{ She’s spent so long trapped— in her house, in school halls, in other people’s expectations of her, in her skin— that she almost doesn’t know what to do now that she’s unlimited. 

                    U n l i m i t e d— what a word! 

     She’s flying across the sky, dipping and turning and doing dangerous loops and corkscrews that look as if they’d have her plummeting towards Earth at any moment. That’s no metaphor, by the way— she’s literally f l y i n g, soaring on a broomstick she’d enchanted, high above the treetops. She’s so high that the Yellow Brick Road just looks like a thin ribbon across miles and miles of green— green grass, green trees, green meadows. Really, green is the most natural color of them all— 

                    ———one wonders why she’s the one ridiculed and not the one doing the ridiculing. 

          No matter, though, because up here everything seems so small and all of her troubles are distant; no one else exists but her. The Emerald City and the life she left behind are dots in the distance, specks on the horizon, and she can’t really bring herself to grieve when it’s so good not to be confined by the acceptance of limits, by being a pawn in the chess game of somebody else. 

     And then she thinks of Galinda— no, Glinda now— all alone, with everyone hunting down her best friend for betraying the Wizard, and there’s a twinge in her gut. All they could have accomplished— everything they could have done together, a world they could have changed, all gone when Glinda refused to come with her. 

                    But she brushes it to the back of her mind for now— too late for second-guessing, too late to go back to sleep— and flies on. 

     A laugh escapes her throat as she dips down through a cloud so she can survey the land— for a moment, she’s no idea where she’s going and she doesn’t c a r e because she’s free, no cages, no bars, no limitations at all. 

                         And she makes for the West and she laughs and she grins because she is d e f y i n g gravity. } 

          “Heeeeeeeellllllllooooooooooooo!” 

     { some people had told him before that his voice was too cheery; words like ‘cheesy’ and ‘annoying’ and ‘oh god please make it stop please make it stooooop' had been uttered, but he'd never bought into it. too cheery? was that even possible? that was like saying too… too happy, too smiley, too s u n n y! and you could never ever have too much of any of those things. besides, there was no reason not to be cheerful! it was going to be a beautiful bright sunny wonderful day here in Desert Bluffs. it was always a beautiful bright sunny wonderful day here in Desert Bluffs. always! thanks to StrexWeather they never had to worry ‘bout a thing when it came to beautiful bright sunny wonderful days. in fact, thanks to Strexcorp, they never ever had to worry about anything. 

                    or, at least, they had b̗̪̘͙͓̥̂͆̅̾ͮ̌̚ͅ ͦ̒҉̪̥̰ė͎͚ͥͪ̌ͯ̄ͯ ͕̫̯̜̱ͧt̜̹̦͓̟͠ ̛͖͇̰͕̣̰̓̓͋̏̐ṯ̦͓̤͍̏̾̎͌ ̻̼̬̉̌̉͆̽̀e̹̤̩̋̈ͤ̒̆͠ ̖̞͇̩ͨ͌͐r͉̣̲̦ͦ̄́̑͌͟ not! 

                    he’d gotten another one of those annoying red stains on his yellow tie. he was never sure if the things were blood or fruit punch until he checked, but he wasn’t going to let it bring him down. after all, he had a morning radio show to run— and a town to wake up! } 

                                              “Gͫͦͩo͖̖͉̪̞͎̖ͤ̓̈̋ṏ̗̝͎̻͎ͦ̎̚d̳͆ͧ͗̄̈̿͝ ̤̲̮̜̣̥̑m͙̦̥̻̲ͥͯ̌͛͐ͅo͊̏͊r̹̣̦̹̦ͪ̃̇͞ṇ̹̠͈ͩ͆͆̓̇̄̅i͙͙ͤ͊n̠̹̝̳̞ͮͯ̂̎̉ͥg͍̙̰͓͚̲̙̕,̀̄̈́ͦͥ̓͗҉ ̺̩̟̟̹̑͛̀̓̊͌͢ͅ D̷̷̢̡͚̝̗͈̙̠̽́̉̎ͨͮ̈̄̐ͨ͝ ̵̙̻͚̪͕̱͔͖͉̠̞͊̓̅ͭ͋̏͆̃ͦͮ͑͗̂̓̌͗̇̽̚͝e̵͉̯̱̩̤̜͎̟̗̰̺͆̓̈́̌ͤ͂͌ͩ́͠ ̷̴͍͖̰̹̥̝͎̰̬̰ͬ̄͐ͭ̓ͫ̿ͬͦ̊͌ͥ́͠ş̔ͮͫ̀͛͂̂ͪͭͣ҉̹̟̼͇̮̞̬̪̜̹ ̷̛͚̣͇̪̞͕̯͔̄͆̉͌̑ͤ̉́̑͗̀ͩ͗͡ͅe̢̺̼͖͎̱̱͖̻̠̰̖̻͖͈̜̰̊̓ͨ͊ͯ̑ͫ͛̏̈̓ͣ́̕͜ͅ ̵͕̤̫̞̱̹͍̱̺̰̰̱̱̒ͩͫ̍͌̿ͤͦͬͭͪ̓̀r̨̬̗̱̙̮̗̪͓̮̣͉͕̺̟̱̬ͬ͗͐͆̀ͯ̐͛̚͢ ̆̇̅ͮ͘͏̞̭͓͕͎͙̪͎̞͖̖̠͍͔͓̀t̷͂̏̆̃ͨ͛̑͊͐ͤ̿̋ͭ̊̍̀҉̵̱̜̻̟͇̻͎̻ ̶̴̢̧̨̰̻̪͎̺͛̏́̉͐ͥ̂̀̇̆ͩ̏̄̏̔B̷ͬ̎ͫͬͯ̾̃͑͒̈̍͂͏̧̲͎̘͙̭̝͕̳͉̼͇̖̭͎̖͚͙̖ͅ ̷͛̄̂̈́̏̈̽ͩ͠͡͏̬̪͓̙͎̤͎͓͕̟̙̫͇͉͉ͅl̸͖͓̥̤̅̾̽͊̈́̏͛̾͆ͦ͌̏͐̿́ ̧̥̥͖̞̟̜̦̺̩̯̝̙̬̥̮̖̤̰ͧ̉͑ͨ̄̓͂͘͟u̴̡̲̰̙̱̲̜̜̒̅̂͂̌̏̀ ̼̪̻̲̙̠̫̟̱̲͍̗̭͖͎̣ͧͦͬ͋͌͛̑̐̈́̉͊͡f̈́̿ͯ̾̍ͨ̑҉҉͙̣͙̟̱ ̵̷̴̢̥̤̼͎̤̦̝͈͉͑ͪ͛̇̌͝f̸̛͐ͩͣͨ̓̒̒͌̽͒̆͊͐͏̧̧͇̯̼̻̻̳͕̺̱̫͎̘ ͒̔͊ͤ͆ͣ̿̚̚͏̛̤͔̜̭̞͍̜͔̱͇̣͈̝̺s̡̢͎͍͈̪̘̱̟̭̟͇̼̮̳͖͓̥̻ͯͤͮ͂̈͑̃̈͗͛͂ͤ͘̕͠ ̮͖͓͎̰̗̣̺͎̯̤̻̩̥̌͊ͪͪͤ̆ͣͯ̈́ͦ͋̕!̸̨͈̝̤͕̟̞̤̠̜̼͉̽͌̍͂ͤ̋̐ͯ͑ͩ͝”

{ He is the p e r f e c t gentleman. 

          He is gallant and polite and charismatic; he has a brilliant white smile that you just can’t distrust and his hair is coiffured to perfection. His eyes twinkle when they need to, sympathize when they need to, and if there were to be love behind them, in that moment even the hardest-hearted cynic would declare it absolutely genuine. When you’re around him, you’re entirely certain that chivalry is not dead and there are white knights left in the world. How could any harm come of such a man? 

                                        Of course, that’s e x a c t l y what he wants them to think. 

     Gentleman is the very image he is trying to project, and not a soul other than him knows that this is all a front. Internally, he’s laughing at every single one of them; imbeciles, so oblivious to his plans and blinded by his charm. The Queen didn’t quite seem taken in— 

                    ——but that’s no obstacle to him, seeing as the most gullible of them all is her little sister. 

                                   Anna sees only the charm and that smile and soon enough she’s trying to drown herself in his eyes. She doesn’t even know his last name— she likely doesn’t even realize the color of the eyes she’s staring into. All she knows is that he’s a Prince of the Southern Isles and he’s everything she’s ever wanted— 

               ———and that’s e x a c t l y what he wants her to think. } 

{ Conceal it. 

          Don't feel it. 

                    Don't let it show. 

     One wrong move--

                              ----and everyone will know. 

     She is radiant, her dress immaculate, her shoes clicking against the wooden floor confidently, the purple of her cape trailing out behind her, almost a fluid thing, a river of silky fabric. Not a hair out of place. At a glance or a look from afar, one would not notice anything off about the princess-- no, not the princess any longer, the reigning queen. Upon closer inspection, however, one might notice that her gloved hands were shaking, see her enemy-- fear-- lurking behind her eyes. 

               Even so, she sets her face into something cool and calm as she walks from the coronation hall, giving polite thank-yous and serene smiles in response to the congratulations coming from every angle. She doesn't want to speak with any of them; she makes polite small talk, but all she truly wants is for the night to be over. To close the gates again and lock everyone out--

                    ----lock herself in, where her power could bring no harm to others--

                              ------and no one would e v e r know that it even existed. 

                                        Well, that wasn't all she wanted. In a perfect world, maybe, j u s t maybe, she would get to talk-- really talk-- to her sister before the night was through. }