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At the highest peak in the Land of Oz stood a tower so tall it vanished into the clouds. The weather there was eternally unstable—sunshine and storms shifting without warning—and no one dared approach it.
Rumors whispered that a woman lived there. Some said she once governed Oz itself, until she angered the Good Witch and was imprisoned at the top of the mountain as punishment.
The people of Oz lived on stories. They loved telling them, embellishing them, reshaping them—yet never once did anyone think to seek the truth. The rumors passed from mouth to mouth, eventually becoming stage plays performed purely for entertainment.
Just like now.
The audience laughed heartily, clapping along as the performance reached its climax.
“I’ve heard the tower is always filled with screams and laughter,” one spectator whispered to their companion.
“Makes you wonder who’s locked up there.”
“So there really is someone inside?”
A deliberately deep male voice suddenly joined their conversation.
“Well, of course. Everyone knows that. And there are always more flying monkeys around that mountain than anywhere else. Must be someone awful locked up there! Do you think the Wicked Witch might not be dead after all?”
The speaker jumped slightly but answered anyway.
“The Good Witch said she was dead! Don’t scare me like that!”
“Oh my oh my… no wonder I can’t leave,” the man muttered.
The group continued chatting excitedly, completely unaware that the man with half his face hidden beneath a scarf had already walked away.
Whatever the rumors, today was another peaceful day in Oz.
But peace was the last thing awaiting the former Wizard. Old debts had a habit of resurfacing.
He glanced nervously at the sky before hurrying into an abandoned barn. Grabbing a handle beside the door, he pulled hard. Hidden gears groaned to life, and the roof slowly split open. He moved to light the burner of the hot-air balloon—then hesitated.
Flying monkeys.
With a frustrated groan, he raked a hand through his hair. That was when he noticed the white feather tucked beside his tall hat.
An idea formed.
High in the tower, the woman stood by the window, brushing her hair while gazing at the sky. Her thoughts drifted back to the blonde girl’s words.
“I think you’ll adapt very well to a life in captivity. I hope you won’t disappoint me, Madam Morrible.”
That naïve smile had been the ultimate insult. Anger flared, and she hurled the brush to the floor. Looking back up, she noticed a black dot approaching in the distance.
A white dove.
At a time like this—who would bother reaching out to her?
There was only one possible answer.
“So storms and lightning still couldn’t kill you,Useless man.”she scoffed softly.
She could have summoned a bolt of lightning and fried the bird instantly, releasing her pent-up frustration. But curiosity won. She let the dove land.
It dropped a small parcel onto the floor.
“Didn’t think anyone would still remember you. But we haven’t forgotten what you did to us! Enjoy your prison! Coo!”
Birds had excellent memories.
“Yes, yes,” Morrible replied sweetly, picking up the parcel. As soon as she turned away, she rolled her eyes.
She tore off the wrapping paper. Inside was a beautifully prepared gift box—green with a white ribbon.
If this were a festival gift, she might have accepted it gladly. Unfortunately, she knew the sender far too well.
Even when he’s fallen this far, he still insists on keeping up appearances. Typical.
The moment she loosened the ribbon, the lid sprang open and dozens of paper butterflies burst out, filling the room. She grabbed one at random.
On its wings was written a single word:
Sorry.
She dropped it and looked to the bottom of the box.
Her hairpin.
“Do you even own a hairpin?” she muttered, an image of the former Wizard clinging to iron bars flashing through her mind.
She didn’t realize her lips had curved upward.
With practiced ease, she pinned up her hair, then turned back to the dove.
“Tell him this—and only this,” she said coolly.
“Truth or Dare.”
————————
By the time the dove returned, night had fallen. It also relieved itself squarely on the Wizard’s hat. He accepted this without complaint—after all, cooperation came with conditions.
What truly unsettled him was the message.
He knew exactly what Truth or Dare meant.
It was one of the many reasons he had become the Wicked Witch’s father.
But there was no time to think about the past.
He reignited the burner, lifted the balloon, and steered it toward the tower.
The wind favored him. He arrived safely at the platform outside her window—perhaps due to her magic.
“Hello, Rapunzel,” he called. “Mind letting down your brains this time?”
“Give me one reason not to strike you dead with lightning.”she said.
And so they met again.
Separated by iron bars.
“You said you hated being betrayed,” she said coldly, “but when you left, you looked positively delighted.”
“I didn’t forget you,” he replied. “Things were rushed. I had an annoying little girl beside me.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance, making him flinch. Only then did he realize—not a single flying monkey was in sight.
“Where did they all go?” he asked warily.
“Why do you think Glinda managed to dethrone you?” Morrible sneered. “She’s better at winning people hearts. There’s some grand ball tonight. They’ve all gone. To them, I’m just a woman who can only rage at the sky.”
He said nothing, instead pulling out a small green bottle.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Never mind. Step back from the window. This stuff looks like water, but it melts things. I’d rather it not melt you.”
She stepped back. He poured the liquid onto the bars; a sharp, acrid stench filled the air. Moments later, the iron gave way.
“So you had this all along and never told me,” she remarked, climbing out.
“Careful,” he said, guiding her hand through the broken frame.
They couldn’t clearly see each other until they were aboard the balloon, firelight
illuminating their faces.
Both looked exhausted.
But her eyes still shone—at least, to him.
“So,” he asked quietly, “what’s your answer?”
“Truth.”
“Didn’t expect that.”
“Do you remember the day we met?” she said. “We were playing Truth or Dare then too.”
“Yes?”
He sighed deeply.
“That was the day Elphaba was conceived.”
“…Wait. Are you saying the woman I told you to seduce—the one-night affair—was her mother?”
He nodded.
“My Oz…”
She covered her face, then paused as realization dawned.
She studied him. Unshaven. Dark circles. Clothes barely maintained. He was still talking—still clinging to pride. Habit, perhaps.
“So you’re leaving again?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She was about to agree when he continued.
“Elphaba is like you—unyielding, confident in her magic. She just lacks your flexibility.”
“Don’t dump your daughter’s issues on me.”
“Don’t you have family?”
“You know me well enough,” Morrible replied flatly. “I may lie often, but I really am an orphan.”
“And you don’t want a family,” she continued.
“You just want unconditional support. Like the people of Oz. Otherwise, you could’ve lived a normal life.”
“But you can’t stand that,” she laughed softly.
“Just like how we don’t even know each other’s real names—only these ridiculous titles. We chose this.”
“Glinda told you about Elphaba, didn’t she?”
Morrible smirked inwardly with a look which say she knew .
“If you truly cared, you wouldn’t have runaway ,” she said. “My great Wizard.”
He laughed bitterly. “I never should’ve played that game with you. I thought you were as innocent as the people of Oz.”
“If I were innocent,” she replied lightly, “I wouldn’t have stayed by your side so long.”
He fell silent, guiding the balloon forward.
They drifted together like unstable clouds—close, fragile, ready to scatter.
Morrible could control the weather, but temperature was another matter entirely. Oz was a land of eternal spring, yet the sky was always several degrees colder than the ground—especially at night.
The Wizard, funded by his remaining resources, had dressed himself in layers: fur-lined coat, thick gloves, scarf, and hat. Morrible, however, had fled in haste, throwing on nothing but her night robe before following him.
The wind slipped through the fabric, and without thinking, she pulled the robe tighter around herself.
“Do you have another coat?” she asked.
The Wizard turned back only then and noticed she was trembling slightly. At that moment, a familiar spark of mischief flared in him. Whether it was revenge for her earlier remarks, old habits resurfacing, or a combination of both—he knew the answer himself.
“I do,” he said calmly. “But unfortunately, I’m wearing them all.”
“Then take one off,” Morrible replied, already reaching for his buttons.
He took a step back.
“I could,” he said. “But what do I get in return?”
Morrible stared at him—this man wrapped head to toe in fur, gloves, wool, and felt, who still had the nerve to complain about the cold—and nearly fainted from irritation.
Too tired to argue, she lunged forward to grab one anyway.
Suddenly, two familiar screeches pierced the night.
They both turned at the same time.
Flying monkeys was chasing them.
They were closing in fast, their wild alarms echoing through the sky, screaming that escape was not an option.
“Use your magic!” the Wizard shouted.
“Wind, lightning—anything! I don’t want to get captured!”
“I already used a major spell to get you here!” Morrible snapped. “If I cast another large-scale weather spell, I’ll pass out!”
“I’ll protect you!” he shouted back. “Trust me—or get caught. Which one?”
Morrible clenched her teeth.
Then she raised her arms and swept them across the sky.
The air changed instantly. The Wizard felt it—the same pressure, the same pull—as the day he first arrived in Oz. He watched Morrible’s silhouette against the storm, and in his mind, it overlapped with the image of a girl standing by a campfire long ago.
A violent gust surged forward, hurling the balloon ahead while ripping through the air behind them. The flying monkeys were scattered like leaves.
Just as Morrible had warned—she collapsed.
The balloon spun wildly out of control. The Wizard wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, silently praying the wind would carry them somewhere—anywhere—safe.
Clouds, after all, never truly disappear.
They only change shape.
Their encounters had always been born from collapse.
Layer upon layer, each time building something unstable, each time finding passion in the imbalance. They thrived in it.
The balloon crashed.
Morrible was the first to wake. She opened her eyes to see the basket looming above her, and then felt arms wrapped around her body. She lifted his hand—no response.
Unconscious.
She tried to lift the basket herself. Futile.
Reluctantly, she shook him.
Perhaps luck was still on their side. The Wizard stirred and woke with only a slight push.
Together, they managed to lift the basket and take in their surroundings. Under the moonlight, they found themselves in a half-abandoned tulip field. The Wizard stared at the land, already mentally critiquing the cosmetic infrastructure projects he’d once approved. Morrible, meanwhile, examined the damage to the balloon.
A massive tear.
She rolled her eyes hard and dropped onto the dirt without a shred of dignity.
“Perfect,” she snapped. “Now no one’s going anywhere. Nothing ever goes the way I plan.”
The Wizard looked over.
“We can patch it,” he said calmly. “You remember how I got here in the first place, don’t you?”
He knew she was venting. He approached and extended his hand once more.
This time, she didn’t take it—but she stood up on her own.
Her pride refused to let her appear weak in front of him. Not now. Not after everything. Not in a fate that had made her the most despised woman in Oz.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
This time, it wasn’t quiet. It even carried a teasing lilt.
She heard it clearly and turned.
His face was smeared with dirt. A small cut marked his skin. He looked worse than when they’d first met that night.
And yet—he was smiling.
That familiar, placating smile.
Morrible felt her heart race.
At the strangest moments, she always found him unbearably attractive.
Without hesitation, she walked toward him and began undoing his clothes.
“Wait,” the Wizard laughed softly, catching her hand.
“You asked what you could get,” she said, not even looking up. “This.”
She continued.
“I admit—I wanted revenge at first. But this…”
“When did you become so talkative?” she interrupted.
The air shifted. Competition flared.
He stopped smiling.
She, however, smiled wider.
They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds—then mouths met. Fingers traced skin with intent, each seeking the other’s weak point, each refusing to surrender first.
Morrible pulled aside the edge of her robe, guiding his hand to her chest. His fingers traced her curves, his lips following, lingering before moving lower. She watched him, felt the pause of his breath, the deliberate descent into shadow.
The night breeze made her press closer into his arms. He took it as encouragement.
Heat flooded her face. She felt every movement—how her body responded instinctively to his touch.
Too familiar.
He knew her body far too well.
Her hand found him in return, searching for a crack in his composure. In the moonlight, she could only see his eyes fixed on her—unwavering.
In the darkness, their lips hovered close but did not touch. Foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in, greedily memorizing expressions, until one finally yielded.
Silver hair danced wildly with their movements. Time had been cruel, but it had never dulled their passion. Morrible let him enter her again—not for pleasure alone, but for the contact, the closeness, the sound of his voice against her ear.
For the feeling of being needed.
“Without me, you can’t escape,” she said between movements.
“Without me, you’ll never be the Great Wizard,” she continued.
“You need me—don’t you?”
She asked again and again, matching each move when he inside her.
“Yes,” he breathed at the height of release.
Morrible accepted the answer with satisfaction.
A good magic trick always required both a skilled assistant and a willing audience.
They had always been exactly that for each other.
“I swear, no one here listens to me!” the man paced irritably before the campfire.
“I’ve been here three months! The moment I say I’m not from here, they just start chanting ‘Great Oz!’ I just want to go home!”
“These people like good news,” the girl replied calmly, adding wood to the fire.
“You should know—since the Grimmerie was last opened, only a handful have ever been able to read it. To them, magic equals authority.”
“Then why don’t your Wizards teach people how to read?” he snapped.
“Because they’re afraid,” she said simply. “These people are innocent. If they knew magic could be learned, what power would be left?”
“So magic equals power?” he scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. In my world, magic is childish. A joke.”
He tossed a deck of cards into the fire.
“You know,” she said after a pause, “since you fell from the sky… perhaps Emerald City holds the answer to going home.”
“And to me,” she added, “your magic is no different from the magic here.”
“Maybe,” he said slowly, staring at the flames, “if I ever see real magic, I’ll change my mind.”
He picked up an empty bottle and placed it on a stump.
“Play a game with me,” he said suddenly. “If it point to someone, and we choose for the other. A Truth—or a Dare.”
“And if there’s no one to point to?” she asked, closing her book.
“Then do both,” he grinned.
They never forgot that game since than.
———————————
They sat once more by a campfire. The wreckage of the balloon lay nearby, completely ruined. Neither of them cared.
Wrapped together in a blanket, the Wizard rested his chin atop Morrible’s head. They stared into the fire in silence.
“Thinking back,” he said, “your ambition was always about controlling Oz, wasn’t it?”
“Otherwise,” he added quietly, “how convenient that my secret lover happened to be the governor’s wife.”
“You benefited from her too,” Morrible replied, squeezing his hand. “Power doesn’t appear out of nowhere.”
“Some people are born charming,” she continued lightly. “Others do everything wrong. Like my student—your daughter. A perfect example.”
He hugged her tighter.
“If I said I regretted not having sex with you more when we were younger,” he asked, “would you hit me?”
“Yes.”
“Fair.”
She tapped him lightly. He exaggerated a groan.
Beneath the blanket, their skin felt warmer.
Morning light crept across the horizon.
No one knew what weather the day would bring.
No one knew what a single choice might lead to.
But the sun rose all the same.