task; she was merely being outrageous for she figured it wasn't really lying if everything she said was put sarcastically. Plus she enjoyed belting out the hidden truth in her tone, even if it remained hidden for it was truthful nothingness.

"Ding dong the Wicked Witch is dead!" She grinned as the Munchkins stared at her, oblivious to her meaning. It was hilariously pathetic.

"Wake up you sleepy head, rub your eyes get out of bed!"

"Wake up the Wicked Witch is dead!"

"Yeah, she's hookin up with Goblins!" yelled a cocky teenage boy and his neanderthal friends snickered at the remark. It reminded Glinda of Avaric.

"She's gone where the Goblins go, below, below, below"

"Yo – ho, lets open up and sing."

"And ring the bells out."

Ding dong, the merry oh, sing it high, sin it low!"

"Let them know the Wicked Witch is dead!"

That must have cheered the crowd up!

Dorothy looked extremely uneasy, her eyes wide as she exchanged glances with amused, concerned Munchkins who simply shrugged back at her. She shuffled as discreetly as possible away from the crazy woman, not sure if walking away would be rude. So she stayed near Glinda, in front of the crowd until the Mayor of Munchkinland himself boldly strode forward and quickly ushered her away.

Glinda was about to retaliate when an explosion shook her to the core and a plume of red sprung from the ground. Then Elphie emerged; dear grown up Elphie dressed as dark as ever with a cone shaped hat perched on her head and a broom under her arm.

She really did look like a Witch, Glinda decided.