Disclaimer: I don't own Wicked, or the Wizard of Oz. If I did, it wouldn't be a fanfiction site you'd be reading this on.

I'm really sorry for the length of time it has taken me to upload something. Unfortunately, I have a lot of work from Uni at the time, but I hope to get TToF5 (already nearly complete) uploaded in a fortnight. I put regular updates about progress on my Hot Updates page of my site, please check it out. This new site is quite cool, its got all my fics, plus additional things- extended and original chapters, character descriptions (no spoilers, just summing up who people are/what they look like from information provided throughout the current chapters), and I am now working on a series of illustrations for TToF (yes, really cool!). You can find this site by clicking 'my homepage' on my profile, or going to freewebs forward slash sapphirenightsfanfiction.

Ruby encrusted feet hit cold stone, and Dorothy staggered, trying to keep some semblance of balance before collapsing against the hard floor. She jumped up, her face ecstatic with pleasure as she gazed happily about the surroundings. Then she realised that her surroundings resembled nothing of the Kansas landscape she knew of, and her heart plummeted.

One day after Dorothy's rescue:

One arm supportively resting on the girl's back, Glinda the Good Witch of the North lead Dorothy towards an ornate pair of finely decorated doors. Waiting precious little time after knocking, Glinda thrust one of the huge oak slabs open to admit the young girl before following her in herself. What Dorothy saw within made her mind race in shock and confusion.

Huge stone walls arched out around her, enclosing her. Each stone 'brick' the length of her upper arm, they formed a great corridor around Dorothy. Though she could barely see through the dim light, she could tell that the corridor stretched out for quite a way ahead of her as well as behind.

She began to feel her heart pumping mercilessly against her chest. She knew where she was. Though the name of the place slipped her memory, it was that castle within which the Wicked Witch of the West had lived. And, just two days previously, within which she had held Dorothy hostage.

The ornately decorated doors concealed behind them the Wonderful Wizard's living quarters. Living quarters which were in a state of disarray. Suits and other fanciful dress lay strewn across the floor or draped over the bed; the fine furniture pulled away from conventional sitting places, draws hanging open and empty. In the centre of the chaos was the Wizard himself, paused in the midst of his frenzied panic. Gazing back at Dorothy and Glinda with a mixture of surprise, panic, sorrow and desperation, his eyes seemed lost in hysteria.

At the end of the corridor Dorothy could make out a partially open door. A gentle light emanated from it, and she hoped that it might lead to a way out. Or at least somewhere where she could tell where she was in the great castle.

She crept slowly towards it, placing each foot carefully in front of each other to ease any sound she made. She knew there was nothing there to be frightened of; she had inadvertently killed the only inhabitant just two days previously, and everyone else had fled thereafter, but she couldn't help but feel that sense of dread just from being within those depressing walls again.

Placing a hand on the door, Dorothy pushed against it lightly, surprised as well as relieved when it opened silently and with little resistance.

Walking Dorothy away from the broken man's apartment within the Emerald Castle, Glinda seemed to be lost in thought. She had neither comforted nor enquired of his panic, and she seemed far from supportive as she hurried the girl away from him. Dorothy just couldn't understand. She would never be able to understand how things went in this peculiar world.

The Wizard had refused to take Dorothy with him. Dorothy was silently thankful, but how would she get home now?

Inside, Dorothy was met with a most peculiar sight. Of course, she realised she shouldn't have been too surprised to find a bedroom in a castle. After all, the people who lived there would need somewhere to sleep, but it had never really occurred to her that the Witch would have such a human need as that of sleep.

Though it was furnished, the room was sparsely decorated. An old mahogany wardrobe and a matching chest of draws stood shamed into one desolate corner; a vanity/table was propped against the wall, a miserable scrap of cloth draped to obscure the large mirror. In the very centre of the room, the headboard backed up against another stone wall, was the grand moth eaten four poster bed.

Glinda's pace began to slow. Dorothy was slightly uncomfortable; should she walk on and leave the Good Witch behind, or should she slow down herself and walk with her? Her face showed no sign of awareness of her surroundings, she didn't look at nor acknowledge Dorothy's presence. Glinda just gazed at the floor.

As Dorothy began to increase her speed again, she felt a soft touch on her arm. Stopping, she saw Glinda's arm retreat to her side.

"I might be able to get you home." She whispered.

Sitting on the bed, her back to Dorothy, was a woman, naked from the waist up. Slender arms reached behind her as she massaged some kind of oil into her shoulder blade and along the back of her arm with difficulty, her long rippling hair falling gracefully over her back. She continually tried to flip the long black strands over the other shoulder, but they kept on sliding back down and sticking slightly when they came to the oiled flesh.

The light cast from the window was dim, but Dorothy could make out the angry red patches on the shoulder. She could also make out the unnatural green tinge to the skin.

It was her.

Glinda had retreated to her own private quarters to do some research. Dorothy had been left to wait outside, yet again pondering over what was socially correct for her to do.

As the window began to show the dimming tones of night, Dorothy made up her mind. If she was wrong; if she was being impertinent, she could apologise and excuse herself, but it was now too late for waiting around.

Dorothy grasped the rose quartz handle and twisted, allowing herself into the private quarters of the Good Witch of the North.

Dorothy looked at the open door behind her to make a quick exit, but found she couldn't move. She was too intrigued. It was the Witch, but somehow it wasn't. Somehow, in the woman before her there was a certain vulnerability which she had never seen before. She had been stripped to the core, literally, and for a moment Dorothy couldn't place that cruelty nor ferocity she had previously witnessed within that body.

The Witch turned her head to survey her shoulder. The moment which she caught sight of Dorothy couldn't have been more apparent. The Witch jumped as though she had been shocked through to the core with electricity, her face bright with panic, her fingers clawing at a worn piece of fabric lying by her waist and pulling it up to cover her exposed torso. She scrambled off the bed and away from Dorothy, her back finally coming in contact with the stone wall when she couldn't reverse any further.

Awash with panic and embarrassment, her face deepened in colour. She had been caught unawares in her home, when she was thought to have been dead. She had been caught defenceless, exposed. Her hands clutched defensively at the fraying black cloth wrapped around her.

Inside the closed doors of Glinda's privacy, Dorothy found everything too bright, too garish, too fine. The walls were a light turquoise patterned material, the curtains draped over her bed a rich maroon lined with deep blue, the bed cloths varying degrees of pink. Intricate little trinkets lay positioned on a nearby table, pictures imprisoned within gold leafed frames stood prominent in their abandonment.

Glinda, it seemed, had been retreating to a world where everything was perfect, where every little detail made sense. The only problem was that perfection was impossible to obtain. The colours clashed, finery out-shone finery, and the apparent happiness she had tried to create only made her internal turmoil more apparent.

Dorothy heard a soft noise and she followed it into another room. She found Glinda sat on the floor, her elegant skirts trailing out around her where she had collapsed.

Her body was raked with convulsions and her hair had begun to unravel. Violently she rocked herself forward with silent anguish, her face contorted beyond recognition in exquisite emotional pain.

In front of her a heavily bound book lay open at a browning page. A newly bound book open beside it revealed Glinda's hand written notes as she tried to decipher the ancient scrawl.

In one fist was a small green bottle, the glass shining with the wet of tears as she brought it to her face as if its mere touch could deliver her from pain.

Glinda suddenly jerked her head up to look Dorothy in the eye. There was a moment of silence, before the Good Witch began to yell.

"Out! Get out! Now! Out…"

Dorothy ran from the room.

The Witch soon realised that Dorothy was one person, one little girl. She wasn't about to be mobbed again, she wasn't in any physical danger. She was also a lot bigger and stronger then Dorothy was.

The Witch's demeanour changed. She drew herself up to her full height, and her mouth grew thin. She began to approach Dorothy with precise slowness, a hunter stalking its prey.

"How did you get in here?" Her eyes flashed as they narrowed with anger. Dorothy started retreating. "How!"

"Glinda the- the Good Witch of - the North, she, she… She tried to send me home, but I just appeared here- She was sending me home." With that, the terrified little girl fled. Elphaba chased after her.

Bright sunshine; Dorothy was lead up to the podium in ecstatic delight. To her right, Glinda the Good Witch of the North smiled gaily at the crowds, her hand waving with elegant fluidity and her smile no longer reaching her eyes. Dorothy had grown slightly weary of her after walking in on her the previous night. She had seen something unusually absent in the ruling woman, and then she had seen pure and utter misery. When Dorothy saw Glinda that morning, she denied everything that had happened, and left Dorothy with no word for argument.

Standing on the podium, Glinda addressed the crowds, her sickly sweet voice echoing over all as the general chatter died down.

"Fellow Ozians. Through much research, I have discovered a way of sending our young hero back to her home land. This is a very rare situation, but I am confident that you will be back where you belong before the sun has set tonight. We are all thankful for the great deeds you have done, my dear, and wish you all the best when you arrive safely back home. As we all know, there is no place like our homeland, and therefore we have done our best to ensure that you return back to your own." Glinda paused to let the assembled congregation cheer.

"Goodbye, my dear, and safe journey."

Dorothy smiled and waved at the crowds. "There's no place like home." She stated. Glinda raided her long wand and began to chant, foreign words spilling awkwardly from her painted lips.

Running out into an open area, Dorothy stopped herself before she hit the stonework of the balcony. She was trapped. The Witch was closing in on her, and she, Dorothy Gale, had been intruding- no, trespassing, in her castle. Dorothy glanced over the battlements at the ground, a seemingly impossible distance away. Again, this was not the way in which she wanted to die.

Elphaba emerged slowly out into the open, her fingers clutching the cloth tightly against the cold, her face sour. The girl was being pathetic. Elphaba had uttered no threats, nor tried to physically harm her- yet. Okay, so she might have been less then hospitable towards the girl the last time they had met, but the pigtailed brat had just stolen from her dead sister. And hello, everyone was trying to kill her at the time, that's as good an excuse as any for being a bit more grouchy then usual. An explanation for how Dorothy had appeared in the private rooms of a castle which she had been trying desperately to escape from just days ago seemed to be a perfectly reasonable query in Elphaba's mind. Still, the girl continued to shake with fear as Elphaba approached her.

"So, if it was Glinda's spell which mistakenly transported you here," Dorothy shivered a small nod in confirmation

"Then absolutely no one knows that you are here." Elphaba continued, her voice low as she assured herself of her safety. Dorothy only heard the deadly quality emanating from the Witch's voice and persona. She quivered some more, whimpering as she surveyed the far distant ground.

"Oh, get a grip on yourself!" the Witch shouted. Dorothy stood in a frozen state of shock. There was complete silence for a several seconds, save for the wind, and then Dorothy began to sniff.

"Ozma help me, not again, give me strength," Elphaba muttered. "If you don't cry, then I wont try to kill you, and then maybe this time you wont want to try and kill me." She paused, looking at the girl sourly. How could she get through to her if the only things she did was whine and cry?

"Let me put our predicament into simple terms, shall I?" Jerkily, Dorothy lowered her head and brought it up again in a sharp jittery nod. Elphaba gave a slight snort, and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She took herself a couple of steps forward so she was beside Dorothy, looking over the balcony. Dorothy felt her insides squealing at the green woman's proximity.

"You can't escape from here. You can't flee using any of these windows or balconies without falling to your death," Dorothy gave another squeal as the Witch continued in her understatedly calm voice. "You can't slip through the front gate, because your friends barricaded it shut, and the draw bridge was disabled by your ever so handy Tin Man. You can't use my broom, since you removed it on your last visit to have it destroyed by the Wizard himself." Elphaba paused momentarily, collecting herself after a brief flash of frustration and anger washed over her.

"There's no way out; you can't escape. So I guess you're stuck here," A cold shiver ran down Dorothy's spine. She dared to look up at the Witch, but was met with an expression she could not understand.

"Just like me." Elphaba finished softly, one eyebrow raised, her face softening into a slight smirk.

"There's no place like home. There's no place like home"

This can work as a one-shot, but it was designed as a full length story. I will try and continue with it, that is my intention, but it may take time for this to come into motion. Please feel free to review or contact me. Feedback is the best way for an author to improve their work, I would really like to know what you thought worked really well, or what didnt work. Constructive criticism is also appreciated, and if you have any questions, I'll try and answer them.

Thank you for reading!