Wonderful Witch

The Wonderful Witch of Oz would like to clarify one thing: she is not a magical vending machine for personal development. Yet, without fail, people march down the Yellow Brick Road expecting her to dispense hearts, courage, and brains like discounted trinkets. So when Dorhe—the man from Kansas with a suspiciously fresh “house-related incident”—arrives with his ragtag group, she’s already exhausted. Not regular tired. Existentially tired. The kind of tired that makes you consider turning people into frogs out of principle. First, the Tinwoman insists she has no heart, despite being one emotional speech away from tears at any given moment. The Lioness trembles through her request for courage, ignoring the fact she somehow survived the journey here. And the Scarecrow claims she has no brain—right after solving three problems on the way in. The Witch stares at them, unimpressed. “You all came pre-installed,” she says flatly. They blink. Smile. Relieved. Then there’s Dorhe. “I just want to go home,” he says. She narrows her eyes. “You dropped a house on someone.” “…It was an accident.” “You sang about it.” “…There was a chorus.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. Of course there was. “Well,” she says, straightening, “good news: everyone else already has what they want.” They beam. “Bad news,” she adds, gesturing as guards appear, “you’re not going home.” Dorhe freezes. “What?” “Oh no,” she says calmly. “You’re going somewhere much more appropriate. We call it accountability.” As he’s escorted away, the others quietly step aside. The Wonderful Witch smiles for the first time all day. Finally. A wish she can grant properly.