Chapter Text
“The wicked are not defeated, child.” Larena Upland’s gray eyes flickered with sorrow in the candlelight. She gently closed the storybook on her lap. “They’re replaced.”
Glinda propped herself up, her elbows digging into the feather-stuffed pillows. “That can’t be the ending!” she exclaimed. “Where is the knight? The princess with the army? The good witch?”
“The same place where all of us will one day be,” Glinda’s mother replied, tucking her into bed. “Buried and safe in Mother Nature’s arms.”
“They all die?”
Larena placed the ornate hardcover anthology on a pink shelf studded with pearls. “The good are no more immortal than the wicked.”
Glinda turned onto her side, facing the wall. She counted the pleats in the velvet curtains, and let her gaze follow the patterns of flowering vines across the wallpaper. They were far more pleasant to occupy her mind with. “I don’t like your stories.”
“Because they’re not stories. They’re the truth.” The room went dark, and the carved wooden door squeaked shut. The sound of Larena’s heels clicking against the tiles faded as she headed out for another late night of work.
Glinda always believed her mother. She knew there was no point in fighting. But against all she was taught, she would endlessly and relentlessly hope that the truth would one day change for the—
Larena’s shriek pierced the air, turning Glinda’s blood to ice.
Glinda threw aside her covers, nearly tripping on her silk nightgown as she shoved her feet into her slippers and grabbed the stuffed bear from her bed. She burst through the door, her eyes quickly adjusting to the light cast by the dozens of candle-laden magical chandeliers floating overhead. “Mama?” She clutched the bear to her chest, running down the hall. “Are you scared? Is there another spider?”
“Glinda, stay outside!” Her mother’s panicked voice permeated through the door to the tearoom. Which was odd. That door was never closed.
The young girl stopped in her tracks, considering Larena’s words. Larena, who never hoped and never dreamed and always seemed so sad. Glinda’s fingers dug into the worn fabric of her stuffed toy. A good witch didn’t run away.
She opened the door and entered the tearoom.
The candles had been extinguished, leaving behind the faint scent of smoke. Glinda’s hand wandered until she found the sparker tray by the door, and grabbed one of cool, jagged rocks. Holding the sparker to the nearest candle, the way she’d seen her mother and caretakers do in the past, Glinda watched the pink sparks fly from the sparker as it drew closer to the magical candle, until it caught fire. Then the two beside it flickered to life, followed by two more, until the whole chandelier was lit up.
That was all the light she needed to see the crimson stains on the carpet.
“Mama, did you spill something?” Glinda asked. “I’ll call the servants…” Her voice trailed off.
Larena was laying on the carpet, blood seeping through her corset and staining the carpet.
Glinda screamed.
“Hush,” her mother whispered. “You have nothing to fear.”
Glinda screamed and screamed. There were claw marks across Larena’s face, a gaping wound in her stomach. Glinda didn’t have a wand, but she tried casting a spell anyway. “Cuts and blood and broken bone,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “Let her blood never drain, let her wounds be sewn!”
She opened her eyes. Nothing happened. The bloodstains grew on the carpet.
Glinda clutched her toy tighter, sobbing.
A servant burst through the entrance and nearly fainted at the sight. Another arrived, followed by the healer. Someone grabbed Glinda’s arm while the healer knelt at Larena’s side with medical supplies and a magic book. Glinda shook the hand away, lunging for her mother.
Larena turned her head slightly. One eye was swollen shut. The other met Glinda’s terrified gaze. “I’m only leaving to rest, dear,” she whispered.
“No!” Glinda cried. “Rest here! You’re safe here!”
As the servants ushered Glinda out the door, the screaming girl looked back, desperate for one last glimpse of her mother.
But past the blood, the chanting healer, the forgotten tables and china cabinets, and the ornate windows overlooking the Emerald City, she glimpsed a pair of yellow eyes watching from the balcony. The moment she met its gaze, the animal leapt from the banister and disappeared into the city below.
Someone tapped on Glinda’s shoulder. A servant was holding out her stuffed bear. “You dropped Mr. Dove.”
Glinda stared at the toy’s matted brown fur, now stained red in places. But all she could see now in its face were those yellow eyes, and she couldn’t touch its paw without thinking of claws.
“I don’t want it,” she whispered.
The healer has magic, Glinda reminded herself. She could fix anything. In no time, Larena would be healed.
All would be well, so long as Glinda had someone with magic by her side.