08:00 AM
"Right this way, Your Goodness," Pincus said, bowing low as Glinda emerged from her chambers.
She didn't walk; she glided. The gown she had chosen for battle was a masterpiece of structured engineering. It was not the soft tulle of a fairy tale, but a formidable armor of shimmering pink satin. The corset bodice was rigid, boned to hold her posture impossibly straight, while the skirt flowed out in heavy, liquid waves, featuring a daring slit that flashed a glimpse of her crystal heel with every determined step.
Her chin was held high, balancing the weight of the iconic Bubble Crown. The tall, crystalline spires reached toward the ceiling, catching the morning light and scattering rainbows across the marble walls like a beacon. She carried no wand today; her presence alone was the weapon.
Inside the stiff white opera gloves, her hands were still stinging from the frantic scrubbing she had given them earlier. Inside the tight corset, her heart was still hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs from the nightmare.
But on her face, the smile was flawless.
"Good morning, Pincus!" she chirped, her voice a bright, melodic soprano that echoed off the marble. "The sun is trying its very best today, isn't it? We must appreciate the effort."
"Indeed, Your Goodness," Pincus muttered, checking his pocket watch nervously as he trotted to keep up. "The Governing Council is seated. They are... agitated. The reports from the borderlands have them in a frenzy."
"Men are always in a frenzy before breakfast, Pincus. It's low blood sugar. They get so cranky when they haven't had their muffins."
They reached the end of the East Wing, stopping before a set of magnificent double doors.
This was the entrance to the newly christened Harmony Chamber.
Two guards in rose-gold livery bowed low and pushed the doors open. Glinda swept inside, the heavy satin train of her dress trailing behind her like a royal wake, bringing the scent of fresh roses and expensive perfume with her.
The room was a testament to the "Rose Reformation." Gone was the dark, intimidating mahogany of the Wizard's old War Room. Gone were the green shadows and the smell of stale cigar smoke.
The walls were now painted a soft, creamy alabaster. Floor-to-ceiling windows let the light pour in, illuminating a long, polished table made of white birch.
Seated around it were the twelve members of the Governing Council—mostly older men, generals, treasury officials, and bureaucrats from the old regime. They wore gray and black, looking like storm clouds trapped in a candy shop.
As Glinda entered, twelve chairs scraped loudly against the floor. The men stood in unison, though their postures were stiff with impatience.
"Your Royal Goodness," they intoned, a chorus of gravelly voices.
Glinda smiled, a radiant beam that didn't quite reach her hazel eyes. "Gentlemen! Please, sit! We have so much to discuss, and standing is terrible for the digestion."
She glided to the head of the table.
There was no intimidating black throne here. Instead, there was a custom-made seat of power.
It was a high-backed chair upholstered in plush, blush-pink velvet. The frame was gleaming rose gold, curved and delicate. And right in the center of the headrest, embroidered in shimmering silver thread, was a large, cursive G.
It looked like a piece of furniture from a dollhouse. It looked frivolous. It looked weak.
But Glinda knew the truth: it was a power move. It forced these serious, hard-edged men to look at a pink chair and acknowledge that the woman sitting in it—the woman in the satin corset and the towering crystal crown—held their lives in her gloved hands.
She sat down, the slit in her dress arranging perfectly as she crossed her ankles, the heavy satin draping around her like a pool of liquid light. She placed her gloved hands on the white table.
"Now," Glinda said, her voice light and airy. "I see the agenda is quite full. Shall we start with the... unpleasantness?"
General Harte, the Head of the Guard, slammed his hand on the table. He was a man with a neck as thick as a tree trunk and a hatred for anything soft.
"It is not 'unpleasantness,' Your Goodness," Harte barked. "It is anarchy. The Vinkus is collapsing. The drought has destroyed the harvest. The people are moving toward the borders. We need to deploy the Iron Battalion to turn them back."
Glinda tilted her head, the Bubble Crown shifting with a soft chiming sound. "Turn them back? To where, General? To the dust?"
"To their homes!" Harte insisted. "We cannot have refugees flooding the Emerald City. It compromises security!"
"General," Glinda said, her voice sweet as syrup. "If we send soldiers to point spears at thirsty families, it won't look very Good, will it? Think of the optics. Spearpoints are so... aggressive. I prefer soup ladles."
"Soup ladles will not hold the border!" Harte shouted.
"And spears will not make it rain!" Glinda snapped back. The bubbly mask didn't slip, but her eyes flashed with sudden steel. The room went quiet.
She turned to the man on her left. "Councilman Vex. The Treasury report."
Vex, a thin man with spectacles, cleared his throat. "The economy is stabilizing, Your Goodness. However, the costs of your... 'Rose Reformation' are astronomical. The gold leaf alone—"
"The people need beauty, Vex," Glinda interrupted breezily. "They spent twenty years looking at industrial green metal. It was depressing. Depression leads to rebellion. Gold leaf leads to awe. Consider it an investment in public morale."
"We are bleeding coin," Vex argued. "And with Governor Kollip seizing the tax revenue in Munchkinland..."
The air in the room changed instantly. The tension spiked.
"Ah," Glinda said softy. "Governor Kollip."
"He is a patriot," Harte interjected quickly. "A strong hand."
"We have received a petition from the Munchkin Union," Pincus whispered from behind Glinda's chair. "It has three thousand signatures."
"Three thousand," Glinda repeated. She looked at Harte. "Governor Kollip has seized the grain stores in the Nesthard district. He has locked away the food while the Munchkin families are boiling shoe leather for soup. Is that correct?"
"It is emergency rationing!" Harte argued, his face turning red. "He is securing the food supply against the sympathizers! The Witch's followers are still out there, Glinda. Hiding in the barns. Kollip is rooting them out. He is doing the dirty work you refuse to do!"
The uproar began. Several councilmen started shouting at once.
"He is maintaining order!"
"The East is a powder keg!"
"We need strength, not smiles!"
Glinda sat perfectly still in her pink throne, the satin bodice holding her rigid. She let them shout. She let them vent their misogyny and their fear. She picked up a crystal quill from the table and twirled it between her gloved fingers.
When the noise reached a crescendo, she simply dropped the quill.
Clack.
The sound cut through the room like a gunshot. The men fell silent, looking at her.
"Are you quite finished?" Glinda asked. Her voice was low. The soprano lilt was gone.
"You speak of strength," she said, looking directly at General Harte. "But Governor Kollip is not strong. He is terrified. Only a terrified man starves his own people to feel powerful."
"He is loyal to the Throne!" Vex pleaded. "If we fire him, the military will be insulted. We cannot risk a coup."
"There will be no coup," Glinda said, leaning back, the silver G framing her crystal crown like a halo. "Because Governor Kollip is not going to be fired. That would be too dramatic."
She opened a folder in front of her. Inside lay a piece of bright pink stationery.
"He is going to be... reassigned," Glinda smiled, and it was the smile of a shark. "I have drafted a promotion. I am appointing Governor Kollip as the Ambassador to the Northern Ice Flats. Immediately."
The room gasped.
"The Ice Flats?" Harte choked. "There is nothing there but polar bears and glaciers!"
"Exactly," Glinda beamed. "He likes being cold and hard? He will love it there. I hear the isolation is wonderful for building character."
"You can't do that," Harte growled.
"I just did," Glinda said, signing the pink paper with a flourish. "Pincus, have the dispatch sent. And send the Guild Master of the Munchkins to take over the grain distribution. Tell him to open the silos. Tonight."
"This is a mistake," Vex whispered. "You are being soft."
"Soft?" Glinda stood up.
The satin skirt unfurled around her, shimmering like liquid fire. She wasn't tall, but with the towering Bubble Crown adding inches to her height, she loomed over them.
"I am the only thing standing between you and a city that wants to burn this palace down," she said, her voice shaking with restrained power. "I am giving them bread. I am giving them beauty. I am giving them Goodness. And if any of you stand in the way of that... well."
She flashed a dazzling, terrifying smile.
"I might have to redecorate your offices. And I am thinking of a very small cell in the dungeon. I hear the lighting down there is dreadful."
She sat back down, smoothing her satin dress over her legs.
"Now," she chirped, the bubbly mask sliding back into place as if nothing had happened. "Moving on! The Ozians are complaining about the color of the new streetlamps. Are they too yellow? I warned you they might be too yellow. We simply must discuss the lumens."
The Councilmen stared at her, stunned into silence. They looked at the pink chair. They looked at the pink stationery. And they realized, with a jolt of true fear, that the doll in the glass box had teeth.
The heavy doors of the Harmony Chamber clicked shut, sealing the Councilmen and their stunned silence inside.
Glinda didn't stop moving. She couldn't. If she stopped now, the adrenaline that was holding her spine straight would evaporate, and she would crumble right there on the rose-quartz floor.
She marched down the corridor, the heavy satin train of her gown swishing with a rhythmic, liquid sound against the marble. Pincus trotted at her elbow, scribbling furiously on a notepad.
"That was... unexpected, Your Goodness," Pincus breathed. "The Ice Flats? General Harte looked as if he might swallow his own tongue."
"He needed cooling off," Glinda said tighty. She reached up and touched the diamond choker at her throat. It felt suffocatingly tight. "Now, I need to get this crown off. It's giving me a migraine."
"Ah," Pincus hesitated. "About that, Your Goodness."
Glinda stopped. She turned to look at him, the crystal spires flashing. "Pincus."
"It is 8:45 AM," Pincus said apologetically, holding up his pocket watch. "The Morning Announcements. The people are gathering in the Square. They... they are expecting you."
Glinda closed her eyes, letting out a long, slow breath.
The Morning Announcements. The daily ritual. The moment she had to go out there and pretend she wasn't falling apart.
"Of course," Glinda whispered. "The Announcements. We can't disappoint the fans."
"We can touch up your powder?" Pincus offered.
"No time." Glinda straightened her shoulders, the satin corset creaking under the tension. "Lead the way."
They walked toward the Grand Balcony. The path took them through the Gallery of Past Rulers. Glinda kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to look at the portraits. Refusing to look at the empty space where Ozma should be.
They reached the balcony anteroom. The noise of the crowd filtered through the heavy glass doors—a low, thrumming roar like the ocean.
"They sound loud today," Glinda noted, her stomach twisting.
"They are hungry, Your Goodness. And scared. They are cheering for the hope you just promised them."
Glinda looked at her gloved hands. The hands that were hiding raw, red skin from the scrubbing.
"Open the doors," she commanded.
The heavy glass doors swung open.
The sound hit her first—a wall of noise, a cacophony of cheers that vibrated in the soles of her crystal shoes. Then, the light. The morning sun reflected off the golden towers of the Emerald City, blindingly bright, turning the square below into a sea of glittering green.
Glinda stepped out.
She didn't just walk; she made an entrance. She raised her arms, the heavy pink satin of her gown billowing out behind her like the petals of a massive rose. The Bubble Crown caught the sun, fracturing the light into a thousand rainbows that danced across the balcony.
She leaned into the magical amplification crystal mounted on the railing. She didn't speak immediately. She let the silence hang for a moment, letting them look at her perfection.
Then, she let her voice soar, crystal clear and distinct.
"Laaa, la la, la la..."
The melody floated down over the city, a siren song of comfort. The crowd went instantly silent, mesmerized by the sound. They looked up at her—thousands of Ozians, citizens of the greatest city in the land, gazing at her with hungry, adoring eyes.
Glinda flashed her most dazzling smile, the one that made her cheeks ache.
"Hello, my fellow Ozians!" she chimed, her voice booming across the square, sparkling and bright. She paused for effect, batting her eyelashes playfully. "It is good to see me, isn't it?"
The crowd roared. They laughed. They screamed her name.
"We love you, Glinda! We love you!"
Glinda waved, the perfect, wrist-swiveling motion she had perfected years ago. She soaked in the adoration, but it felt cold on her skin. They didn't love her. They loved the dress. They loved the crown. They loved the idea that someone perfect was in charge so they didn't have to be afraid.
"I have wonderful news!" she announced, leaning forward over the railing. "Tonight, the silos are opening! There will be grain for every table, and muffins for every child! No one in Oz goes hungry on my watch!"
A cheer went up that shook the birds from the eaves. People were hugging each other, crying with relief.
"But that is not all!" Glinda continued, gripping the railing with her gloved hands to steady herself. "For too long, the magic of Oz has been locked away. It has been something to fear. Something secret. Something only for the 'Wizard's Favorites.'"
She took a breath. This was the dangerous part. This was the promise she was making to the ghost in her head.
"But I say, no more! Today, I am signing a decree to open new Schools of Magic and Sorcery across the city!"
The crowd gasped, then murmured in excitement.
"Yes!" Glinda cried, spreading her arms wide, the satin sleeves catching the wind. "Not just for the elite! Not just for the wealthy! But for everyone! Young and old, Ozian and Munchkin! We will learn the magic of the land together! We will make Oz shine brighter than ever before!"
The square erupted. It was pandemonium. Hats were thrown in the air. The chanting began, a rhythmic beat that pounded against the palace walls:
"GLIN-DA! GLIN-DA! GLIN-DA IS SO WONDERFUL!"
Glinda stood there, beaming down at them. She looked like the benevolent mother of the nation, bestowing gifts upon her children.
But inside the structured satin corset, her stomach turned to ice.
I am a fraud, she thought, the smile never wavering.
She looked at the cheering faces. They thought she was a Great Sorceress. They thought she was opening these schools because she had so much wisdom to share.
They didn't know that without the forbidden book hidden in her desk, she was powerless. They didn't know that the only magic she truly possessed was a smile and a good lighting team. They didn't know that the only natural-born Sorceress this land had ever seen—the only one who actually deserved to open a school—was dead.
I am stealing her dream, Glinda realized with a sickening jolt. Elphaba wanted to learn. She wanted to teach. And now I'm standing here, taking the credit for it.
"Glinda is so wonderful!" a woman in the front row screamed, weeping with joy, holding up her child to see the Good Witch. "She saves us all!"
Glinda looked down at the woman and waved.
If you knew what I really was, Glinda thought, feeling the tears prick the corners of her eyes, you would throw stones, not flowers.
"I love you all!" she shouted into the crystal, her voice cracking just slightly with the strain of the lie. "Now, go! Learn! Be Good!"
She blew a kiss, held the pose for the photographers—chin up, smile bright, crown straight—and then turned.
She walked back through the glass doors, the roar of the crowd cutting off abruptly as the heavy panes clicked shut.
The smile dropped off her face like a mask hitting the floor.
Glinda slumped against the wall of the anteroom, her satin dress rustling loudly in the sudden silence. She brought her gloved hands up to her face, pressing the white silk against her eyes.
To them, she was the 'Queen' of Oz. She was the Savior of Oz.
But she had never felt more like a thief.