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It was December 10th, 1952. There had been quite a bit of fog the past few days and for some strange reason Alice had insisted that everyone wear a mask if they went outside. Dorothy had been been annoyed at the request early on but after seeing the black and yellow pea soupers, she thought better of it. After Wendy had told the others of a spike in her patient load the past Friday, the Kansas girl realized that her delusional friend had been strangely prudent in her warning. It was now Wednesday, and it seemed as though London was just starting to catch on to what had happened. While people often did have some trouble breathing for a bit this time of the year, it seemed it was more pronounced now.
Dorothy knew it would not have affected her at all. Ever since being a part of Ozma's court she couldn't get sick. While she could feel pain she recovered from all injuries rapidly, though she was not interested in testing her limits. When her friend bestowed the royal mantel upon her it meant that Dorothy was immortal, even beyond the abilities of the Powder of Life. The Wizard had seen to it that Dorothy would still age, up to a point, but she was now immortal and possibly indestructible.
Oz was a magical place, but it was a fairy world and, as Dorothy had discovered, was not meant for normal folks. The Powder of Life worked too well so that everyone in Oz remained the same age. There was no death, save for that from accidents or pure malice, but there was no growth either. Babies would remain infants, children would not blossom into their youth, and no one really changed.
The Wizard had been taught true magic by Glinda, and when he told a twelve year old girl that she would age, Dorothy felt as though he had cursed her. In fact he had, for the magic of Oz was that of the fairy, who viewed mortality as the most cruel punishment. But Dorothy came to realize that was a curse in a very different way. The long lived can only remember so much.
Dorothy had seen what time did to the minds of those nearing death, how they were trapped in their body when their mind had vanished long ago. When those they loved would keep them living far beyond the time they had died. Prisoners of compassion. As time had gone on, Dorothy realized that Ozma often had trouble remembering what she had done even a few days ago, and events even further in the past, if she retained any memory at all, she remembered as if they were a story that had happened to someone else. Ozma knew she had once been Tip, but there was little of the boy left in her. She worked hard to make Oz a happy place, but it was the happiness of ignorance. Much like the princess, there was no growth and eventually Dorothy outgrew her friend.
That had been a hard realization. Dorothy had explored all of Oz, and changed it, but Ozma was content to improve the lives of others and not challenge them, or herself. Eventually, Dorothy had left because there was a wider world than even Oz, where people changed and grew, and suffered, and died, and passed on their legacy to the next generation.
Dorothy could not have children, thanks to her royal mantel, that had caused her some discomfort when she first began to feel more youthful longings, but in time she was able to overcome that. It was harder when she realized that Aunt Em and Uncle Henry were beginning to forget as well. It was how Oz worked, to be happy meant that you only got to keep so many memories. The time before they lived in Oz was like a faded black and white movie, they could barely remember how they had met, they didn't remember their childhoods, so many Christmas', Thanksgivings, even the twister, it was all gone to them.
But the worst was when Dorothy realized it was happening to her. She had stayed in Oz for several years by then. From time to time she would leave, sometimes with her friends, but after hearing about the horrors of the Great War, and the Depression afterward, she had vowed to never leave Oz again.
And then the day came when she couldn't remember something.
She had asked her friends, her Aunt and Uncle, and spent a week thinking about it and it would not reveal itself.
She had forgotten her middle name. As had everyone else.
Frantically she had wracked her mind for other memories.
When was her birthday?
What were her parents names?
What month had it been when she landed in Oz?
Nothing.
Like everyone else in the fairy country, she was forgetting.
At the end of that week, she left Oz. She would still come back to celebrate the holidays with her friends and family, and they always enjoyed her company, but to them she always seemed gone briefly, no more than a week or two. Considering how that land worked it might as well have been that short.
Wendy had described Peter as only being able to remember very little, he could see drastic changes but never the small steps. He didn't remember all of his Lost Boys, and the games that he played were for his amusement alone, he didn't understand the consequences of his actions because he never suffered.
Would that be her someday? Not caring what she did so long as she was happy?
Could she really be Dorothy Gale then?
She had already lost part of herself, what more would she lose in the fullness of time?
The woman from Kansas sipped some coffee and set to work writing about the Smog of London. Perhaps her writing would help someone to fix the problem.