A/N: I wrote this yesterday in my red notebook hurriedly, so don't badger me if it's not up to your standards. It took a while for me to name it, because I couldn't come up with something that fit it. In the end, I chose the current title because of the last line, and because of how, in the musical, the background for the Finale looks like the inner workings of a clock. I don't write for your approval, people, just for your opinion. You can write your opinion but don't bombard me with PMs about how it just didn't work, or something of the sort.

This is probably not going to be oneshot, but it really depends on how many reviews I get, and whether Gina and I feel up to it or not. Review, people! If this is not oneshot, the rest of the chapters will be from Elphaba's point of view, because I find it much harder to write in third person. Or first person, whichever. It'll also be book/musical, because I just can't resist putting book references.

Disclaimer: C'est n'est pas a moi.

A sharp sting of stale air entered her already protesting lungs as Dorothy flung the water at her. Her brown eyes widened in shock, and her mouth formed into an elegant O.

"No . . .!" She whispered, and stuck out her hand in a desperate attempt to shield herself from the fluid that she considered so deadly to her. As the water came nearer and nearer to her, almost in slow motion, she shut her eyes, ready to accept her cruel but longed-for fate. She was surprised at the sudden new feeling that filled her, and found it hard to breathe. Fighting for air, she finally managed to shove enough breath into her screaming lungs to focus on the feeling; it wasn't pain, definitely not pain, but it felt the same way you feel a second before retching. Or when you were . . .falling? The way your innards were being slowly escaping your body mouthwards. Bemused, she forced her eyes open and saw she was falling, and she could see above her an open space with a block of wood that looked surprisingly like a door, or a trapdoor . . .

After what seemed like an age, she crash-landed on the rocks and sand that littered the area below. The sharp edge of a boulder sliced through her side, leaving a gory gash. She groaned in pain and got up, clutching her side, and wondered why in the world she couldn't have fallen in a more comfortable place, like the bed of sand around the rocks. It was almost as if someone had planted the rocks there to inflict pain upon her. But this was no time to complain, because she had to be thankful that she had survived the farm girl's attack. Hesitantly she trudged over to the sand, the sticky, ruby liquid blemishing her hands and her dress, or what was left of it. After sinking down on her knees, she ripped off a fraction of her already ragged dress and tied it around her waist, to stop her from losing too much blood, and the gap made by the rip revealed more of her bruised legs. But she had already lost enough to feel tired, with the addition of attempting to battle the unbelievably clever farm girl. And she was cold, because although the water hadn't killed her, it hadn't helped her; she was completely drenched from head to foot. Exhausted, appalled, and in pain, she lay down on the relatively comfortable sand and fell asleep--or fainted--instantly.

"Fae . . .Fae, wake up . . ."

She opened her eyes and yawned, attempting to focus on the blur in front of her. Apparently, it was morning, because a fraction of the blur was shining annoyingly in her eyes in a way that only the sun could. When she finally got her eyes to function, she was pleasantly shocked to see Fiyero kneeling in front of her, stroking her hair gently in an effort to wake her; because shaking her awake would be just daft, in her state. He was smiling at her, and she smiled back drowsily, perplexed.

"How . . .?" She inquired, trying to grasp the situation. All of it had turned out surprisingly better than she had assumed. His smile grew wider, threatening both ears.

"Your scarecrow spell worked, Fae!" He said excitedly. "It wore off after a while, but it worked!" She lifted an eyebrow, racking her brains for any helpful memories that would assist her in comprehending what exactly was happening here. Nothing.

"What spell? I didn't cast a--" She began, and then it dawned on her. "Oh . . .Oh! That worked? I never thought. It was all just random chanting, you know."

"Well, the 'random chanting' worked marvelously." Fiyero said, and helped her up. They embraced lovingly. Finally they broke apart, and walked further out, where there was much more sand and fewer sharp rocks. Her side was still throbbing a little but it wasn't unbearable pain. She turned to Fiyero.

"Where are we going to go?" She asked, her voice a murmur. He frowned a bit, thinking.

"I have another castle way over there." He said slowly, pointing at the dunes were a miniature sandstorm seemed to be brewing.

"How many castles do you have?" She said, cocking an eyebrow, and he chuckled.

"A fair few." Smiling slightly, they gingerly began walking in the direction of the castle. They would have to start a new, isolated life. She had thought of mentioning Glinda, but she knew there was no point; it would just be a waste of her breath. She knew the answer would be a brief 'no'. But in time, she would find out.

Everyone would find out, in time.